Then all at once his limbs relaxed, and his head fell forward upon his breast.

The Wanderer started to his feet and moved him into a more comfortable position.

There were one or two quickly drawn breaths and the breathing ceased altogether.

At that moment Keyork returned carrying a bottle of wine and a glass.
"It is too late," said the Wanderer gravely.

"Israel Kafka is dead." "Dead!" exclaimed Keyork, setting down what he had in his hands, and hastening to examine the unfortunate man's face and eyes.