“Bring it, Adam,” pleaded Lilith, “and cut me off this hand that I may sleep.”
“I will,” he answered.
He gave the candle to Eve, and went. The princess closed her eyes.
In a few minutes Adam returned with an ancient weapon in his hand. The scabbard looked like vellum grown dark with years, but the hilt shone like gold that nothing could tarnish. He drew out the blade. It flashed like a pale blue northern streamer, and the light of it made the princess open her eyes. She saw the sword, shuddered, and held out her hand. Adam took it. The sword gleamed once, there was one little gush of blood, and he laid the severed hand in Mara’s lap. Lilith had given one moan, and was already fast asleep. Mara covered the arm with the sheet, and the three turned away.
“Will you not dress the wound?” I said.
“A wound from that sword,” answered Adam, “needs no dressing. It is healing and not hurt.”
“Poor lady!” I said, “she will wake with but one hand!”
“Where the dead deformity clung,” replied Mara, “the true, lovely hand is already growing.”
We heard a childish voice behind us, and turned again. The candle in Eve’s hand shone on the sleeping face of Lilith, and the waking faces of the three Little Ones, grouped on the other side of her couch. “How beautiful she is grown!” said one of them.
“Poor princess!” said another; “I will sleep with her. She will not bite any more!”