Féraz gave her an eloquent look.
“True, dear Madame”—he answered,—“But there are times and seasons of affliction when we feel and know ourselves to be unworthy of the Divine friendship, and when our own conscience considers God as one very far off.”
Yielding to the deep impulse of pity that swayed her, she advanced softly, and sitting down beside El-Râmi, took his hand in her own. He turned and looked at her,—at the fair delicate face and soft ardent eyes,—at the slight dainty figure in its close-fitting white garb,—and a faint wondering smile brightened his features.
“What is this?” he murmured, then glancing downward at her small white ringless hand as it held his—“Is this an angel? Yes, it must be,—well then, there is hope at last. You bring me news of Lilith?”
Irene started, and her heart beat nervously,—she could not understand this, to her, new phase of his wandering mind. What was she to say in answer to so strange a question?—for who was Lilith? She gazed helplessly at Féraz,—he returned her look with one so earnest and imploring, that she answered at once as she thought most advisable—
“Yes!”
A sudden trembling shook El-Râmi’s frame, and he seemed absorbed. After a long pause, he lifted his dark eyes and fixed them solemnly upon her.
“Then, she knows all now?” he demanded—“She understands that I am patient?—that I repent?—that I believe?—and that I love her as she would have me love her,—faithfully and far beyond all life and time?”
Without hesitation, and only anxious to soothe and comfort him, Irene answered at once—
“Yes—yes—she understands. Be consoled—be patient still—you will meet her soon again.”