To-morrow it might be too late.

Even before to-day's sun had set Beatrice might be once more taken from him, snatched away to the ends of the earth by her father's ever-changing caprice.

To lose a moment now might be to lose all.
He was tempted to yield, to resign his will into Unorna's hands, and his sight to her leading, to let her bid him sleep and see the truth.

But then, with a sudden reaction of his individuality, he realized that he had another course, surer, simpler, more dignified.

Beatrice was in Prague.