She wished that she had never set eyes upon Israel Kafka; she wished that she might never see him again; even his death would hardly have cost her a pang, and yet she was sorry for him.

Diana, the huntress, shot her arrows with unfailing aim; Diana, the goddess, may have sighed and shed one bright immortal tear, as she looked into the fast-glazing eyes of the dying stag--may not Diana, the maiden, have felt a touch of human sympathy and pain as she listened to the deep note of her hounds baying on poor Actaeon's track! No one is all bad, or all 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.