“Clangour and anger of elements are round me,
Torture has clasped me, cruelty has crown’d me,
Sorrow awaits me, Death is waiting with her,
Fast speed I thither!”
The music ceased abruptly with a quick clash as of jangling bells,—and Féraz rose from the piano.
El-Râmi was sitting quite still.
“A mad outburst!” he remarked presently, seeing that his young brother waited for him to speak—“Do you believe it?”
“Believe what?” asked Féraz, a little surprised.
“This——” and El-Râmi quoted slowly—
“‘Shall a god grieve me? shall a phantom win me?