“I have.”
“Then, if you will accept a humble suggestion from me, you will go back to her at once.”
“I know very little of her. I do not altogether trust her—”
“Trust! Powers of Eblis—or any other powers! Who talks of trust? Does the wise man trust himself? Never. Then how can he dare trust any one else?”
“Your cynical philosophy again!” exclaimed the Wanderer.
“Philosophy? I am a mysosophist! All wisdom is vanity, and I hate it! Autology is my study, autosophy my ambition, autonomy my pride. I am the great Panegoist, the would-be Conservator of Self, the inspired prophet of the Universal I. I—I—I! My creed has but one word, and that word but one letter, that letter represents Unity, and Unity is Strength. I am I, one, indivisible, central! O I! Hail and live for ever!”
Again the little man’s rich bass voice rang out in mellow laughter. A very faint smile appeared upon his companion’s sad face.
“You are happy, Keyork,” he said. “You must be, since you can laugh at yourself so honestly.”
“At myself? Vain man! I am laughing at you, and at every one else, at everything except myself. Will you go to Unorna? You need not trust her any more than the natural infirmity of your judgment suggests.”
“Can you tell me nothing more of her? Do you know her well?”