“God’s angel,” replied Lilith quickly—“With God’s own attribute of Free-Will. He, like his Maker, doth create,—he also doth destroy,—what he elects to do, God will not prevent. Therefore, if Man makes Evil, Evil must exist till Man himself destroys it.”
This was a deep and strange saying, and El-Râmi pondered over it without speaking.
“In the spaces where I roam,” went on Lilith softly—“there is no evil. Those who are the Makers of Life in yonder fair regions seek only what is pure. Why should pain exist, or sin be known? I do not understand.”
“No”—said El-Râmi bitterly—“You do not understand, because you are yourself too happy,—happiness sees no fault in anything. Oh, you have wandered too far from earth and you forget! The tie that binds you to this planet is over-fragile,—you have lost touch with pain. I would that I could make you feel my thoughts!—for, Lilith, God is cruel, not kind, ... upon God, and God alone, rests the weight of woe that burdens the universe, and for the eternal sorrow of things there is neither reason nor remedy.”
Lilith sank back again in a recumbent posture, a smile upon her lips.
“O poor blind eyes!” she murmured—“Sad eyes that are so tired—too tired to bear the light!”
Her voice was so exquisitely pathetic that he was startled by its very gentleness,—his heart gave one fierce bound against his side, and then seemed almost to stand still.
“You pity me?” he asked tremulously.
She sighed. “I pity you”—she answered—“I pity myself.”
Almost breathlessly he asked “Why?”