And, sighing, he threw himself into his chair with an air of exhaustion. Féraz stood a little apart, gazing at him somewhat wistfully—then he spoke—
“I too have thought that, El-Râmi,” he said softly.—“As to whether this end, which the world and all men dread, might not be the best thing? And yet my own personal sensations tell me that life means something good for me if I only learn how best to live it.”
“Youth, my dear fellow!” said El-Râmi lightly. “Delicious youth,—which you share in common with the scampering colt who imagines all the meadows of the world were made for him to race upon. This is the potent charm which persuades you that life is agreeable. But unfortunately it will pass,—this rosy morning-glory. And the older you grow the wiser and the sadder you will be,—I, your brother, am an excellent example of the truth of this platitude.”
“You are not old,” replied Féraz quickly. “But certainly you are often sad. You overwork your brain. For example, last night of course you did not sleep—will you sleep now?”
“No—I will breakfast,” said El-Râmi, rousing himself to seem cheerful.—“A good cup of coffee is one of the boons of existence—and no one can make it as you do. It will put the finishing touch to my complete recovery.”
Féraz took this hint, and hastened off to prepare the desired beverage,—while El-Râmi, left alone, sat for a few moments wrapped in a deep reverie. His thoughts reverted to and dwelt upon the strange and glorious Figure he had seen standing in that very room between him and the monk,—he wondered doubtfully if such a celestial visitant were anywhere near him now? Shaking off the fantastic impression, he got up and walked to and fro.
“What a fool I am!” he exclaimed half aloud—“As if my eyes could not be as much deluded for once in a way as the eyes of any one else! It was a strange shape,—a marvellously divine-looking apparition;—but he evolved it—he is as great a master in the art of creating phantasma as Moses himself, and could, if he chose, make thunder echo at his will on another Mount Sinai. Upon my word, the things that men can do are as wonderful as the things that they would fain attempt; and the only miraculous part of this particular man’s force is that he should have overpowered Me, seeing I am so strong. And then one other marvel—(if it be true),—he could see the Soul of Lilith.”
Here he came to a full stop in his walk, and with his eyes fixed on vacancy he repeated musingly—
“He could see the Soul of Lilith. If that is so—if that is possible, then I will see it too, if I die in the attempt. To see the Soul—to look upon it and know its form—to discern the manner of its organisation, would surely be to prove it. Sight can be deceived, we know—we look upon a star (or think we look upon it), that may have disappeared some thirty thousand years ago, as it takes thirty thousand years for its reflex to reach us—all that is true—but there are ways of guarding against deception.”
He had now struck upon a new line of thought,—ideas more daring than he had ever yet conceived began to flit through his brain,—and when Féraz came in with the breakfast he partook of that meal with avidity and relish, his excellent appetite entirely reassuring his brother with regard to his health.