She sighed, and El-Râmi echoed the sigh.
“I wish”—and her accents sounded plaintively—“I wish that I could see you! There is some cloud between us. I hear your voice and I obey it, but I cannot see who it is that calls me.”
El-Râmi paid no heed to these dove-like murmurings,—moreover, he seemed to have no eyes for the wondrous beauty of the creature who lay thus tranced and in his power,—set on his one object, the attainment of a supernatural knowledge, he looked as pitiless and impervious to all charm as any Grand Inquisitor of old Spain.
“Speak of yourself and not of me”—he said authoritatively, “How can you say there is no death?”
“I speak truth. There is none.”
“Not even here?”
“Not anywhere.”
“O daughter of vision, where are the eyes of your spirit?” demanded El-Râmi angrily—“Search again and see! Why should all Nature arm itself against Death if there be no death?”
“You are harsh,”—said Lilith sorrowfully—“Should I tell you what is not true? If I would, I cannot. There is no death—there is only change. Beyond Sirius, they sleep.”
El-Râmi waited; but she had paused again.