“What can I say to you?” he murmured in a voice broken by strong emotion—“How can I thank you? You have been as a god to me;—I live again,—I breathe again,—this morning the world seems new to my eyes,—as new as though I had never seen it before. I have left a whole cycle of years, with all their suffering and bitterness, behind me, and I am ready now to commence life afresh.”
“That is well!” said El-Râmi gently, cordially returning the pressure of his hands. “That is as it should be. To see your strength and vitality thus renewed is more than enough reward for me.”
“And do I really look younger?—am I actually changed in appearance?” asked Kremlin eagerly.
El-Râmi smiled. “Well, you saw poor Karl’s amazement”—he replied. “He was afraid of you, I think—and also of me. Yes, you are changed, though not miraculously so. Your hair is as gray as ever,—the same furrows of thought are on your face;—all that has occurred is the simple renewal of the tissues, and revivifying of the blood,—and this gives you the look of vigour and heartiness you have this morning.”
“But will it last?—will it last?” queried Kremlin anxiously.
“If you follow my instructions, of course it will—” returned El-Râmi—“I will see to that. I have left with you a certain quantity of the vital fluid,—all you have to do is to take ten drops every third night, or inject it into your veins if you prefer that method;—then,—as I told you,—you cannot die, except by violence.”
“And no violence comes here”—said Kremlin with a smile, glancing round at the barren yet picturesque scene—“I am as lonely as an unmated eagle on a rock,—and the greater my solitude the happier I am. The world is very beautiful—that I grant,—but the beings that inhabit it spoil it for me, albeit I am one of them. And so I cannot die, except by violence? Almost I touch immortality! Marvellous El-Râmi! You should be a king of nations!”
“Too low a destiny!” replied El-Râmi—“I’d rather be a ruler of planets.”
“Ah, there is your stumbling-block!” said Kremlin, with sudden seriousness,—“You soar too high—you are never contented.”
“Content is impossible to the Soul”—returned El-Râmi,—“Nothing is too high or too low for its investigation. And whatever can be done, should be done, in order that the whole gamut of life may be properly understood by those who are forced to live it.”