He loosened her hands, and recoiled, awed and perplexed. Her appeal struck at the core of all his doubts,—and for one moment he was disposed to believe in the actual truth of the Immortal Soul without those “proofs” for which he constantly searched,—the next he rallied himself on his folly and weakness. He dared not trust himself to answer her, so he was silent,—but she soon spoke again with such convincing earnestness of tone that almost ... almost he believed—but not quite.
“To love the Seeming and not the Real,”—she said—“is the curse of all sad Humanity. It is the glamour of the air,—the barrier between Earth and Heaven. The Body is the Shadow—the Soul is the Substance. The Reflection I cast on Earth’s surface for a little space is but a Reflection only,—it is not Me:—I am beyond it!”
For a moment El-Râmi stood irresolute,—then gathering up his scattered thoughts, he began to try and resolve them into order and connection. Surely the time was ripe for his great Experiment?—and, as he considered this, his nerves grew more steady,—his self-reliance returned—all his devotion to scientific research pressed back its claim upon his mind,—if he were to fail now, he thought, after all his patience and study,—fail to obtain any true insight into the spiritual side of humanity, would he not be ashamed, ay, and degraded in his own eyes? He resolved to end all his torture of pain and doubt and disquietude,—and, sitting on the edge of Lilith’s couch, he drew her delicate hands down from their uplifted position, and laid them one above the other cross-wise on his own breast.
“Then you must teach me, Lilith”—he said softly and with tender persuasiveness—“you must teach me to know you. If I see but your Reflection here,—let me behold your Reality. Let me love you as you are, if now I only love you as you seem. Show yourself to me in all your spiritual loveliness, Lilith!—it may be I shall die of the glory,—or—if there is no death as you say,—I shall not die, but simply pass away into the light which gives you life. Lift the veil that is between us, Lilith, and let me see you face to face. If this that seems you”—and he pressed the little hands he held—“is naught, let me realise the nothingness of so much beauty beside the greater beauty that engenders it. Come to me as you are, Lilith!—come!”
As he spoke, his heart beat fast with a nervous thrill of expectancy; what would she answer? ... what would she do? He could not take his eyes from her face—he half fancied he should see some change there; for the moment he even thought it possible that she might transform herself into some surpassing Being, which, like the gods of the Greek mythology, should consume by its flame-like splendour whatever of mortality dared to look upon it. But she remained unaltered, and sculpturally calm,—only her breathing seemed a little quicker, and the hands that he held trembled against his breast.
Her next words, however, startled him—
“I will come!” she said, and a faint sigh escaped her lips—“Be ready for me. Pray!—pray for the blessing of Christ,—for, if Christ be with us, all is well.”
At this, his brow clouded,—his eyes drooped gloomily.
“Christ!” he muttered more to himself than to her—“What is He to me? Who is He that He should be with us?”
“This world’s rescue and all worlds’ glory!”