“‘To die—to sleep;—
To sleep!—perchance to dream; ay, there’s the rub!’
Imagine it!—to die and dream of Heaven—or Hell—and all the while if there should be no reality in either!”
With one more glance at the now soundly slumbering Zaroba, he went back to the couch, and gazed long and earnestly at the exquisite maiden there reclined,—then bending over her, he took her small fair left hand in his own, pressing his fingers hard round the delicate wrist.
“Lilith!—Lilith!” he said in low, yet commanding accents. “Lilith!—Speak to me! I am here!”
V.
Deep silence followed his invocation,—a silence he seemed to expect and be prepared for. Looking at a silver timepiece on a bracket above the couch, he mentally counted slowly a hundred beats,—then pressing the fragile wrist he held still more firmly between his fingers, he touched with his other hand the girl’s brow, just above her closed eyes. A faint quiver ran through the delicate body,—he quickly drew back and spoke again.
“Lilith! Where are you?”
The sweet lips parted, and a voice soft as whispered music responded—
“I am here!”