"Take it, or take it not--as you will." Unorna glanced at his angry face
and quickly looked away.

"Take it? Yes, and more too, whether you will give it or not," answered
Israel Kafka, moving nearer to her. "Yes. Whether you will, or whether
you will not, I have all, your friendship, your love, your life, your
breath, your soul--all, or nothing!"

"You are wise to suggest the latter alternative as a possibility," said
Unorna coldly and not heeding his approach.

The young man stood still, and folded his arms. The colour had returned
to his face and a deep flush was rising under his olive skin.

"Do you mean what you say?" he asked slowly. "Do you mean that I shall
not have all, but nothing? Do you still dare to mean that, after all
that has passed between you and me?"

Unorna raised her eyes and looked steadily into his.

"Israel Kafka, do not speak to me of daring."

But the young man's glance did not waver. The angry expression of his
features did not relax; he neither drew back nor bent his head. Unorna
seemed to be exerting all the strength of her will in the attempt to
dominate him, but without result. In the effort she made to concentrate
her determination her face grew pale and her lips trembled. Kafka
faced her resolutely, his eyes on fire, the rich colour mantling in his
cheeks.