With an effort El-Râmi rose to his feet, steadying himself on his brother’s arm.
“Insensible!” he repeated vaguely.—“Insensible!—that is strange!—I must have been very weak and tired—and overpowered. But,—where is He?”
“If you mean the Master,” said Féraz, lowering his voice to an almost awe-stricken whisper—“He has gone, and left no trace,—save that sealed paper there upon your table.”
El-Râmi shook himself free of his brother’s hold and hurried forward to possess himself of the indicated missive,—seizing it, he tore it quickly open,—it contained but one line—“Beware the end! With Lilith’s love comes Lilith’s freedom.”
That was all. He read it again and again—then deliberately striking a match, he set fire to it and burnt it to ashes. A rapid glance round showed him that the manuscripts concerning Neptune and Sirius were gone,—the mysterious monk had evidently taken them with him as desired. Then he turned again to his brother.
“When could he have gone?” he demanded.—“Did you not hear the street-door open and shut?—no sound at all of his departure?”
Féraz shook his head.
“I slept heavily,” he said apologetically. “But in my dreams it seemed as though a hand touched me, and I awoke. The sun was shining brilliantly—some one called ‘Féraz! Féraz!’—I thought it was your voice, and I hurried into the room to find you, as I thought, dead,—oh! the horror of that moment of suspense!”
El-Râmi looked at him kindly, and smiled.
“Why feel horror, my dear boy?” he inquired.—“Death—or what we call death,—is the best possible fortune for everybody. Even if there were no afterwards, it would still be an end—an end of trouble and tedium and infinite uncertainty. Could anything be happier?—I doubt it!”