“No—” he murmured, as though answering some inward query—“No, I will not go to her now—not till the appointed time. I resolved on an absence of forty-eight hours, and forty-eight hours it shall be. Then I will go,—and she will tell me all—I shall know the full extent of the mischief done. And so Féraz ‘looked and looked again, and loved what he beheld!’ Love! The very word seems like a desecrating blot on the virgin soul of Lilith!”
XVI.
Féraz meanwhile was fast asleep in his own room. He had sought to be alone for the purpose of thinking quietly and connectedly over all he had heard,—but no sooner had he obtained the desired solitude than a sudden and heavy drowsiness overcame him, such as he was unable to resist, and, throwing himself on his bed, he dropped into a profound slumber, which deepened as the minutes crept on. The afternoon wore slowly away,—sunset came and passed,—the coming shadows lengthened, and just as the first faint star peeped out in the darkening skies he awoke, startled to find it so late. He sprang from his couch, bewildered and vexed with himself,—it was time for supper, he thought, and El-Râmi must be waiting. He hastened to the study, and there he found his brother conversing with a gentleman,—no other than Lord Melthorpe, who was talking in a loud cheerful voice, which contrasted oddly with El-Râmi’s slow musical accents, that ever had a note of sadness in them. When Féraz made his hurried entrance, his eyes humid with sleep, yet dewily brilliant,—his thick dark hair tangled in rough curls above his brows, Lord Melthorpe stared at him in honestly undisguised admiration, and then glanced at El-Râmi inquiringly.
“My brother, Féraz Zarânos”—said El-Râmi, readily performing the ceremony of introduction—“Féraz, this is Lord Melthorpe,—you have heard me speak of him.”
Féraz bowed with his usual perfect grace, and Lord Melthorpe shook hands with him.
“Upon my word!” he said good-humouredly, “this young gentleman reminds one of the Arabian Nights, El-Râmi! He looks like one of those amazing fellows who always had remarkable adventures; Prince Ahmed, or the son of a king, or something—don’t you know?”
El-Râmi smiled gravely.
“The Eastern dress is responsible for that idea in your mind, no doubt—” he replied—“Féraz wears it in the house, because he moves more easily and is more comfortable in it than in the regulation British attire, which really is the most hideous mode of garb in the world. Englishmen are among the finest types of the human race, but their dress does them scant justice.”
“You are right—we’re all on the same tailor’s pattern—and a frightful pattern it is!” and his lordship put up his eyeglass to survey Féraz once more, the while he thought—“Devilish handsome fellow!—would make quite a sensation in the room—new sort of craze for my lady.” Aloud he said—“Pray bring your brother with you on Tuesday evening—my wife will be charmed.”
“Féraz never goes into society—” replied El-Râmi—“But of course, if you insist——”