Her face grew paler,—the smile vanished from her lips, and all her delicate beauty seemed to freeze into a cold and grave rigidity.
“Love begets faith;”—she said—“Where we do not love, we doubt. Doubt breeds Evil, and Evil knows not God.”
“Platitudes, upon my life!—mere platitudes!” exclaimed El-Râmi bitterly—“If this half-released spirit can do no more than prate of the same old laws and duties our preachers teach us, then indeed my service is vain. But she shall not baffle me thus;”—and, bending over Lilith’s figure, he unwound her arms from the indolent position in which they were folded, took her hands roughly in his own, and, sitting on the edge of her couch, fixed his burning eyes upon her as though he sought to pierce her to the heart’s core with their ardent, almost cruel lustre.
“Lilith!” he commanded—“Speak plainly, that I may fully understand your words. You say there is no hell?”
The answer came steadily.
“None.”
“Then must evil go unpunished?”
“Evil wreaks punishment upon itself. Evil destroys itself. That is the Law.”
“And the Prophets!” muttered El-Râmi scornfully—“Well! Go on, strange sprite! Why—for such things are known—why does goodness suffer for being good?”
“That never is. That is impossible.”