“Into the light!” he murmured—“Into the very heart of the light!—into the very core of the fire! That is the end of all ambition—to take wings and plunge so—into the glowing, burning molten Creative Centre—and die for our foolhardiness? Is that all?—or is there more behind? It is a question,—who may answer it?”
He sighed heavily, and leaned more closely over the couch, till the soft scarcely perceptible breath from Lilith’s lips touched his cheek warmly like a caress. Observantly, as one might study the parts of a bird or a flower, he noted those lips, how delicately curved, how coral-red they were,—and what a soft rose-tint, like the flush of a pink sunrise on white flowers, was the hue which spread itself waveringly over her cheeks,—till there,—there where the long eyelashes curled upwards, there were fine shadows,—shadows which suggested light,—such light as must be burning in those sweetly-closed eyes. Then there was the pure, smooth brow, over which little vine-like tendrils of hair caught and clung amorously,—and then—that wondrous wealth of the hair itself which, like twin showers of gold, shed light on either side. It was all beautiful,—a wonderful gem of Nature’s handiwork,—a masterpiece of form and colour which, but for him, El-Râmi, would long ere this have mouldered away to unsightly ash and bone, in a lonely grave dug hurriedly among the sands of the Syrian desert. He was almost, if not quite, the author of that warm if unnatural vitality that flowed through those azure veins and branching arteries,—he, like the Christ of Galilee, had raised the dead to life,—ay, if he chose, he could say as the Master said to the daughter of Jairus, “Maiden, arise!” and she would obey him—would rise and walk, and smile and speak, and look upon the world,—if he chose! The arrogance of Will burned in his brain;—the pride of power, the majesty of conscious strength made his pulses beat high with triumph beyond that of any king or emperor,—and he gazed down upon the tranced fair form, himself entranced, and all unconscious that Zaroba had come out of her corner, and that she now stood beside him, watching his face with passionate and inquisitive eagerness. Just as he reluctantly lifted himself up from his leaning position he saw her staring at him, and a frown darkened his brows. He made his usual imperative sign to her to leave the room,—a sign she was accustomed to understand and to obey—but this time she remained motionless, fixing her eyes steadily upon him.
“The conqueror shall be conquered, El-Râmi Zarânos—” she said slowly, pointing to the sleeping Lilith—“The victorious master over the forces unutterable shall yet be overthrown! The work has begun,—the small seed has been sown—the great harvest shall be reaped. For in the history of Heaven itself certain proud angels rose up and fought for the possession of supreme majesty and power—and they fell,—downbeaten to the darkness,—unforgiven, and are they not in darkness still? Even so must the haughty spirit fall that contends against God and the Universal Law.”
She spoke impressively, and with a certain dignity of manner that gave an added force to her words,—but El-Râmi’s impassive countenance showed no sign of having either heard or understood her. He merely repeated his gesture of dismissal, and this time Zaroba obeyed it. Wrapping her flowing robe closely about her, she withdrew, but with evident reluctance, letting the velvet portière fall only by slow degrees behind her, and to the last keeping her dark deep-set eyes fixed on El-Râmi’s face. As soon as she had disappeared, he sprang to where the dividing-curtain hid a massive door between the one room and the ante-chamber,—this door he shut and locked,—then he returned to the couch, and proceeded, according to his usual method, to will the wandering spirit of his “subject” into speech.
“Lilith! Lilith!”
As before, he had to wait ere any reply was vouchsafed to him. Impatiently he glanced at the clock, and counted slowly a hundred beats.
“Lilith!”
She turned round towards him, smiled, and murmured something—her lips moved, but whatever they uttered did not reach his ear.
“Lilith! Where are you?”
This time, her voice, though soft, was perfectly distinct.