ll
good. No woman is all earthly, nor any goddess all divine.

"I am sorry," said Unorna. "You will not understand----"

"I have understood enough. I have understood that a woman can have
two faces and two hearts, two minds, two souls; it is enough, my
understanding need go no farther. You sighed before you spoke. It was
not for me; it was for yourself. You never felt pain or sorrow for
another."

He was trying hard to grow cold and to find cold words to say, which
might lead her to believe him stronger than he was and able to master
his grief. But he was too young, too hot, too changeable for such a
part. Moreover, in his first violent outbreak Unorna had dominated him,
and he could not now regain the advantage.

"You are wrong, Israel Kafka. You would make me less than human. If
I sighed, it was indeed for you. See--I confess that I have done you
wrong, not in deeds, but in letting you hope. Truly, I myself have hoped
also. I have thought that the star of love was trembling just below the
east, and that you and I might be one to another--what we cannot be now.
My wisdom has failed me, my sight has been deceived. Am I the only
woman in this world who has been mistaken? Can you not forgive? If I
had promised, if I had said one word--and yet, you are right, too, for
I have let you think in earnest what has been but a passing dream of
my own thoughts. It was all wrong; it was all my fault. There, lay your
hand in mine and say that you forgive, as I ask forgiveness."

He was still standing behind her, leaning against the back of her chair.
Without looking round she raised her hand above her shoulder as though
seeking for his. But he would not take it.

"Is it so hard?" she asked softly. "Is it even harder for you to give
than for me to ask? Shall we part like this--not to meet again--each
bearing a wound, when both might be whole? Can you not say the word?"

"What is it to you whether I forgive you or not?"

"Since I ask it, believe that it is much to me," she answered, slowly
turning her head until, without catching sight of his face, she could
just see where his fingers were resting on her chair. Then, over her
shoulder, she touched them, and drew them to her cheek. He made no
resistance.

"Shall we part without one kind thought?" Her voice was softer still and
so low and sweet that it seemed as though the words were spoken in the
ripple of the tiny fountain. There was magic in the place, in the air,
in the so