There was silence for a minute or two, and she moved restlessly.
“You bade me seek out Hell for you”—she murmured at last—“I have searched, but I cannot find it.”
Another pause, and she went on.
“You spoke of a strange thing,” she said—“A place of punishment, of torture, of darkness, of horror and despair,—there is no such dreary blot on all God’s fair Creation. In all the golden spaces of the farthest stars I find no punishment, no pain, no darkness. I can discover nothing save beauty, light, and—Love!”
The last word was uttered softly, and sounded like a note of music, sweet but distant.
El-Râmi listened, bewildered, and in a manner disappointed.
“O Lilith, take heed what you say!” he exclaimed with some passion—“No pain?—no punishment? no darkness? Then this world is Hell and you know naught of it!”
As he said this, she moved uneasily among her pillows,—then, to his amazement, she suddenly sat up of her own accord, and went on speaking, enunciating her words with singular clearness and emphasis, always keeping her eyes closed and allowing her left hand to remain in his.
“I am bound to tell you what I know;”—she said—“But I am unable to tell you what is not true. In God’s design I find no evil—no punishment, no death. If there are such things, they must be in your world alone,—they must be Man’s work and Man’s imagining.”
“Man’s work—Man’s imagining?” repeated El-Râmi—“And what is man?”