“Tears?” he said in a surprised tone—“Why should you weep? There is nothing to weep for;—God is very good.”
And with an effort, he rose from the chair in which he had sat, and standing upright, looked about him. His eye at once lighted on the vase of roses at the foot of the couch and he began to tremble violently. Féraz caught him by the arm,—and then he seemed startled and afraid.
“She promised, ... she promised!” he began in an incoherent rambling way—“and you must not interfere,—you must let me do her bidding. ‘Look for me where the roses are; there will I stand and wait!’ She said that,—and she will wait, and I will look, for she is sure to keep her word—no angel ever forgets. You must not hinder me;—I have to watch and pray,—you must help me, not hinder me. I shall die if you will not let me do what she asks;—you cannot tell how sweet her voice is;—she talks to me and tells me of such wonderful things,—things too beautiful to be believed, yet they are true. I know so well my work;—work that must be done,—you will not hinder me?”
“No, no!”—said Féraz, in anguish himself, yet willing to say anything to soothe his brother’s trembling excitement—“No, no! You shall not be hindered,—I will help you,—I will watch with you,—I will pray ...” and here again the poor fellow nearly broke down into womanish sobbing.
“Yes!” said El-Râmi, eagerly catching at the word—“Pray! You will pray—and so will I;—that is good,—that is what I need,—prayer, they say, draws all Heaven down to earth. It is strange,—but so it is. You know”—he added, with a faint gleam of intelligence lighting up for a moment his wandering eyes—“Lilith is not here! Not here, nor there, ... she is Everywhere!”
A terrible pallor stole over his face, giving it almost the livid hue of death,—and Féraz, alarmed, threw one arm strongly and resolutely about him. But El-Râmi crouched and shuddered, and hid his eyes as though he strove to shelter himself from the fury of a whirlwind.
“Everywhere!” he moaned—“In the flowers, in the trees, in the winds, in the sound of the sea, in the silence of the night, in the slow breaking of the dawn,—in all these things is the Soul of Lilith! Beautiful, indestructible, terrible Lilith! She permeates the world, she pervades the atmosphere, she shapes and unshapes herself at pleasure,—she floats, or flies, or sleeps at will;—in substance, a cloud;—in radiance, a rainbow! She is the essence of God in the transient shape of an angel—never the same, but for ever immortal. She soars aloft—she melts like mist in the vast Unseen!—and I—I—I shall never find her, never know her, never see her, never, never again!”
The harrowing tone of voice in which he uttered these words pierced Féraz to the heart, but he would not give way to his own emotion.
“Come, El-Râmi!” he said very gently—“Do not stay here,—come with me. You are weak,—rest on my arm; you must try and recover your strength,—remember, you have work to do.”
“True, true!” said El-Râmi, rousing himself—“Yes, you are right,—there is much to be done. Nothing is so difficult as patience. To be left all alone, and to be patient, is very hard,—but I will come,—I will come.”