{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_68771/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_68771","id":"gutenberg_68771","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/68771","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Elixir of life -- Fiction","Lilith (Semitic mythology) -- Fiction","Paranormal fiction"],"text":"THE SOUL OF LILITH\n\n BY\n MARIE CORELLI\n\n \u201cNOT A DROP OF HER BLOOD WAS HUMAN,\n BUT SHE WAS MADE LIKE A SOFT SWEET WOMAN\u201d\n                          DANTE G. ROSSETTI\n\n TWELFTH EDITION\n\n METHUEN & CO.\n 36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.\n LONDON\n 1903\n _Colonial Library_\n\n\n\n\n CONTENTS.\n\n Chapter I\n Chapter II\n Chapter III\n Chapter IV\n Chapter V\n Chapter VI\n Chapter VII\n Chapter VIII\n Chapter IX\n Chapter X\n Chapter XI\n Chapter XII\n Chapter XIII\n Chapter XIV\n Chapter XV\n Chapter XVI\n Chapter XVII\n Chapter XVIII\n Chapter XIX\n Chapter XX\n Chapter XXI\n Chapter XXII\n Chapter XXIII\n Chapter XXIV\n Chapter XXV\n Chapter XXVI\n Chapter XXVII\n Chapter XXVIII\n Chapter XXIX\n Chapter XXX\n Chapter XXXI\n Chapter XXXII\n Chapter XXXIII\n Chapter XXXIV\n Chapter XXXV\n Chapter XXXVI\n Chapter XXXVII\n Chapter XXXVIII\n Chapter XXXIX\n Chapter XL\n Chapter XLI\n Chapter XLII\n Chapter XLIII\n Chapter XLIV\n Footnotes\n\n\n\n\n INTRODUCTORY NOTE.\n\nThe following story does not assume to be what is generally\nunderstood by a \u201cnovel.\u201d It is simply the account of a strange and\ndaring experiment once actually attempted, and is offered to those who\nare interested in the unseen \u201cpossibilities\u201d of the Hereafter, merely\nfor what it is,--a single episode in the life of a man who voluntarily\nsacrificed his whole worldly career in a supreme effort to prove the\napparently Unprovable.\n\n\n\n\n THE SOUL OF LILITH.\n\n I.\n\nThe theatre was full,--crowded from floor to ceiling; the lights\nwere turned low to give the stage full prominence,--and a large\naudience packed close in pit and gallery as well as in balcony and\nstalls, listened with or without interest, whichever way best suited\ntheir different temperaments and manner of breeding, to the well-worn\nfamous soliloquy in _Hamlet_--\u201cTo be or not to be.\u201d It was the first\nnight of a new rendering of Shakespeare\u2019s ever puzzling play,--the\nchief actor was a great actor, albeit not admitted as such by the\npetty cliques,--he had thought out the strange and complex character\nof the psychological Dane for himself, with the result that even the\nlistless, languid, generally impassive occupants of the stalls, many\nof whom had no doubt heard a hundred Hamlets, were roused for once out\nof their chronic state of boredom into something like attention, as\nthe familiar lines fell on their ears with a slow and meditative\nrichness of accent not commonly heard on the modern stage. This new\nHamlet chose his attitudes well; instead of walking, or rather\nstrutting about, as he uttered the soliloquy, he seated himself and\nfor a moment seemed lost in silent thought;--then, without changing\nhis position he began, his voice gathering deeper earnestness as the\nbeauty and solemnity of the immortal lines became more pronounced and\nconcentrated.\n\n           \u201cTo die--to sleep;--\n To sleep!--perchance to dream: ay, there\u2019s the rub,\n For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,\n When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,\n Must give us pause. ...\u201d\n\nHere there was a brief and impressive silence. In that short interval,\nand before the actor could resume his speech, a man entered the\ntheatre with noiseless step, and seated himself in a vacant stall of\nthe second row. A few heads were instinctively turned to look at him,\nbut in the semi-gloom of the auditorium his features could scarcely be\ndiscerned, and Hamlet\u2019s sad rich voice again compelled attention.\n\n       \u201cWho would fardels bear,\n To grunt and sweat under a weary life,\n But that the dread of something after death,\n The undiscovered country from whose bourne\n No traveller returns, puzzles the will,\n And makes us rather bear those ills we have\n Than fly to others that we know not of?\n Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;\n And thus the native hue of resolution\n Is sicklied o\u2019er with the pale cast of thought;\n And enterprises of great pith and moment,\n With this regard, their currents turn awry\n And lose the name of action.\u201d\n\nThe scene went on to the despairing interview with Ophelia, which was\nthroughout performed with such splendid force and feeling as to awaken\na perfect hurricane of applause;--then the curtain went down, the\nlights went up, the orchestra recommenced, and again inquisitive eyes\nwere turned towards the latest new-comer in the stalls who had made\nhis quiet entrance in the very midst of the great philosophical\nsoliloquy. He was immediately discovered to be a person well worth\nobserving; and observed he was accordingly, though he seemed quite\nunaware of the attention he was attracting. Yet he was\nsingular-looking enough to excite a little curiosity even among modern\nfashionable Londoners, who are accustomed to see all sorts of\neccentric beings, both male and female, \u00e6sthetic and commonplace; and\nhe was so distinctly separated from ordinary folk by his features and\nbearing, that the rather loud whisper of an irrepressible young\nAmerican woman, \u201cI\u2019d give worlds to know who that man is!\u201d was almost\npardonable under the circumstances. His skin was dark as a\nmulatto\u2019s,--yet smooth, and healthily coloured by the warm blood\nflushing through the olive tint,--his eyes seemed black, but could\nscarcely be seen on account of the extreme length and thickness of\ntheir dark lashes,--the fine, rather scornful curve of his short upper\nlip was partially hidden by a black moustache; and with all this\nblackness and darkness about his face his hair, of which he seemed to\nhave an extraordinary profusion, was perfectly white. Not merely a\nsilvery white, but a white as pronounced as that of a bit of washed\nfleece or newly-fallen snow. In looking at him it was impossible to\ndecide whether he was old or young,--because, though he carried no\nwrinkles or other defacing marks of Time\u2019s power to destroy, his\nfeatures wore an impress of such stern and deeply-resolved thought as\nis seldom or never the heritage of those to whom youth still belongs.\nNevertheless, he seemed a long way off from being old,--so that,\naltogether, he was a puzzle to his neighbours in the stalls, as well\nas to certain fair women in the boxes, who levelled their\nopera-glasses at him with a pertinacity which might have made him\nuncomfortably self-conscious had he looked up. Only he did not look\nup; he leaned back in his seat with a slightly listless air, studied\nhis programme intently, and appeared half asleep, owing to the way in\nwhich his eyelids drooped, and the drowsy sweep of his lashes. The\nirrepressible American girl almost forgot _Hamlet_, so absorbed was\nshe in staring at him, in spite of the _sotto-voce_ remonstrances of\nher decorous mother, who sat beside her,--and presently, as if aware\nof, or annoyed by, her scrutiny, he lifted his eyes, and looked full\nat her. With an instinctive movement she recoiled,--and her own eyes\nfell. Never in all her giddy, thoughtless little life had she seen\nsuch fiery, brilliant, night-black orbs,--they made her feel\nuncomfortable,--gave her the \u201ccreeps,\u201d as she afterwards\ndeclared;--she shivered, drawing her satin opera-wrap more closely\nabout her, and stared at the stranger no more. He soon removed his\npiercing gaze from her to the stage, for the now great \u201cPlay scene\u201d of\n_Hamlet_ was in progress, and was from first to last a triumph for the\nactor chiefly concerned. At the next fall of the curtain, a fair\ndissipated-looking young fellow leaned over from the third row of\nstalls, and touched the white-haired individual lightly on the\nshoulder.\n\n\u201cMy dear El-R\u00e2mi! You here? At a theatre? Why, I should never have\nthought you capable of indulging in such frivolity!\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you consider _Hamlet_ frivolous?\u201d queried the other, rising from\nhis seat to shake hands, and showing himself to be a man of medium\nheight, though having such peculiar dignity of carriage as made him\nappear taller than he really was.\n\n\u201cWell, no!\u201d--and the young man yawned rather effusively, \u201cTo tell you\nthe truth, I find him insufferably dull.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do?\u201d and the person addressed as El-R\u00e2mi smiled slightly.\n\u201cWell,--naturally you go with the opinions of your age. You would no\ndoubt prefer a burlesque?\u201d\n\n\u201cFrankly speaking, I should! And now I begin to think of it, I don\u2019t\nknow really why I came here. I had intended to look in at the\nEmpire--there\u2019s a new ballet going on there--but a fellow at the club\ngave me this stall, said it was a \u2018first-night,\u2019 and all the rest of\nit--and so----\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so fate decided for you,\u201d finished El-R\u00e2mi sedately. \u201cAnd\ninstead of admiring the pretty ladies without proper clothing at the\nEmpire, you find yourself here, wondering why the deuce Hamlet the\nDane could not find anything better to do than bother himself about\nhis father\u2019s ghost! Exactly! But, being here, you are here for a\npurpose, my friend;\u201d and he lowered his voice to a confidential\nwhisper. \u201cLook!--Over there--observe her well!--sits your future\nwife;\u201d and he indicated, by the slightest possible nod, the American\ngirl before alluded to. \u201cYes,--the pretty creature in pink, with dark\nhair. You don\u2019t know her? No, of course you don\u2019t--but you will. She\nwill be introduced to you to-night before you leave this theatre.\nDon\u2019t look so startled--there\u2019s nothing miraculous about her, I assure\nyou! She is merely Miss Chester, only daughter of Jabez Chester, the\nlatest New York millionaire. A charmingly shallow, delightfully\nuseless, but enormously wealthy little person!--you will propose to\nher within a month, and you will be accepted. A very good match for\nyou, Vaughan--all your debts paid, and everything set straight with\ncertain Jews. Nothing could be better, really--and, remember,--I am\nthe first to congratulate you!\u201d\n\nHe spoke rapidly, with a smiling, easy air of conviction; his friend\nmeanwhile stared at him in profound amazement and something of fear.\n\n\u201cBy Jove, El-R\u00e2mi!\u201d--he began nervously--\u201cyou know, this is a little\ntoo much of a good thing. It\u2019s all very well to play prophet\nsometimes, but it can be overdone.\u201d\n\n\u201cPardon!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi turned to resume his seat. \u201cThe play begins\nagain. Insufferably dull as Hamlet may be, we are bound to give him\nsome slight measure of attention.\u201d\n\nVaughan forced a careless smile in response, and threw himself\nindolently back in his own stall, but he looked annoyed and puzzled.\nHis eyes wandered from the back of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s white head to the\nhalf-seen profile of the American heiress who had just been so coolly\nand convincingly pointed out to him as his future wife.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know the girl from Adam,\u201d--he thought irritably, \u201cand I don\u2019t\nwant to know her. In fact, I won\u2019t know her. And if I won\u2019t, why, I\nsha\u2019n\u2019t know her. Will is everything, even according to El-R\u00e2mi. The\nfellow\u2019s always so confoundedly positive of his prophecies. I should\nlike to confute him for once and prove him wrong.\u201d\n\nThus he mused, scarcely heeding the progress of Shakespeare\u2019s great\ntragedy, till, at the close of the scene of Ophelia\u2019s burial, he saw\nEl-R\u00e2mi rise and prepare to leave the auditorium. He at once rose\nhimself.\n\n\u201cAre you going?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cYes;--I do not care for Hamlet\u2019s end, or for anybody\u2019s end in this\nparticular play. I don\u2019t like the hasty and wholesale slaughter that\nconcludes the piece. It is inartistic.\u201d\n\n\u201cShakespeare inartistic?\u201d queried Vaughan, smiling.\n\n\u201cWhy, yes, sometimes. He was a man, not a god;--and no man\u2019s work can\nbe absolutely perfect. Shakespeare had his faults like everybody else,\nand with his great genius he would have been the first to own them. It\nis only your little mediocrities who are never wrong. Are you going\nalso?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes; I mean to damage your reputation as a prophet, and avoid the\nchance of an introduction to Miss Chester--for this evening, at any\nrate.\u201d\n\nHe laughed as he spoke, but El-R\u00e2mi said nothing. The two passed out\nof the stalls together into the lobby, where they had to wait a few\nminutes to get their hats and overcoats, the man in charge of the\ncloak-room having gone to cool his chronic thirst at the convenient\n\u201cbar.\u201d Vaughan made use of the enforced delay to light his cigar.\n\n\u201cDid you think it a good _Hamlet_?\u201d he asked his companion carelessly\nwhile thus occupied.\n\n\u201cExcellent,\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi. \u201cThe leading actor has immense talent,\nand thoroughly appreciates the subtlety of the part he has to\nplay;--but his supporters are all sticks,--hence the scenes drag where\nhe himself is not in them. That is the worst of the \u2018star\u2019 system,--a\nsystem which is perfectly ruinous to histrionic art. Still--no matter\nhow it is performed, _Hamlet_ is always interesting. Curiously\ninconsistent, too, but impressive.\u201d\n\n\u201cInconsistent? How?\u201d asked Vaughan, beginning to puff rings of smoke\ninto the air, and to wonder impatiently how much longer the keeper of\nthe cloak-room meant to stay absent from his post.\n\n\u201cOh, in many ways. Perhaps the most glaring inconsistency of the whole\nconception comes out in the great soliloquy, \u2018To be or not to be.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cReally?\u201d and Vaughan became interested. \u201cI thought that was\nconsidered one of the finest bits in the play.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo it is. I am not speaking of the lines themselves, which are\nmagnificent, but of their connection with Hamlet\u2019s own character. Why\ndoes he talk of a \u2018bourne from whence no traveller returns,\u2019 when he\nhas, or thinks he has, proof positive of the return of his own father\nin spiritual form;--and it is just concerning that return that he\nmakes all the pother? Don\u2019t you see inconsistency there?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,--but I never thought of it,\u201d said Vaughan, staring. \u201cI\ndon\u2019t believe any one but yourself has ever thought of it. It is quite\nunaccountable. He certainly does say \u2018no traveller returns,\u2019--and he\nsays it after he has seen the ghost too.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d went on El-R\u00e2mi, warming with his subject. \u201cAnd he talks of\nthe \u2018dread of something after death,\u2019 as if it were only a \u2018dread,\u2019\nand not a fact;--whereas if he is to believe the spirit of his own\nfather, which he declares is \u2018an honest ghost,\u2019 there is no\npossibility of doubt on the matter. Does not the mournful phantom\nsay--\n\n          \u201c\u2018But that I am forbid\n To tell the secrets of my prison-house,\n I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word\n Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood;\n Make thy two eyes like stars start from their spheres;\n Thy knotted and combin\u00e8d locks to part,\n And each particular hair to stand on end. ...\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy Jove! I say, El-R\u00e2mi, don\u2019t look at me like that!\u201d exclaimed\nVaughan uneasily, backing away from a too close proximity to the\nbrilliant flashing eyes and absorbed face of his companion, who had\nrecited the lines with extraordinary passion and solemnity.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi laughed.\n\n\u201cDid I scare you? Was I too much in earnest? I beg your pardon! True\nenough,--\u2018this eternal blazon must not be, to ears of flesh and\nblood!\u2019 But, the \u2018something after death\u2019 was a peculiarly aggravating\nreality to that poor ghost, and Hamlet knew that it was so when he\nspoke of it as a mere \u2018dread.\u2019 Thus, as I say, he was inconsistent,\nor, rather, Shakespeare did not argue the case logically.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou would make a capital actor,\u201d--said Vaughan, still gazing at him\nin astonishment. \u201cWhy, you went on just now as if,--well, as if you\nmeant it, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo I did mean it,\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi lightly--\u201cfor the moment! I\nalways find _Hamlet_ a rather absorbing study; so will you, perhaps,\nwhen you are my age.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour age?\u201d and Vaughan shrugged his shoulders. \u201cI wish I knew it!\nWhy, nobody knows it. You may be thirty or a hundred--who can tell?\u201d\n\n\u201cOr two hundred--or even three hundred?\u201d queried El-R\u00e2mi, with a\ntouch of satire in his tone;--\u201cWhy stint the measure of limitless\ntime? But here comes our recalcitrant knave\u201d--this, as the keeper of\nthe cloak-room made his appearance from a side-door with a perfectly\neasy and unembarrassed air, as though he had done rather a fine thing\nthan otherwise in keeping two gentlemen waiting his pleasure. \u201cLet us\nget our coats, and be well away before the decree of Fate can be\naccomplished in making you the winner of the desirable Chester prize.\nIt is delightful to conquer Fate--if one can!\u201d\n\nHis black eyes flashed curiously, and Vaughan paused in the act of\nthrowing on his overcoat to look at him again in something of doubt\nand dread.\n\nAt that moment a gay voice exclaimed:\n\n\u201cWhy, here\u2019s Vaughan!--Freddie Vaughan--how lucky!\u201d and a big handsome\nman of about two or three and thirty sauntered into the lobby from the\ntheatre, followed by two ladies. \u201cLook here, Vaughan, you\u2019re just the\nfellow I wanted to see. We\u2019ve left Hamlet in the thick of his fight,\nbecause we\u2019re going on to the Somers\u2019s ball,--will you come with us?\nAnd I say, Vaughan, allow me to introduce to you my friends--Mrs.\nJabez Chester, Miss Idina Chester--Sir Frederick Vaughan.\u201d\n\nFor one instant Vaughan stood inert and stupefied; the next he\nremembered himself, and bowed mechanically. His presentation to the\nChesters was thus suddenly effected by his cousin, Lord Melthorpe, to\nwhom he was indebted for many favours, and whom he could not afford to\noffend by any show of _brusquerie_. As soon as the necessary\nsalutations were exchanged, however, he looked round vaguely, and in a\nsort of superstitious terror, for the man who had so surely prophesied\nthis introduction. But El-R\u00e2mi was gone. Silently and without adieu\nhe had departed, having seen his word fulfilled.\n\n\n\n\n II.\n\n\u201cWho is the gentleman that has just left you?\u201d asked Miss Chester,\nsmiling prettily up into Vaughan\u2019s eyes, as she accepted his proffered\narm to lead her to her carriage,--\u201cSuch a distinguished-looking\ndreadful person!\u201d\n\nVaughan smiled at this description.\n\n\u201cHe is certainly rather singular in personal appearance,\u201d he began,\nwhen his cousin, Lord Melthorpe, interrupted him.\n\n\u201cYou mean El-R\u00e2mi? It was El-R\u00e2mi, wasn\u2019t it? Ah, I thought so. Why\ndid he give us the slip, I wonder? I wish he had waited a minute--he\nis a most interesting fellow.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut who is he?\u201d persisted Miss Chester. She was now comfortably\nensconced in her luxurious brougham, her mother beside her, and two\nmen of \u201ctitle\u201d opposite to her--a position which exactly suited the\naspirations of her soul. \u201cHow very tiresome you both are! You don\u2019t\nexplain him a bit; you only say he is \u2018interesting,\u2019 and of course one\ncan see that; people with such white hair and such black eyes are\nalways interesting, don\u2019t you think so?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I don\u2019t see why they should be,\u201d said Lord Melthorpe dubiously.\n\u201cNow, just think what horrible chaps Albinos are, and they have white\nhair and pink eyes----\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, don\u2019t drift off on the subject of Albinos, please!\u201d pleaded Miss\nChester, with a soft laugh. \u201cIf you do, I shall never know anything\nabout this particular person--El-R\u00e2mi, did you say? Isn\u2019t it a very\nodd name? Eastern, of course?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh yes! he is a pure Oriental thoroughbred,\u201d replied Lord Melthorpe,\nwho took the burden of the conversation upon himself, while he\ninwardly wondered why his cousin Vaughan was in such an evidently\ntaciturn mood. \u201cThat is, I mean, he is an Oriental of the very old\nstock, not one of the modern Indian mixtures of vice and knavery. But\nwhen he came from the East, and why he came from the East, I don\u2019t\nsuppose any one could tell you. I have only met him two or three times\nin society, and on those occasions he managed to perplex and fascinate\na good many people. My wife, for instance, thinks him quite a\nmarvellous man; she always asks him to her parties, but he hardly ever\ncomes. His name in full is El-R\u00e2mi-Zar\u00e2nos, though I believe he is\nbest known as El-R\u00e2mi simply.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what is he?\u201d asked Miss Chester. \u201cAn artist?--A literary\ncelebrity?\u201d\n\n\u201cNeither, that I am aware of. Indeed, I don\u2019t know what he is, or how\nhe lives. I have always looked upon him as a sort of magician--a kind\nof private conjurer, you know.\u201d\n\n\u201cDear me!\u201d said fat Mrs. Chester, waking up from a semi-doze, and\ntrying to get interested in the subject. \u201cDoes he do drawing-room\ntricks?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no, he doesn\u2019t do tricks;\u201d and Lord Melthorpe looked a little\namused. \u201cHe isn\u2019t that sort of man at all; I\u2019m afraid I explain myself\nbadly. I mean that he can tell you extraordinary things about your\npast and future----\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, by your hand--_I_ know!\u201d and the pretty Idina nodded her head\nsagaciously. \u201cThere really is something awfully clever in palmistry.\n_I_ can tell fortunes that way!\u201d\n\n\u201cCan you?\u201d Lord Melthorpe smiled indulgently, and went on,--\u201cBut it so\nhappens that El-R\u00e2mi does not tell anything by the hands,--he judges\nby the face, figure, and movement. He doesn\u2019t make a profession of it;\nbut, really, he does foretell events in rather a curious way now and\nthen.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe certainly does!\u201d agreed Vaughan, rousing himself from a reverie\ninto which he had fallen, and fixing his eyes on the small _piquante_\nfeatures of the girl opposite him. \u201cSome of his prophecies are quite\nremarkable.\u201d\n\n\u201cReally! How very delightful!\u201d said Miss Chester, who was fully aware\nof Sir Frederick\u2019s intent, almost searching, gaze, but pretended to be\nabsorbed in buttoning one of her gloves. \u201cI must ask him to tell me\nwhat sort of fate is in store for me--something awful, I\u2019m positive!\nDon\u2019t you think he has horrid eyes?--splendid, but horrid? He looked\nat me in the theatre----\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear, you looked at him first,\u201d murmured Mrs. Chester.\n\n\u201cYes; but I\u2019m sure I didn\u2019t make him shiver. Now, when he looked at\nme, I felt as if some one were pouring cold water very slowly down my\nback. It was _such_ a creepy sensation! Do fasten this, mother--will\nyou?\u201d and she extended the hand with the refractory glove upon it to\nMrs. Chester, but Vaughan promptly interposed:\n\n\u201cAllow me!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, well! if you know how to fix a button that is almost off!\u201d she\nsaid laughingly, with a blush that well became her transparent skin.\n\n\u201cI can make an attempt,\u201d--said Vaughan, with due humility. \u201cIf I\nsucceed will you give me one or two dances presently?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith pleasure!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh! you _are_ coming in to the Somers\u2019s, then?\u201d said Lord Melthorpe,\nin a pleased tone. \u201cThat\u2019s right. You know, Fred, you\u2019re so\nabsent-minded to-night that you never said \u2018Yes\u2019 or \u2018No\u2019 when I asked\nyou to accompany us.\u201d\n\n\u201cDidn\u2019t I? I\u2019m awfully sorry!\u201d and, having fastened the glove with\ncareful daintiness, he smiled. \u201cPlease set down my rudeness and\ndistraction to the uncanny influence of El-R\u00e2mi; I can\u2019t imagine any\nother reason.\u201d\n\nThey all laughed carelessly, as people in an idle humour laugh at\ntrifles, and the carriage bore them on to their destination--a great\nhouse in Queen\u2019s Gate, where a magnificent entertainment was being\nheld in honour of some serene and exalted foreign potentate who had\ntaken it into his head to see how London amused itself during a\n\u201cseason.\u201d The foreign potentate had heard that the splendid English\ncapital was full of gloom and misery--that its women were\nunapproachable, and its men difficult to make friends with; and all\nthese erroneous notions had to be dispersed in his serene and exalted\nbrain, no matter what his education cost the \u201cUpper Ten\u201d who undertook\nto enlighten his barbarian ignorance.\n\nMeanwhile, the subject of Lord Melthorpe\u2019s conversation--El-R\u00e2mi, or\nEl-R\u00e2mi-Zar\u00e2nos, as he was called by those of his own race--was\nwalking quietly homewards with that firm, swift, yet apparently\nunhasting pace which so often distinguishes the desert-born savage,\nand so seldom gives grace to the deportment of the cultured citizen.\nIt was a mild night in May; the weather was unusually fine and warm;\nthe skies were undarkened by any mist or cloud, and the stars shone\nforth with as much brilliancy as though the city lying under their\nimmediate ken had been the smiling fairy Florence, instead of the\nbrooding giant London. Now and again El-R\u00e2mi raised his eyes to the\nsparkling belt of Orion, which glittered aloft with a lustre that is\nseldom seen in the hazy English air;--he was thinking his own\nthoughts, and the fact that there were many passers to and fro in the\nstreets besides himself did not appear to disturb him in the least,\nfor he strode through their ranks without any hurry or jostling, as if\nhe alone existed, and they were but shadows.\n\n\u201cWhat fools are the majority of men!\u201d he mused. \u201cHow easy to gull\nthem, and how willing they are to be gulled! How that silly young\nVaughan marvelled at my prophecy of his marriage!--as if it were not\nas easy to foretell as that two and two inevitably make four! Given\nthe characters of people in the same way that you give figures, and\nyou are certain to arrive at a sum-total of them in time. How simple\nthe process of calculation as to Vaughan\u2019s matrimonial prospects! Here\nare the set of numerals I employed: Two nights ago I heard Lord\nMelthorpe say he meant to marry his cousin Fred to Miss Chester,\ndaughter of Jabez Chester of New York. Miss Chester herself entered\nthe room a few minutes later on, and I saw the sort of young woman she\nwas. To-night at the theatre I see her again;--in an opposite box,\nwell back in shadow, I perceive Lord Melthorpe. Young Vaughan, whose\ncharacter I know to be of such weakness that it can be moulded\nwhichever way a stronger will turns it, sits close behind me; and I\nproceed to make the little sum-total. Given Lord Melthorpe, with a\ndetermination that resembles the obstinacy of a pig rather than of a\nman; Frederick Vaughan, with no determination at all; and the little\nChester girl, with her heart set on an English title, even though it\nonly be that of a baronet, and the marriage is certain. What was\n_un_certain was the possibility of their all meeting to-night; but\nthey were all there, and I counted that possibility as the fraction\nover,--there is always a fraction over in character-sums; it stands as\nProvidence or Fate, and must always be allowed for. I chanced it, and\nwon. I always do win in these things,--these ridiculous trifles of\ncalculation, which are actually accepted as prophetic utterances by\npeople who never will think out anything for themselves. Good heavens!\nwhat a monster-burden of crass ignorance and wilful stupidity this\npoor planet has groaned under ever since it was hurled into space!\nImmense!--incalculable! And for what purpose? For what progress? For\nwhat end?\u201d\n\nHe stopped a moment; he had walked from the Strand up through\nPiccadilly, and was now close to Hyde Park. Taking out his watch, he\nglanced at the time--it was close upon midnight. All at once he was\nstruck fiercely from behind, and the watch he held was snatched from\nhis hand by a man who had no sooner committed the theft than he\nuttered a loud cry, and remained inert and motionless. El-R\u00e2mi turned\nquietly round and surveyed him.\n\n\u201cWell, my friend?\u201d he inquired blandly--\u201cWhat did you do that for?\u201d\n\nThe fellow stared about him vaguely, but seemed unable to answer,--his\narm was stiffly outstretched, and the watch was clutched fast within\nhis palm.\n\n\u201cYou had better give that little piece of property back to me,\u201d went\non El-R\u00e2mi, coldly smiling,--and, stepping close up to his assailant,\nhe undid the closed fingers one by one, and, removing the watch,\nrestored it to his own pocket. The thief\u2019s arm at the same moment fell\nlimply at his side; but he remained where he was, trembling violently\nas though seized with a sudden ague-fit.\n\n\u201cYou would find it an inconvenient thing to have about you, I assure\nyou. Stolen goods are always more or less of a bore, I believe. You\nseem rather discomposed? Ah! you have had a little shock, that\u2019s all.\nYou\u2019ve heard of torpedoes, I dare say? Well, in this scientific age of\nours, there are human torpedoes going about; and I am one of them. It\nis necessary to be careful whom you touch nowadays,--it really is, you\nknow! You will be better presently--take time!\u201d\n\nHe spoke banteringly, observing the thief meanwhile with the most\ncurious air, as though he were some peculiar specimen of beetle or\nfrog. The wretched man\u2019s features worked convulsively, and he made a\ngesture of appeal:\n\n\u201cYou won\u2019t \u2019ave me took up?\u201d he muttered hoarsely, \u201cI\u2019m starvin\u2019!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi persuasively--\u201cyou are nothing of the sort. Do\nnot tell lies, my friend; that is a great mistake--as great a mistake\nas thieving. Both things, as you practise them, will put you to no end\nof trouble,--and to avoid trouble is the chief aim of modern life. You\nare not starving--you are as plump as a rabbit,\u201d--and, with a\ndexterous touch, he threw up the man\u2019s loose shirt-sleeve, and\ndisplayed the full, firm flesh of the strong and sinewy arm beneath.\n\u201cYou have had more meat in you to-day than I can manage in a week; you\nwill do very well. You are a professional thief,--a sort of--lawyer,\nshall we say? Only, instead of protesting the right you have to live,\npolitely by means of documents and red tape, you assert it roughly by\nstealing a watch. It\u2019s very frank conduct,--but it is not civil; and,\nin the present state of ethics, it doesn\u2019t pay--it really doesn\u2019t. I\u2019m\nafraid I\u2019m boring you! You feel better? Then--good evening!\u201d\n\nHe was about to resume his walk, when the now recovered rough took a\nhasty step towards him.\n\n\u201cI wanted to knock ye down!\u201d he began.\n\n\u201cI know you did,\u201d--returned El-R\u00e2mi composedly. \u201cWell--would you like\nto try again?\u201d\n\nThe man stared at him, half in amazement, half in fear.\n\n\u201cYe see,\u201d he went on, \u201cye pulled out yer watch, and it was all jools\nand sparkles----\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd it was a glittering temptation\u201d--finished El-R\u00e2mi. \u201cI see! I had\nno business to pull it out; I grant it; but, being pulled out, you had\nno business to want it. We were both wrong; let us both endeavour to\nbe wiser in future. Good-night!\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I\u2019m blowed if yer not a rum un, and an orful un!\u201d ejaculated\nthe man, who had certainly received a fright, and was still nervous\nfrom the effects of it. \u201cBlowed if he ain\u2019t the rummest card!\u201d\n\nBut the \u201crummest card\u201d heard none of these observations. He crossed\nthe road, and went on his way serenely, taking up the thread of his\ninterrupted musings as though nothing had occurred.\n\n\u201cFools--fools all!\u201d he murmured. \u201cThieves steal, murderers slay,\nlabourers toil, and all men and women lust and live and die--to what\npurpose? For what progress? For what end? Destruction or new life?\nHeaven or hell? Wisdom or caprice? Kindness or cruelty? God or the\nDevil? Which? If I knew that I should be wise,--but _till_ I know, I\nam but a fool also,--a fool among fools, fooled by a Fate whose secret\nI mean to discover and conquer--and defy!\u201d\n\nHe paused,--and, drawing a long, deep breath, raised his eyes to the\nstars once more. His lips moved as though he repeated inwardly some\nvow or prayer, then he proceeded at a quicker pace, and stopped no\nmore till he reached his destination, which was a small, quiet, and\nunfashionable square off Sloane Street. Here he made his way to an\nunpretentious-looking little house, semi-detached, and one of a row of\nsimilar buildings; the only particularly distinctive mark about it\nbeing a heavy and massively-carved ancient oaken door, which opened\neasily at the turn of his latch-key, and closed after him without the\nslightest sound as he entered.\n\n\n\n\n III.\n\nA dim red light burned in the narrow hall, just sufficient to enable\nhim to see the wooden peg on which he was accustomed to hang his hat\nand overcoat,--and as soon as he had divested himself of his outdoor\ngarb he extinguished even that faint glimmer of radiance. Opening a\nside-door, he entered his own room--a picturesque apartment running\nfrom east to west, the full length of the house. From its appearance\nit had evidently once served as drawing-room and dining-room, with\nfolding-doors between; but the folding-doors had been dispensed with,\nand the place they had occupied was now draped with heavy amber silk.\nThis silk seemed to be of some peculiar and costly make, for it\nsparkled with iridescent gleams of silver like diamond-dust when\nEl-R\u00e2mi turned on the electric burner, which, in the form of a large\nflower, depended from the ceiling by quaintly-worked silver chains,\nand was connected by a fine wire with a shaded reading-lamp on the\ntable. There was not much of either beauty or value in the room,--yet,\nwithout being at all luxurious, it suggested luxury. The few chairs\nwere of the most ordinary make, all save one, which was of finely\ncarved ebony, and was piled with silk cushions of amber and red,--the\ntable was of plain painted deal, covered with a dark woollen cloth\nworked in and out with threads of gold,--there were a few geometrical\ninstruments about,--a large pair of globes,--a rack on the wall\nstocked with weapons for the art of fence,--and one large bookcase\nfull of books. An ebony-cased pianette occupied one corner,--and on a\nsmall side-table stood a heavily-made oaken chest, brass-bound and\ndouble-locked. The furniture was completed by a plain camp-bedstead\nsuch as soldiers use, which at the present moment was partly folded up\nand almost hidden from view by a rough bear-skin thrown carelessly\nacross it.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi sat down in the big ebony chair and looked at a pile of\nletters lying on his writing-table. They were from all sorts of\npersons,--princes, statesmen, diplomats, financiers, and artists in\nall the professions,--he recognised the handwriting on some of the\nenvelopes, and his brows contracted in a frown as he tossed them aside\nstill unopened.\n\n\u201cThey must wait,\u201d he said half aloud. \u201cCurious that it is impossible\nfor a man to be original without attracting around him a set of\nunoriginal minds, as though he were a honey-pot and they the flies!\nWho would believe that I, poor in worldly goods, and living in more or\nless obscurity, should, without any wish of my own, be in touch with\nkings?--should know the last new policy of governments before it is\nmade ripe for public declaration?--should hold the secrets of \u2018my\nlord\u2019 and \u2018my lady\u2019 apart from each other\u2019s cognisance, and be able to\namuse myself with their little ridiculous matrimonial differences, as\nthough they were puppets playing their parts for use at a marionette\nshow? I do not ask these people to confide in me,--I do not want them\nto seek me out,--and yet the cry is, \u2018still they come!\u2019--and the\nattributes of my own nature are such that, like a magnet, I attract,\nand so am never left in peace. Yet perhaps it is well it should be\nthus,--I need the external distraction,--otherwise my mind would be\ntoo much like a bent bow,--fixed on the one centre,--the Great\nSecret,--and its powers might fail me at the last. But no!--failure is\nimpossible now. Steeled against love,--hate,--and all the merely\nearthly passions of mankind as I am,--I must succeed--and I will!\u201d\n\nHe leaned his head on one hand, and seemed to suddenly concentrate his\nthoughts on one particular subject,--his eyes dilated and grew luridly\nbrilliant as though sparks of fire burnt behind them. He had not sat\nthus for more than a couple of minutes, when the door opened gently,\nand a beautiful youth, clad in a loose white tunic and vest of Eastern\nfashion, made his appearance, and standing silently on the threshold\nseemed to wait for some command.\n\n\u201cSo, F\u00e9raz! you heard my summons?\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi gently.\n\n\u201cI heard my brother speak,\u201d--responded F\u00e9raz in a low melodious voice\nthat had a singularly dreamy far-away tone within it--\u201cThrough a wall\nof cloud and silence his beloved accents fell like music on my\nears;--he called me and I came.\u201d\n\nAnd, sighing lightly, he folded his arms cross-wise on his breast and\nstood erect and immovable, looking like some fine statue just endowed\nby magic with the flush of life. He resembled El-R\u00e2mi in features,\nbut was fairer-skinned,--his eyes were softer and more femininely\nlovely,--his hair, black as night, clustered in thick curls over his\nbrow, and his figure, straight as a young palm-tree, was a perfect\nmodel of strength united with grace. But just now he had a strangely\nabsorbed air,--his eyes, though they were intently fixed on El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s\nface, looked like the eyes of a sleep-walker, so dreamy were they\nwhile wide-open,--and as he spoke he smiled vaguely as one who hears\ndelicious singing afar off.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi studied him intently for a minute or two,--then, removing his\ngaze, pressed a small silver hand-bell at his side. It rang sharply\nout on the silence.\n\n\u201cF\u00e9raz!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz started,--rubbed his eyes,--glanced about him, and then sprang\ntowards his brother with quite a new expression,--one of grace,\neagerness, and animation, that intensified his beauty and made him\nstill more worthy the admiration of a painter or a sculptor.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi! At last! How late you are! I waited for you long--and then\nI slept. I am sorry! But you called me in the usual way, I\nsuppose?--and I did not fail you? Ah no! I should come to you if I\nwere dead!\u201d\n\nHe dropped on one knee, and raised El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s hand caressingly to his\nlips.\n\n\u201cWhere have you been all the evening?\u201d he went on. \u201cI have missed you\ngreatly--the house is so silent.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi touched his clustering curls tenderly.\n\n\u201cYou could have made music in it with your lute and voice, F\u00e9raz, had\nyou chosen,\u201d he said. \u201cAs for me, I went to see _Hamlet_.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, why did you go?\u201d demanded F\u00e9raz impetuously. \u201c_I_ would not see\nit--no! not for worlds! Such poetry must needs be spoilt by men\u2019s\nmouthing of it,--it is better to read it, to think it, to feel\nit,--and so one actually _sees_ it,--best.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou talk like a poet,\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi indulgently. \u201cYou are not much\nmore than a boy, and you think the thoughts of youth. Have you any\nsupper ready for me?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz smiled and sprang up, left the room, and returned in a few\nminutes with a daintily-arranged tray of refreshments, which he set\nbefore his brother with all the respect and humility of a well-trained\ndomestic in attendance on his master.\n\n\u201cYou have supped?\u201d El-R\u00e2mi asked, as he poured out wine from the\ndelicately-shaped Italian flask beside him.\n\nF\u00e9raz nodded.\n\n\u201cYes. Zaroba supped with me. But she was cross to-night--she had\nnothing to say.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled. \u201cThat is unusual!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz went on. \u201cThere have been many people here,--they all wanted to\nsee you. They have left their cards. Some of them asked me my name and\nwho I was. I said I was your servant--but they would not believe me.\nThere were great folks among them--they came in big carriages with\nprancing horses. Have you seen their names?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot I.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, you are so indifferent,\u201d said F\u00e9raz gaily,--he had no quite lost\nhis dreamy and abstracted look, and talked on in an eager boyish way\nthat suited his years,--he was barely twenty. \u201cYou are so bent on\ngreat thoughts that you cannot see little things, But these dukes and\nearls who come to visit you do not consider themselves little,--not\nthey!\u201d\n\n\u201cYet many of them are the least among little men,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi with\na touch of scorn in his mellow accents. \u201cDowered with great historic\nnames which they almost despise, they do their best to drag the memory\nof their ancient lineage into dishonour by vulgar passions, low\ntastes, and a scorn as well as lack of true intelligence. Let us not\ntalk of them. The English aristocracy was once a magnificent tree, but\nits broad boughs are fallen,--lopped off and turned into saleable\ntimber,--and there is but a decaying stump of it left. And so Zaroba\nsaid nothing to you to-night?\u201d\n\n\u201cScarce a word. She was very sullen. She bade me tell you all was\nwell,--that is her usual formula. I do not understand it;--what is it\nthat should be well or ill? You never explain your mystery!\u201d\n\nHe smiled, but there was a vivid curiosity in his fine eyes,--he\nlooked as if he would have asked more had he dared to do so.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi evaded his questioning glance. \u201cSpeak of yourself,\u201d he said.\n\u201cDid you wander at all into your Dreamland to-day?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was there when you called me,\u201d replied F\u00e9raz quickly. \u201cI saw my\nhome,--its trees and flowers,--I listened to the ripple of its\nfountains and streams. It is harvest-time there, do you know? I heard\nthe reapers singing as they carried home the sheaves.\u201d\n\nHis brother surveyed him with a fixed and wondering scrutiny.\n\n\u201cHow absolute you are in your faith!\u201d he said half enviously. \u201cYou\n_think_ it is your home,--but it is only an idea after all,--an idea,\nborn of a vision.\u201d\n\n\u201cDoes a mere visionary idea engender love and longing?\u201d exclaimed\nF\u00e9raz impetuously. \u201cOh no, El-R\u00e2mi,--it cannot do so! I _know_ the\nland I see so often in what you call a \u2018dream,\u2019--its mountains are\nfamiliar to me,--its people are my people; yes!--I am remembered\nthere, and so are you,--we dwelt there once,--we shall dwell there\nagain. It is your home as well as mine,--that bright and far-off star\nwhere there is no death but only sleep,--why were we exiled from our\nhappiness, El-R\u00e2mi? Can your wisdom tell?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know nothing of what you say,\u201d returned El-R\u00e2mi brusquely. \u201cAs I\ntold you, you talk like a poet,--harsher men than I would add, like a\nmadman. You imagine you were born or came into being in a different\nplanet from this,--that you lived there,--that you were exiled from\nthence by some mysterious doom, and were condemned to pass into human\nexistence here;--well, I repeat, F\u00e9raz,--this is your own fancy,--the\nresult of the strange double life you lead, which is not by my will or\nteaching. I believe only in what can be proved--and this that you tell\nme is beyond all proof.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet,\u201d said F\u00e9raz meditatively,--\u201cthough I cannot reason it out,\nI am sure of what I feel. My \u2018dream\u2019 is more life-like than life\nitself,--and as for my beloved people yonder, I tell you I have heard\nthem singing the harvest-home.\u201d\n\nAnd with a quick soft step he went to the piano, opened it, and began\nto play. El-R\u00e2mi leaned back in his chair mute and absorbed,--did\never common keyed instrument give forth such enchanting sounds? Was\never written music known that could, when performed, utter such divine\nand dulcet eloquence? There was nothing earthly in the tune, it seemed\nto glide from under the player\u2019s fingers like a caress upon the\nair,--and an involuntary sigh broke from El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s lips as he\nlistened. F\u00e9raz heard that sigh, and turned round smiling.\n\n\u201cIs there not something familiar in the strain?\u201d he asked. \u201cDo you not\nsee them all, so fair and light and lithe of limb, coming over the\nfields homewards as the red Ring burns low in the western sky?\nSurely--surely you remember?\u201d\n\nA slight shudder shook El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s frame,--he pressed his hands over\nhis eyes, and seemed to collect himself by a strong effort,--then,\nwalking over to the piano, he took his young brother\u2019s hands from the\nkeys and held them for a moment against his breast.\n\n\u201cKeep your illusions\u201d--he said in a low voice that trembled slightly.\n\u201cKeep them,--and your faith,--together. It is for you to dream, and\nfor me to prove. Mine is the hardest lot. There may be truth in your\ndreams,--there may be deception in my proofs--Heaven only knows! Were\nyou not of my own blood, and dearer to me than most human things, I\nshould, like every scientist worthy of the name, strive to break off\nyour spiritual pinions and make of you a mere earth-grub even as most\nof us are made,--but I cannot do it,--I have not the heart to do\nit,--and if I had the heart\u201d--he paused a moment,--then went on\nslowly--\u201cI have not the power. Good-night!\u201d\n\nHe left the room abruptly without another word or look,--and the\nbeautiful young F\u00e9raz gazed after his retreating figure doubtfully\nand with something of wondering regret. Was it worth while, he\nthought, to be so wise, if wisdom made one at times so sad?--was it\nwell to sacrifice Faith for Fact, when Faith was so warm and Fact so\ncold? Was it better to be a dreamer of things possible, or a\nworker-out of things positive? And how much was positive after all?\nand how much possible? He balanced the question lightly with\nhimself,--it was like a discord in the music of his mind, and\ndisturbed his peace. He soon dismissed the jarring thought, however,\nand, closing the piano, glanced round the room to make sure that\nnothing more was required for his brother\u2019s service or comfort that\nnight, and then he went away to resume his interrupted\nslumbers,--perchance to take up the chorus of his \u201cpeople\u201d singing in\nwhat he deemed his native star.\n\n\n\n\n IV.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi meanwhile slowly ascended the stairs to the first floor,\nand there on the narrow landing paused, listening. There was not a\nsound in the house,--the delicious music of the strange \u201charvest-song\u201d\nhad ceased, though to El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s ears there still seemed to be a throb\nof its melody in the air, like perfume left from the carrying by of\nflowers. And with this vague impression upon him he\nlistened,--listened as it were to the deep silence; and as he stood in\nthis attentive attitude, his eyes rested on a closed door opposite to\nhim,--a door which might, if taken off its hinges and exhibited at\nsome museum, have carried away the palm for perfection in\npanel-painting. It was so designed as to resemble a fine trellis-work,\nhung with pale clambering roses and purple passion-flowers,--on the\nupper half among the blossoms sat a meditative cupid, pressing a bud\nagainst his pouting lips, while below him, stretched in full-length\ndesolation on a bent bough, his twin brother wept childishly over the\npiteous fate of a butterfly that lay dead in his curled pink palm.\nEl-R\u00e2mi stared so long and persistently at the pretty picture that it\nmight have been imagined he was looking at it for the first time and\nwas absorbed in admiration, but truth to tell he scarcely saw it. His\nthoughts were penetrating beyond all painted semblances of\nbeauty,--and,--as in the case of his young brother F\u00e9raz,--those\nthoughts were speedily answered. A key turned in the lock,--the door\nopened, and a tall old woman, bronze-skinned, black-eyed, withered,\nuncomely yet imposing of aspect, stood in the aperture.\n\n\u201cEnter, El-R\u00e2mi!\u201d she said in a low yet harsh voice--\u201cThe hour is\nlate,--but when did ever the lateness of hours change or deter your\nsovereign will! Yet, truly as God liveth, it is hard that I should\nseldom be permitted to pass a night in peace!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled indifferently, but made no reply, as it was useless to\nanswer Zaroba. She was stone-deaf, and therefore not in a condition to\nbe argued with. She preceded him into a small ante-room, provided with\nno other furniture than a table and chair;--one entire side of the\nwall, however, was hung with a magnificent curtain of purple velvet\nbordered in gold. On the table were a slate and pencil, and these\nimplements El-R\u00e2mi at once drew towards him.\n\n\u201cHas there been any change to-day?\u201d he wrote.\n\nZaroba read the words.\n\n\u201cNone,\u201d she replied.\n\n\u201cShe has not moved?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot a finger.\u201d\n\nHe paused, pencil in hand,--then he wrote--\n\n\u201cYou are ill-tempered. You have your dark humour upon you.\u201d\n\nZaroba\u2019s eyes flashed, and she threw up her skinny hands with a\nwrathful gesture.\n\n\u201cDark humour!\u201d she cried in accents that were almost shrill--\u201cAy!--and\nif it be so, El-R\u00e2mi, what is my humour to you? Am I anything more to\nyou than a cipher,--a mere slave? What have the thoughts of a foolish\nwoman, bent with years and close to the dark gateways of the tomb, to\ndo with one who deems himself all wisdom? What are the feelings of a\nwretched perishable piece of flesh and blood to a self-centred god and\nopponent of Nature like El-R\u00e2mi-Zar\u00e2nos?\u201d She laughed bitterly. \u201cPay\nno heed to me, great Master of the Fates invisible!--superb controller\nof the thoughts of men!--pay no heed to Zaroba\u2019s \u2018dark humours,\u2019 as\nyou call them. Zaroba has no wings to soar with--she is old and\nfeeble, and aches at the heart with a burden of unshed tears,--she\nwould fain have been content with this low earth whereon to tread in\nsafety,--she would fain have been happy with common joys,--but these\nare debarred her, and her lot is like that of many a better woman,--to\nsit solitary among the ashes of dead days and know herself desolate!\u201d\n\nShe dropped her arms as suddenly as she had raised them. El-R\u00e2mi\nsurveyed her with a touch of derision, and wrote again on the slate:\n\n\u201cI thought you loved your charge?\u201d\n\nZaroba read, and drew herself up proudly, looking almost as dignified\nas El-R\u00e2mi himself.\n\n\u201cDoes one love a statue?\u201d she demanded. \u201cShall I caress a picture?\nShall I rain tears or kisses over the mere semblance of a life that\ndoes not live,--shall I fondle hands that never return my clasp? Love!\nLove is in my heart--yes! like a shut-up fire in a tomb,--but you hold\nthe key, El-R\u00e2mi, and the flame dies for want of air.\u201d\n\nHe shrugged his shoulders, and, putting the pencil aside, wrote no\nmore. Moving towards the velvet curtain that draped the one side of\nthe room he made an imperious sign. Zaroba, obeying the gesture\nmechanically and at once, drew a small pulley, by means of which the\nrich soft folds of stuff parted noiselessly asunder, displaying such a\nwonderful interior of luxury and loveliness as seemed for the moment\nalmost unreal. The apartment opened to view was lofty and perfectly\ncircular in shape, and was hung from top to bottom with silken\nhangings of royal purple embroidered all over with curious arabesque\npatterns in gold. The same rich material was caught up from the edges\nof the ceiling to the centre, like the drapery of a pavilion or tent,\nand was there festooned with golden fringes and tassels. From out the\nmidst of this warm mass of glistening colour swung a gold lamp which\nshed its light through amber-hued crystal,--while the floor below was\ncarpeted with the thickest velvet pile, the design being pale purple\npansies on a darker ground of the same almost neutral tint. A specimen\nof everything beautiful, rare, and costly seemed to have found its way\ninto this one room, from the exquisitely-wrought ivory figure of a\nPsyche on her pedestal, to the tall vase of Venetian crystal which\nheld lightly up to view dozens of magnificent roses that seemed born\nof full midsummer, though as yet, in the capricious English climate,\nit was scarcely spring. And all the beauty, all the grace, all the\nevidences of perfect taste, art, care, and forethought were gathered\ntogether round one centre,--one unseeing, unresponsive centre,--the\nfigure of a sleeping girl. Pillowed on a raised couch such as might\nhave served a queen for costliness, she lay fast bound in slumber,--a\nmatchless piece of loveliness,--stirless as marble,--wondrous as the\nideal of a poet\u2019s dream. Her delicate form was draped loosely in a\nrobe of purest white, arranged so as to suggest rather than conceal\nits exquisite outline,--a silk coverlet was thrown lightly across her\nfeet, and her head rested on cushions of the softest, snowiest satin.\nHer exceedingly small white hands were crossed upon her breast over a\ncurious jewel,--a sort of giant ruby cut in the shape of a star, which\nscintillated with a thousand sparkles in the light, and coloured the\nunder-tips of her fingers with a hue like wine, and her hair, which\nwas of extraordinary length and beauty, almost clothed her body down\nto the knee, as with a mantle of shimmering gold. To say merely that\nshe was lovely would scarcely describe her,--for the loveliness that\nis generally understood as such was here so entirely surpassed and\nintensified that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to express\nits charm. Her face had the usual attributes of what might be deemed\nperfection,--that is, the lines were purely oval,--the features\ndelicate, the skin most transparently fair, the lips a dewy red, and\nthe fringes of the closed eyes were long, dark, and delicately\nupcurled;--but this was not all. There was something else,--something\nquite undefinable, that gave a singular glow and radiance to the whole\ncountenance, and suggested the burning of a light through\nalabaster,--a creeping of some subtle fire through the veins which\nmade the fair body seem the mere reflection of some greater fairness\nwithin. If those eyes were to open, one thought, how wonderful their\nlustre must needs be!--if that perfect figure rose up and moved, what\na harmony would walk the world in maiden shape!--and yet,--watching\nthat hushed repose, that scarcely perceptible breathing, it seemed\nmore than certain that she would never rise,--never tread earthly soil\nin common with earth\u2019s creatures,--never be more than what she\nseemed,--a human flower, gathered and set apart--for whom? For God\u2019s\nlove? Or Man\u2019s pleasure? Either, neither, or both?\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi entered the rich apartment, followed by Zaroba, and stood by\nthe couch for some minutes in silence. Whatever his thoughts were, his\nface gave no clue to them,--his features being as impassive as though\ncast in bronze. Zaroba watched him curiously, her wrinkled visage\nexpressive of some strongly-suppressed passion. The sleeping girl\nstirred and smiled in her sleep,--a smile that brightened her\ncountenance as much as if a sudden glory had circled it with a halo.\n\n\u201cAy, she lives for you!\u201d said Zaroba. \u201cAnd she grows fairer every day.\nShe is the sun and you the snow. But the snow is bound to melt in due\nseason,--and even you, El-R\u00e2mi-Zar\u00e2nos, will hardly baffle the laws\nof Nature!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi turned upon her with a fierce mute gesture that had something\nof the terrible in it,--she shrank from the cold glance of his intense\neyes, and in obedience to an imperative wave of his hand moved away to\na farther corner of the room, where, crouching down upon the floor,\nshe took up a quaint implement of work, a carved triangular frame of\nebony, with which she busied herself, drawing glittering threads in\nand out of it with marvellous speed and dexterity. She made a weird\npicture there, squatted on the ground in her yellow cotton draperies,\nher rough gray hair gleaming like spun silk in the light, and the\nshining threadwork in her withered hands. El-R\u00e2mi looked at her\nsitting thus, and was suddenly moved with compassion--she was old and\nsad,--poor Zaroba! He went up to her where she crouched, and stood\nabove her, his ardent fiery eyes seeming to gather all their wonderful\nlustre into one long, earnest, and pitiful regard. Her work fell from\nher hands, and as she met that burning gaze a vague smile parted her\nlips,--her frowning features smoothed themselves into an expression of\nmingled placidity and peace.\n\n\u201cDesolate Zaroba!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, slowly lifting his hands. \u201cWidowed\nand solitary soul! Deaf to the outer noises of the world, let the ears\nof thy spirit be open to my voice--and hear thou all the music of the\npast! Lo, the bygone years return to thee and picture themselves\nafresh upon thy tired brain!--again thou dost listen to the voices of\nthy children at play,--the wild Arabian desert spreads out before thee\nin the sun like a sea of gold,--the tall palms lift themselves against\nthe burning sky--the tent is pitched by the cool spring of fresh\nwater,--and thy savage mate, wearied out with long travel, sleeps,\npillowed on thy breast. Thou art young again, Zaroba!--young, fair,\nand beloved!--be happy so! Dream and rest!\u201d\n\nAs he spoke he took the aged woman\u2019s unresisting hands and laid her\ngently, gently, by gradual degrees down in a recumbent posture, and\nplacing a cushion under her head watched her for a few seconds.\n\n\u201cBy Heaven!\u201d he muttered, as he heard her regular breathing and noted\nthe perfectly composed expression of her face. \u201cAre dreams after all\nthe only certain joys of life? A poet\u2019s fancies,--a painter\u2019s\nvisions--the cloud-castles of a boy\u2019s imaginings--all dreams!--and\nonly such dreamers can be called happy. Neither Fate nor Fortune can\ndestroy their pleasure,--they make sport of kings and hold great\nnations as the merest toys of thought--oh sublime audacity of Vision!\nWould I could dream so!--or rather, would I could prove my dreams not\ndreams at all, but the reflections of the absolute Real! Hamlet again!\n\n            \u201c\u2018To die--to sleep;--\n To sleep!--perchance to dream; ay, there\u2019s the rub!\u2019\n\nImagine it!--to die and _dream_ of Heaven--or Hell--and all the while\nif there should be no reality in either!\u201d\n\nWith one more glance at the now soundly slumbering Zaroba, he went\nback to the couch, and gazed long and earnestly at the exquisite\nmaiden there reclined,--then bending over her, he took her small fair\nleft hand in his own, pressing his fingers hard round the delicate\nwrist.\n\n\u201cLilith!--Lilith!\u201d he said in low, yet commanding accents.\n\u201cLilith!--Speak to me! I am here!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n V.\n\nDeep silence followed his invocation,--a silence he seemed to expect\nand be prepared for. Looking at a silver timepiece on a bracket above\nthe couch, he mentally counted slowly a hundred beats,--then pressing\nthe fragile wrist he held still more firmly between his fingers, he\ntouched with his other hand the girl\u2019s brow, just above her closed\neyes. A faint quiver ran through the delicate body,--he quickly drew\nback and spoke again.\n\n\u201cLilith! Where are you?\u201d\n\nThe sweet lips parted, and a voice soft as whispered music responded--\n\n\u201cI am here!\u201d\n\n\u201cIs all well with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cAll is well!\u201d\n\nAnd a smile irradiated the fair face with such a light as to suggest\nthat the eyes must have opened,--but no!--they were fast shut.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi resumed his strange interrogation.\n\n\u201cLilith! What do you see?\u201d\n\nThere was a moment\u2019s pause,--then came the slow response--\n\n\u201cMany things,--things beautiful and wonderful. But you are not among\nthem. I hear your voice and I obey it, but I cannot see you--I have\nnever seen you.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi sighed, and pressed more closely the soft small hand within\nhis own.\n\n\u201cWhere have you been?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere my pleasure led me\u201d--came the answer in a sleepy yet joyous\ntone--\u201cMy pleasure and--your will.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi started, but immediately controlled himself, for Lilith\nstirred and threw her other arm indolently behind her head, leaving\nthe great ruby on her breast flashingly exposed to view.\n\n\u201cAway, away, far, far away!\u201d she said, and her accents sounded like\nsubdued singing--\u201cBeyond,--in those regions whither I was\nsent--beyond----\u201d her voice stopped and trailed off into drowsy\nmurmurings--\u201cbeyond--Sirius--I saw----\u201d\n\nShe ceased, and smiled--some happy thought seemed to have rendered her\nmute.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi waited a moment, then took up her broken speech.\n\n\u201cFar beyond Sirius you saw--what?\u201d\n\nMoving, she pillowed her cheek upon her hand, and turned more fully\nround towards him.\n\n\u201cI saw a bright new world,\u201d--she said, now speaking quite clearly and\nconnectedly--\u201cA royal world of worlds; an undiscovered Star. There\nwere giant oceans in it,--the noise of many waters was heard\nthroughout the land,--and there were great cities marvellously built\nupon the sea. I saw their pinnacles of white and gold--spires of\ncoral, and gates that were studded with pearl,--flags waved and music\nsounded, and two great Suns gave double light from heaven. I saw many\nthousands of people--they were beautiful and happy--they sang and\ndanced and gave thanks in the everlasting sunshine, and knelt in\ncrowds upon their wide and fruitful fields to thank the Giver of life\nimmortal.\u201d\n\n\u201cLife immortal!\u201d repeated El-R\u00e2mi,--\u201cDo not these people die, even as\nwe?\u201d\n\nA pained look, as of wonder or regret, knitted the girl\u2019s fair brows.\n\n\u201cThere is no death--neither here nor there\u201d--she said steadily--\u201cI\nhave told you this so often, yet you will not believe. Always you bid\nme seek for death,--I have looked, but cannot find it.\u201d\n\nShe sighed, and El-R\u00e2mi echoed the sigh.\n\n\u201cI wish\u201d--and her accents sounded plaintively--\u201cI wish that I could\nsee you! There is some cloud between us. I hear your voice and I obey\nit, but I cannot see who it is that calls me.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi paid no heed to these dove-like murmurings,--moreover, he\nseemed to have no eyes for the wondrous beauty of the creature who lay\nthus tranced and in his power,--set on his one object, the attainment\nof a supernatural knowledge, he looked as pitiless and impervious to\nall charm as any Grand Inquisitor of old Spain.\n\n\u201cSpeak of yourself and not of me\u201d--he said authoritatively, \u201cHow can\nyou say there is no death?\u201d\n\n\u201cI speak truth. There is none.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot even here?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot anywhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cO daughter of vision, where are the eyes of your spirit?\u201d demanded\nEl-R\u00e2mi angrily--\u201cSearch again and see! Why should all Nature arm\nitself against Death if there be no death?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are harsh,\u201d--said Lilith sorrowfully--\u201cShould I tell you what is\nnot true? If I would, I cannot. There is no death--there is only\nchange. Beyond Sirius, they sleep.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi waited; but she had paused again.\n\n\u201cGo on\u201d--he said--\u201cThey sleep--why and when?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen they are weary\u201d--responded Lilith. \u201cWhen all is done that they\ncan do, and when they need rest, they sleep, and in their sleep they\nchange;--the change is----\u201d\n\nShe ceased.\n\n\u201cThe change is death,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi positively,--\u201cfor death is\neverywhere.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so!\u201d replied Lilith quickly, and in a ringing tone of\nclarion-like sweetness. \u201cThe change is life,--for Life is everywhere!\u201d\n\nThere ensued a silence. The girl turned away, and, bringing her hand\nslowly down from behind her head, laid it again upon her breast over\nthe burning ruby gem. El-R\u00e2mi bent above her closely.\n\n\u201cYou are dreaming, Lilith,\u201d--he said as though he would force her to\nown something against her will. \u201cYou speak unwisely and at random.\u201d\n\nStill silence.\n\n\u201cLilith!--Lilith!\u201d he called.\n\nNo answer;--only the lovely tints of her complexion, the smile on her\nlips, and the tranquil heaving of her rounded bosom indicated that she\nlived.\n\n\u201cGone!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s brow clouded; he laid back the little hand he\nheld in its former position and looked at the girl long and\nsteadily--\u201cAnd so firm in her assertion!--as foolish an assertion as\nany of the fancies of F\u00e9raz. No death? Nay--as well say no life. She\nhas not fathomed the secret of our passing hence; no, not though her\nflight has outreached the realm of Sirius.\n\n \u201c\u2018But that the dread of something after death,\n The undiscovered country from whose bourne\n No traveller returns, puzzles the will.\u2019\n\nAy, puzzles the will and confounds it! But must I be baffled then?--or\nis it my own fault that _I cannot believe_? Is it truly her spirit\nthat speaks to me?--or is it my own brain acting upon hers in a state\nof trance? If it be the latter, why should she declare things that I\nnever dream of, and which my reason does not accept as possible? And\nif it is indeed her Soul, or the ethereal Essence of her that thus\nsoars at periodic intervals of liberty into the Unseen, how is it that\nshe never comprehends Death or Pain? Is her vision limited only to\nbehold harmonious systems moving to a sound of joy?\u201d\n\nAnd, seized by a sudden resolution, he caught both the hands of the\ntranced girl and held them in his own, the while he fixed his eyes\nupon her quiet face with a glance that seemed to shoot forth flame.\n\n\u201cLilith! Lilith! By the force of my will and mastery over thy life, I\nbid thee return to me! O flitting spirit, ever bent on errands of\npleasure, reveal to me the secrets of pain! Come back, Lilith! I call\nthee--come!\u201d\n\nA violent shudder shook the beautiful reposeful figure,--the smile\nfaded from her lips, and she heaved a profound sigh.\n\n\u201cI am here!\u201d\n\n\u201cListen to my bidding!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, in measured accents that\nsounded almost cruel. \u201cAs you have soared to heights ineffable, even\nso descend to lowest depths of desolation! Understand and seek out\nsorrow,--pierce to the root of suffering, explain the cause of\nunavailing agony! These things exist. Here in this planet of which you\nknow nothing save my voice,--here, if nowhere else in the wide\nUniverse, we gain our bread with bitterness and drink our wine with\ntears. Solve me the mystery of pain,--of injustice,--of an innocent\nchild\u2019s anguish on its death-bed,--ay! though you tell me there is no\ndeath!--of a good man\u2019s ruin,--of an evil woman\u2019s triumph,--of\ndespair,--of self-slaughter,--of all the horrors upon horrors piled,\nwhich make up this world\u2019s present life. Listen, O too ecstatic and\nbelieving Spirit!--we have a legend here that a God lives--a wise\nall-loving God,--and He, this wise and loving one, has out of His\ngreat bounty invented for the torture of His creatures,--Hell! Find\nout this Hell, Lilith!--Prove it!--bring the plan of its existence\nback to me. Go,--bring me news of devils,--and suffer, if spirits\n_can_ suffer, in the unmitigated sufferings of others! Take my command\nand go hence, find out God\u2019s Hell!--so shall we afterwards know the\nworth of Heaven!\u201d\n\nHe spoke rapidly,--impetuously,--passionately;--and now he allowed the\ngirl\u2019s hands to fall suddenly from his clasp. She moaned a\nlittle,--and, instead of folding them one over the other as before,\nraised them palm to palm in an attitude of prayer. The colour faded\nentirely from her face,--but an expression of the calmest, grandest\nwisdom, serenity, and compassion came over her features as of a saint\nprepared for martyrdom. Her breathing grew fainter and fainter till it\nwas scarcely perceptible,--and her lips parted in a short sobbing\nsigh,--then they moved and whispered something. El-R\u00e2mi stooped over\nher more closely.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he asked eagerly--\u201cwhat did you say?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing, ... only ... farewell!\u201d and the faint tone stirred the\nsilence like the last sad echo of a song--\u201cAnd yet ... once more ...\nfarewell!\u201d\n\nHe drew back, and observed her intently. She now looked like a\nrecumbent statue, with those upraised hands of hers so white and small\nand delicate,--and El-R\u00e2mi remembered that he must keep the machine\nof the Body living, if he desired to receive through its medium the\nmessages of the Spirit. Taking a small phial from his breast, together\nwith the necessary surgeon\u2019s instrument used for such purposes, he\npricked the rounded arm nearest to him, and carefully injected into\nthe veins a small quantity of a strange sparkling fluid which gave out\na curiously sweet and pungent odour;--as he did this, the lifted hands\nfell gently into their original position, crossed over the ruby star.\nThe breathing grew steadier and lighter,--the lips took fresh\ncolour,--and El-R\u00e2mi watched the effect with absorbed interest and\nattention.\n\n\u201cOne might surely preserve her body so for ever,\u201d he mused half aloud.\n\u201cThe tissues renewed,--the blood reorganised,--the whole system\ncompletely nourished with absolute purity; and not a morsel of what is\nconsidered food, which contains so much organic mischief, allowed to\nenter that exquisitely beautiful mechanism, which exhales all waste\nupon the air through the pores of the skin as naturally as a flower\nexhales perfume through its leaves. A wonderful discovery!--if all men\nknew it, would not they deem themselves truly immortal, even here? But\nthe trial is not over yet,--the experiment is not perfect. Six years\nhas she lived thus, but who can say whether indeed Death has no power\nover her? In those six years she has changed,--she has grown from\nchildhood to womanhood,--does not change imply age?--and age suggest\ndeath, in spite of all science? O inexorable Death!--I will pluck its\nsecret out if I die in the effort!\u201d\n\nHe turned away from the couch,--then seemed struck by a new idea.\n\n\u201c_If_ I die, did I say? But _can_ I die? Is her Spirit right? Is my\nreasoning wrong? Is there no pause anywhere?--no cessation of\nthought?--no end to the insatiability of ambition? Must we plan and\nwork and live--For Ever?\u201d\n\nA shudder ran through him,--the notion of his own perpetuity appalled\nhim. Passing a long mirror framed in antique silver, he caught sight\nof himself in it,--his dark handsome face, rendered darker by the\ncontrasting whiteness of his hair,--his full black eyes,--his fine but\ndisdainful mouth,--all looked back at him with the scornful reflex of\nhis own scornful regard.\n\nHe laughed a little bitterly.\n\n\u201cThere you are, El-R\u00e2mi-Zar\u00e2nos!\u201d he murmured half aloud. \u201cScoffer\nand scientist,--master of a few common magnetic secrets such as the\npriests of ancient Egypt made sport of, though in these modern days of\n\u2018culture\u2019 they are sufficient to make most men your tools! What now?\nIs there no rest for the inner calculations of your mind? Plan and\nwork and live for ever? Well, why not? Could I fathom the secrets of\nthousand universes, would that suffice me? No! I should seek for the\nsolving of a thousand more!\u201d\n\nHe gave a parting glance round the room,--at the fair tranced form on\nthe couch, at the placid Zaroba slumbering in a corner, at the whole\neffect of the sumptuous apartment, with its purple and gold, its\nroses, its crystal and ivory adornments,--then he passed out, drawing\nto the velvet curtains noiselessly behind him. In the small ante-room,\nhe took up the slate and wrote upon it--\n\n \u201cI shall not return hither for forty-eight hours. During this interval\n admit as much full daylight as possible. Observe the strictest\n silence, and do not touch her.\n\n                                                \u201cEl-R\u00e2mi.\u201d\n\nHaving thus set down his instructions he descended the stairs to his\nown room, where, extinguishing the electric light, he threw himself on\nhis hard camp-bedstead and was soon sound asleep.\n\n\n\n\n VI.\n\n\u201cI do not believe in a future state. I am very much distressed about\nit.\u201d\n\nThe speaker was a stoutish, able-bodied individual in clerical dress,\nwith rather a handsome face and an easy agreeable manner. He addressed\nhimself to El-R\u00e2mi, who, seated at his writing-table, observed him\nwith something of a satirical air.\n\n\u201cYou wrote me this letter?\u201d queried El-R\u00e2mi, selecting one from a\nheap beside him. The clergyman bent forward to look, and, recognising\nhis own handwriting, smiled a bland assent.\n\n\u201cYou are the Reverend Francis Anstruther, Vicar of Laneck,--a great\nfavourite with the Bishop of your diocese, I understand?\u201d\n\nThe gentleman bowed blandly again,--then assumed a meek and chastened\nexpression.\n\n\u201cThat is, I _was_ a favourite of the Bishop\u2019s at one time\u201d--he\nmurmured regretfully--\u201cand I suppose I am now, only I fear that this\nmatter of conscience----\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, it _is_ a matter of conscience?\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi slowly--\u201cYou are\nsure of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite sure of that!\u201d and the Reverend Francis Anstruther sighed\nprofoundly.\n\n\u201c\u2018Thus conscience does make cowards of us all----\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cI beg your pardon?\u201d and the clergyman opened his eyes a little.\n\n\u201cNay, I beg yours!--I was quoting _Hamlet_.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh!\u201d\n\nThere was a silence. El-R\u00e2mi bent his dark flashing eyes on his\nvisitor, who seemed a little confused by the close scrutiny. It was\nthe morning after the circumstances narrated in the previous\nchapter,--the clock marked ten minutes to noon,--the weather was\nbrilliant and sunshiny, and the temperature warm for the uncertain\nEnglish month of May. El-R\u00e2mi rose suddenly and threw open the window\nnearest him, as if he found the air oppressive.\n\n\u201cWhy did you seek me out?\u201d he demanded, turning towards the reverend\ngentleman once more.\n\n\u201cWell, it was really the merest accident----\u201d\n\n\u201cIt always is!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi with a slight dubious smile.\n\n\u201cI was at Lady Melthorpe\u2019s the other day, and I told her my\ndifficulty. She spoke of you, and said she felt certain you would be\nable to clear up my doubts----\u201d\n\n\u201cNot at all. I am too busy clearing up my own,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi\nbrusquely.\n\nThe clergyman looked surprised.\n\n\u201cDear me!--I thought, from what her ladyship said, that you were\nscientifically certain of----\u201d\n\n\u201cOf what?\u201d interrupted El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cOf myself? Nothing more uncertain in\nthe world than my own humour, I assure you! Of others? I am not a\nstudent of human caprice. Of life?--of death? Neither. I am simply\ntrying to prove the existence of a \u2018something after death\u2019--but I am\ncertain of nothing, and I believe in nothing, unless proved.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut,\u201d said Mr. Anstruther anxiously--\u201cyou will, I hope, allow me to\nexplain that you leave a very different impression on the minds of\nthose to whom you speak, from the one you now suggest. Lady Melthorpe,\nfor instance----\u201d\n\n\u201cLady Melthorpe believes what it pleases her to believe,\u201d--said\nEl-R\u00e2mi quietly--\u201cAll pretty, sensitive, imaginative women do. That\naccounts for the immense success of Roman Catholicism with women. It\nis a graceful, pleasing, comforting religion,--moreover, it is really\nbecoming to a woman,--she looks charming with a rosary in her hand, or\na quaint old missal,--and she knows it. Lady Melthorpe is a believer\nin ideals,--well, there is no harm in ideals,--long may she be able to\nindulge in them.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut Lady Melthorpe declares that you are able to tell the past and\nthe future,\u201d persisted the clergyman--\u201cAnd that you can also read the\npresent;--if that is so, you must surely possess visionary power?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him steadfastly.\n\n\u201cI can tell you the past;\u201d--he said--\u201cAnd I can read your\npresent;--and from the two portions of your life I can calculate the\nlast addition, the Future,--but my calculation may be wrong. I mean\nwrong as regards coming events;--past and present I can never be\nmistaken in, because there exists a natural law, by which you are\nbound to reveal yourself to me.\u201d\n\nThe Reverend Francis Anstruther moved uneasily in his chair, but\nmanaged to convey into his countenance the proper expression of\npolitely incredulous astonishment.\n\n\u201cThis natural law,\u201d went on El-R\u00e2mi, laying one hand on the celestial\nglobe as he spoke, \u201chas been in existence ever since man\u2019s formation,\nbut we are only just now beginning to discover it, or rather\nre-discover it, since it was tolerably well known to the priests of\nancient Egypt. You see this sphere;\u201d--and he moved the celestial globe\nround slowly--\u201cIt represents the pattern of the heavens according to\nour solar system. Now a Persian poet of old time declared in a few\nwild verses that solar systems, taken in a mass, could be considered\nthe brain of heaven, the stars being the thinking, moving molecules of\nthat brain. A sweeping idea,--what your line-and-pattern critics would\ncall \u2018far-fetched\u2019--but it will serve me just now for an illustration\nof my meaning. Taking this \u2018brain of heaven\u2019 by way of simile then, it\nis evident we--we human pigmies--are, notwithstanding our ridiculous\nlittleness and inferiority, able to penetrate correctly enough into\nsome of the mysteries of that star-teeming intelligence,--we can even\ntake patterns of its shifting molecules\u201d--and again he touched the\nglobe beside him,--\u201cwe can watch its modes of thought--and calculate\nwhen certain planets will rise and set,--and when we cannot see its\naction, we can get its vibrations of light, to the marvellous extent\nof being able to photograph the moon of Neptune, which remains\ninvisible to the eye even with the assistance of a telescope. You\nwonder what all this tends to?--well,--I speak of vibrations of light\nfrom the brain of heaven,--vibrations which we know are existent; and\nwhich we prove by means of photography; and, because we _see_ the\nresults in black and white, we believe in them. But there are other\nvibrations in the Universe, which cannot be photographed,--the\nvibrations of the human brain, which, like those emanating from the\n\u2018brain of heaven,\u2019 are full of light and fire, and convey distinct\nimpressions or patterns of thought. People speak of\n\u2018thought-transference\u2019 from one subject to another as if it were a\nremarkable coincidence,--whereas you cannot put a stop to the\ntransference of thought,--it is in the very air, like the germs of\ndisease or health,--and nothing can do away with it.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not exactly understand\u201d--murmured the clergyman with some\nbewilderment.\n\n\u201cAh, you want a practical demonstration of what seems a merely\nabstract theory? Nothing easier!\u201d--and moving again to the table he\nsat down, fixing his dark eyes keenly on his visitor--\u201cAs the stars\npattern heaven in various shapes, like the constellation Lyra, or\nOrion, so you have patterned your brain with pictures or photographs\nof your past and your present. _All_ your past, every scene of it, is\nimpressed in the curious little brain-particles that lie in their\nvarious cells,--you have forgotten some incidents, but they would all\ncome back to you if you were drowning or being hanged;--because\nsuffocation or strangulation would force up every infinitesimal atom\nof brain-matter into extraordinary prominence for the moment.\nNaturally your present existence is the most vivid picture with you,\ntherefore perhaps you would like me to begin with that?\u201d\n\n\u201cBegin?--how?\u201d asked Mr. Anstruther, still in amazement.\n\n\u201cWhy,--let me take the impression of your brain upon my own. It is\nquite simple, and quite scientific. Consider yourself the photographic\nnegative, and me the sensitive paper to receive the impression! I may\noffer you a blurred picture, but I do not think it likely. Only if you\nwish to hide anything from me I would advise you not to try the\nexperiment.\u201d\n\n\u201cReally, sir,--this is very extraordinary!--I am at a loss to\ncomprehend----\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I will make it quite plain to you,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi with a slight\nsmile--\u201cThere is no witchcraft in it--no trickery,--nothing but the\ncommonest A B C science. Will you try?--or would you prefer to leave\nthe matter alone? My demonstration will not convince you of a \u2018future\nstate,\u2019 which was the subject you first spoke to me about,--it will\nonly prove to you the physiological phenomena surrounding your present\nconstitution and condition.\u201d\n\nThe Reverend Francis Anstruther hesitated. He was a little startled by\nthe cold and convincing manner with which El-R\u00e2mi spoke,--at the same\ntime he did not believe in his words, and his own incredulity inclined\nhim to see the \u201cexperiment,\u201d whatever it was. It would be all\nhocus-pocus, of course,--this Oriental fellow could know nothing about\nhim,--he had never seen him before, and must therefore be totally\nignorant of his private life and affairs. Considering this for a\nmoment, he looked up and smiled.\n\n\u201cI shall be most interested and delighted,\u201d--he said--\u201cto make the\ntrial you suggest. I am really curious. As for the present picture or\nphotograph on my brain, I think it will only show you my perplexity as\nto my position with the Bishop in my wavering state of mind----\u201d\n\n\u201cOr conscience--\u201d suggested El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cYou said it was a matter of\nconscience.\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite so--quite so! And conscience is the most powerful motor of a\nman\u2019s actions, Mr.--Mr. El-R\u00e2mi! It is indeed the voice of God!\u201d\n\n\u201cThat depends on what it says, and how we hear it--\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi\nrather dryly--\u201cNow if we are to make this \u2018demonstration,\u2019 will you\nput your left hand here, in my left hand? So,--your left palm must\npress closely upon my left palm,--yes--that will do. Observe the\nposition, please;--you see that my left fingers rest on your left\nwrist, and are therefore directly touching the nerves and arteries\nrunning through your heart from your brain. By this, you are, to use\nmy former simile, pressing me, the sensitive paper, to your\nphotographic negative--and I make no doubt we shall get a fair\nimpression. But to prevent any interruption to the brain-wave rushing\nfrom you to me, we will add this little trifle,\u201d and he dexterously\nslipped a steel band over his hand and that of his visitor as they\nrested thus together on the table, and snapt it to,--\u201ca sort of\nhandcuff, as you perceive. It has nothing in the world to do with our\nexperiment. It is simply placed there to prevent your moving your hand\naway from mine, which would be your natural impulse if I should happen\nto say anything disagreeably true. And to do so would of course cut\nthe ethereal thread of contact between us. Now, are you ready?\u201d\n\nThe clergyman grew a shade paler. El-R\u00e2mi seemed so very sure of the\nresult of this singular trial that it was a little bit disagreeable.\nBut, having consented to the experiment, he felt he was compelled to\ngo through with it, so he bowed a nervous assent. Whereupon El-R\u00e2mi\nclosed his brilliant eyes, and sat for one or two minutes silent and\nimmovable. A curious fidgetiness began to trouble the Reverend Francis\nAnstruther,--he tried to think of something ridiculous, something\naltogether apart from himself, but in vain,--his own personality, his\nown life, his own secret aims seemed all to weigh upon him like a\nsudden incubus. Presently tingling sensations pricked his arm as with\nburning needles,--the hand that was fettered to that of El-R\u00e2mi felt\nas hot as though it were being held to a fire. All at once El-R\u00e2mi\nspoke in a low tone, without opening his eyes--\n\n\u201cThe shadow-impression of a woman. Brown-haired, dark-eyed,--of a\nfull, luscious beauty, and a violent, unbridled, ill-balanced will.\nMindless, but physically attractive. She dominates your thought.\u201d\n\nA quiver ran through the clergyman\u2019s frame,--if he could only have\nsnatched away his hand he would have done it then.\n\n\u201cShe is not your wife--\u201d went on El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cshe is the wife of your\nwealthiest neighbour. You have a wife,--an invalid,--you have also\neight children,--but these are not prominent in the picture at\npresent. The woman with the dark eyes and hair is the chief figure.\nYour plans are made for her----\u201d\n\nHe paused, and again the wretched Mr. Anstruther shuddered.\n\n\u201cWait--wait!\u201d exclaimed El-R\u00e2mi suddenly in a tone of animation--\u201cNow\nit comes clearly. You have decided to leave the Church, not because\nyou do not believe in a future state,--for this you never have\nbelieved at any time--but because you wish to rid yourself of all\nmoral and religious responsibility. Your scheme is perfectly distinct.\nYou will make out a \u2018case of conscience\u2019 to your authorities, and\nresign your living,--you will then desert your wife and children,--you\nwill leave your country in the company of the woman whose secret lover\nyou are----\u201d\n\n\u201cStop!\u201d cried the Reverend Mr. Anstruther, savagely endeavouring to\nwrench away his hand from the binding fetter which held it\nremorselessly to the hand of El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cStop! You are telling me a\npack of lies!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi opened his great flashing orbs and surveyed him first in\nsurprise, then with a deep unutterable contempt. Unclasping the steel\nband that bound their two hands together, he flung it by, and rose to\nhis feet.\n\n\u201cLies?\u201d he echoed indignantly. \u201cYour whole life is a lie, and both\nNature and Science are bound to give the reflex of it. What! would you\nplay a double part with the Eternal Forces and think to succeed in\nsuch desperate fooling? Do you imagine you can deceive supreme\nOmniscience, which holds every star and every infinitesimal atom of\nlife in a network of such instant vibrating consciousness and contact\nthat in terrible truth there are and can be \u2018no secrets hid\u2019? You may\nif you like act out the wretched comedy of feigning to deceive _your_\nGod--the God of the Churches,--but beware of trifling with the _real_\nGod,--the absolute Ego Sum of the Universe.\u201d\n\nHis voice rang out passionately upon the stillness,--the clergyman had\nalso risen from his chair, and stood, nervously fumbling with his\ngloves, not venturing to raise his eyes.\n\n\u201cI have told you the truth of yourself,\u201d--continued El-R\u00e2mi more\nquietly--\u201cYou know I have. Why then do you accuse me of telling you\nlies? Why did you seek me out at all if you wished to conceal yourself\nand your intentions from me? Can you deny the testimony of your own\nbrain reflected on mine? Come, confess! be honest for once,--_do_ you\ndeny it?\u201d\n\n\u201cI deny everything;\u201d--replied the clergyman,--but his accents were\nhusky and indistinct.\n\n\u201cSo be it!\u201d--and El-R\u00e2mi gave a short laugh of scorn. \u201cYour \u2018case of\nconscience\u2019 is evidently very pressing. Go to your Bishop--and tell\nhim you cannot believe in a future state,--I certainly cannot help you\nto prove _that_ mystery. Besides, you would rather there were no\nfuture state,--a \u2018something after death\u2019 must needs be an unpleasant\npoint of meditation for such as you. Oh yes!--you will get your\nfreedom;--you will get all you are scheming for, and you will be quite\na notorious person for a while on account of the delicacy of your\nsense of honour and the rectitude of your principles. Exactly!--and\nthen your final _coup_,--your running away with your neighbour\u2019s wife\nwill make you notorious again--in quite another sort of fashion.\nAh!--every man is bound to weave the threads of his own destiny, and\nyou are weaving yours;--do not be surprised if you find you have made\nof them a net wherein to become hopelessly caught, tied, and\nstrangled. It is no doubt unpleasant for you to hear these\nthings,--what a pity you came to me!\u201d\n\nThe Reverend Francis Anstruther buttoned his glove carefully.\n\n\u201cOh, I do not regret it,\u201d he said. \u201cAny other man might perhaps feel\nhimself insulted, but----\u201d\n\n\u201cBut you are too much of a \u2018Christian\u2019 to take offence--yes, I\ndaresay!\u201d interposed El-R\u00e2mi satirically,--\u201cI thank you for your\namiable forbearance! Allow me to close this interview\u201d--and he was\nabout to ring the bell, when his visitor said hastily and with an\neffort at appearing unconcerned--\n\n\u201cI suppose I may rely on your secrecy respecting what has passed?\u201d\n\n\u201cSecrecy?\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi raised his black eyebrows disdainfully. \u201cWhat\nyou call secrecy I know not. But if you mean that I shall speak of you\nand your affairs,--why, make yourself quite easy on that score. I\nshall not even think of you after you have left this room. Do not\nattach too much importance to yourself, reverend sir,--true, your name\nwill soon be mentioned in the newspapers, but this should not excite\nyou to an undue vanity. As for me, I have other things to occupy me,\nand clerical \u2018cases of conscience,\u2019 such as yours, fail to attract\neither my wonder or admiration!\u201d Here he touched the bell.--\u201cF\u00e9raz!\u201d\nthis as his young brother instantly appeared--\u201cThe door!\u201d\n\nThe Reverend Francis Anstruther took up his hat, looked into it,\nglanced nervously round at the picturesque form of the silent F\u00e9raz,\nthen, with a sudden access of courage, looked at El-R\u00e2mi. That\nhandsome Oriental\u2019s fiery eyes were fixed upon him,--the superb head,\nthe dignified figure, the stately manner, all combined to make him\nfeel uncomfortable and awkward; but he forced a faint smile--it was\nevident he must say something.\n\n\u201cYou are a very remarkable man, Mr. ... El-R\u00e2mi\u201d--he stammered. ...\n\u201cIt has been a most interesting ... and ... instructive morning!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi made no response other than a slight frigid bow.\n\nThe clergyman again peered into the depths of his hat.\n\n\u201cI will not go so far as to say you were correct in anything you\nsaid\u201d--he went on--\u201cbut there was a little truth in some of your\nallusions,--they really applied, or might be made to apply, to past\nevents,--bygone circumstances ... you understand? ...\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi took one step towards him.\n\n\u201cNo more lies in Heaven\u2019s name!\u201d he said in a stern whisper. \u201cThe air\nis poisoned enough for to-day. Go!\u201d\n\nSuch a terrible earnestness marked his face and voice that the\nReverend Francis retreated abruptly in alarm, and, stumbling out of\nthe room hastily, soon found himself in the open street with the great\noaken door of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s house shut upon him. He paused a moment,\nglanced at the sky, then at the pavement, shook his head, drew a long\nbreath, and seemed on the verge of hesitation; then he looked at his\nwatch,--smiled a bland smile, and, hailing a cab, was driven to lunch\nat the Criterion, where a handsome woman with dark hair and eyes met\nhim with mingled flattery and upbraiding, and gave herself pouting and\ncapricious airs of offence, because he had kept her ten minutes\nwaiting.\n\n\n\n\n VII.\n\nThat afternoon El-R\u00e2mi prepared to go out, as was his usual custom,\nimmediately after the mid-day meal, which was served to him by F\u00e9raz,\nwho stood behind his chair like a slave all the time he ate and drank,\nattending to his needs with the utmost devotion and assiduity. F\u00e9raz\nindeed was his brother\u2019s only domestic,--Zaroba\u2019s duties being\nentirely confined to the mysterious apartments upstairs and their\nstill more mysterious occupant. El-R\u00e2mi was in a taciturn mood,--the\nvisit of the Reverend Francis Anstruther seemed to have put him out,\nand he scarcely spoke, save in monosyllables. Before leaving the\nhouse, however, his humour suddenly softened, and, noting the wistful\nand timorous gaze with which F\u00e9raz regarded him, he laughed outright.\n\n\u201cYou are very patient with me, F\u00e9raz!\u201d he said--\u201cAnd I know I am as\nsullen as a bear.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou think too much;\u201d--replied F\u00e9raz gently--\u201cAnd you work too hard.\u201d\n\n\u201cBoth thought and labour are necessary,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cYou would not\nhave me live a life of merely bovine repose?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz gave a deprecating gesture.\n\n\u201cNay--but surely rest is needful. To be happy, God Himself must\nsometimes sleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou think so?\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi smiled--\u201cThen it must be during His hours\nof repose and oblivion that the business of life goes wrong, and\ndarkness and the spirit of confusion walk abroad. The Creator should\nnever sleep.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy not, if He has dreams?\u201d asked F\u00e9raz--\u201cFor if Eternal Thought\nbecomes Substance, so a God\u2019s Dream may become Life.\u201d\n\n\u201cPoetic as usual, my F\u00e9raz\u201d--replied his brother--\u201cand yet perhaps\nyou are not so far wrong in your ideas. That Thought becomes\nSubstance, even with man\u2019s limited powers, is true enough;--the\nthought of a perfect form grows up embodied in the weight and\nsubstance of marble, with the sculptor,--the vague fancies of a poet,\nbeing set in ink on paper, become substance in book-shape, solid\nenough to pass from one hand to the other;--even so may a God\u2019s mere\nThought of a world create a Planet. It is my own impression that\nthoughts, like atoms, are imperishable, and that even dreams, being\nforms of thought, never die. But I must not stay here talking,--adieu!\nDo not sit up for me to-night--I shall not return,--I am going down to\nthe coast.\u201d\n\n\u201cTo Ilfracombe?\u201d questioned F\u00e9raz--\u201cSo long a journey, and all to see\nthat poor mad soul?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him steadfastly.\n\n\u201cNo more \u2018mad,\u2019 F\u00e9raz, than you are with your notions about your\nnative star! Why should a scientist who amuses himself with the\nreflections on a disc of magnetic crystal be deemed \u2018mad\u2019? Fifty years\nago the electric inventions of Edison would have been called\n\u2018impossible,\u2019--and he, the inventor, considered hopelessly insane. But\nnow we know these seeming \u2018miracles\u2019 are facts, we cease to wonder at\nthem. And my poor friend with his disc is a harmless creature;--his\n\u2018craze,\u2019 if it be a craze, is as innocent as yours.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut I have no craze,\u201d--said F\u00e9raz composedly,--\u201cAll that I know and\nsee lives in my brain like music,--and, though I remember it\nperfectly, I trouble no one with the story of my past.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd he troubles no one with what he deems may be the story of the\nfuture\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cCall no one \u2018mad\u2019 because he happens to have\na new idea--for time may prove such \u2018madness\u2019 a merely perfected\nmethod of reason. I must hasten, or I shall lose my train.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf it is the 2.40 from Waterloo, you have time,\u201d said F\u00e9raz--\u201cIt is\nnot yet two o\u2019clock. Do you leave any message for Zaroba?\u201d\n\n\u201cNone. She has my orders.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz looked full at his brother, and a warm flush coloured his\nhandsome face.\n\n\u201cShall I never be worthy of your confidence?\u201d he asked in a low\nvoice--\u201cCan you never trust _me_ with your great secret, as well as\nZaroba?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi frowned darkly.\n\n\u201cAgain, this vulgar vice of curiosity? I thought you were exempt from\nit by this time.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, but hear me, El-R\u00e2mi\u201d--said F\u00e9raz eagerly, distressed at the\nanger in his brother\u2019s eyes--\u201cIt is not curiosity,--it is something\nelse,--something that I can hardly explain, except. ... Oh, you will\nonly laugh at me if I tell you. ... but yet----\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what?\u201d demanded El-R\u00e2mi sternly.\n\n\u201cIt is as if a voice called me,\u201d--answered F\u00e9raz dreamily--\u201ca voice\nfrom those upper chambers, which you keep closed, and of which only\nZaroba has the care--a voice that asks for freedom and for peace. It\nis such a sorrowful voice,--but sweet,--more sweet than any singing.\nTrue, I hear it but seldom,--only, when I do, it haunts me for hours\nand hours. I know you are at some great work up there,--but can you\nmake such voices ring from a merely scientific laboratory? Now you are\nangered!\u201d\n\nHis large soft brilliant eyes rested appealingly upon his brother,\nwhose features had grown pale and rigid.\n\n\u201cAngered!\u201d he echoed, speaking as it seemed with some effort,--\u201cAm I\never angered at your--your fancies? For fancies they are, F\u00e9raz,--the\nvoice you hear is like the imagined home in that distant star you\nspeak of,--an image and an echo on your brain--no more. My \u2018great\nwork,\u2019 as you call it, would have no interest for you;--it is nothing\nbut a test-experiment, which, if it fails, then I fail with it, and am\nno more El-R\u00e2mi-Zar\u00e2nos, but the merest fool that ever clamoured for\nthe moon.\u201d He said this more to himself than to his brother, and\nseemed for the moment to have forgotten where he was,--till suddenly\nrousing himself with a start he forced a smile.\n\n\u201cFarewell for the present, gentle visionary!\u201d he said kindly,--\u201cYou\nare happier with your dreams than I with my facts,--do not seek out\nsorrow for yourself by rash and idle questioning.\u201d\n\nWith a parting nod he went out, and F\u00e9raz, closing the door after\nhim, remained in the hall for a few moments in a sort of vague\nreverie. How silent the house seemed, he thought with a half-sigh. The\nvery atmosphere of it was depressing, and even his favourite\noccupation, music, had just now no attraction for him. He turned\nlistlessly into his brother\u2019s study,--he determined to read for an\nhour or so, and looked about in search of some entertaining volume. On\nthe table he found a book open,--a manuscript, written on vellum in\nArabic, with curious uncanny figures and allegorical designs on the\nheadings and margins. El-R\u00e2mi had left it there by mistake,--it was a\nparticularly valuable treasure which he generally kept under lock and\nkey. F\u00e9raz sat down in front of it, and, resting his head on his two\nhands, began to read at the page where it lay open. Arabic was his\nnative tongue,--yet he had some difficulty in making out this especial\nspecimen of the language, because the writing was anything but\ndistinct, and some of the letters had a very odd way of vanishing\nbefore his eyes, just as he had fixed them on a word. This was\npuzzling as well as irritating,--he must have something the matter\nwith his sight or his brain, he concluded, as these vanishing letters\nalways came into position again after a little. Worried by the\nphenomenon, he seized the book and carried it to the full light of the\nopen window, and there succeeded in making out the meaning of one\npassage which was quite sufficient to set him thinking. It ran as\nfollows:--\n\n \u201cWherefore, touching illusions and impressions, as also strong\n emotions of love, hatred, jealousy, or revenge, these nerve and brain\n sensations are easily conveyed from one human subject to another by\n Suggestion. The first process is to numb the optic nerve. This is done\n in two ways--I. By causing the subject to fix his eyes steadily on a\n round shining case containing a magnet, while you shall count two\n hundred beats of time. II. By wilfully making your own eyes the\n magnet, and fixing your subject thereto. Either of these operations\n will temporarily paralyse the optic nerves, and arrest the motion of\n the blood in the vessels pertaining. Thus the brain becomes insensible\n to external impressions, and is only awake to internal suggestions,\n which you may make as many and as devious as you please. Your subject\n will see exactly what you choose him to see, hear what you wish him to\n hear, do what you bid him do, so long as you hold him by your power,\n which if you understand the laws of light, sound, and air-vibrations,\n you may be able to retain for an indefinite period. The same force\n applies to the magnetising of a multitude as of a single\n individual.\u201d[1]\n\nF\u00e9raz read this over and over again,--then, returning to the table,\nlaid the book upon it with a deeply engrossed air. It had given him\nunpleasant matter for reflection.\n\n\u201cA dreamer--a visionary, he calls me--\u201d he mused, his thoughts\nreverting to his absent brother--\u201cFull of fancies poetic and\nmusical,--now can it be that I owe my very dreams to his dominance?\nDoes he _make_ me subservient to him, as I am, or is my submission to\nhis will my _own_ desire? Is my \u2018madness\u2019 or \u2018craze,\u2019 or whatever he\ncalls it, of _his_ working? and should I be more like other men if I\nwere separated from him? And yet what has he ever done to me, save\nmake me happy? Has he placed me under the influence of any magnet such\nas this book describes? Certainly not that I am aware of. He has made\nmy inward spirit clearer of comprehension, so that I hear him call me\neven by a thought,--I see and know beautiful things of which grosser\nsouls have no perception,--and am I not content?--Yes, surely I\nam!--surely I should be,--though at times there seems a something\nmissing--a something to which I cannot give a name.\u201d\n\nHe sighed,--and again buried his head between his hands,--he was\nconscious of a dreary sensation, unusual to his bright and fervid\nnature,--the very sunshine streaming through the window seemed to lack\ntrue brilliancy. Suddenly a hand was laid upon his shoulder,--he\nstarted and rose to his feet with a bewildered air,--then smiled, as\nhe saw that the intruder was only Zaroba.\n\n\n\n\n VIII.\n\nOnly Zaroba,--gaunt, grim, fierce-eyed Zaroba, old and unlovely, yet\npossessing withal an air of savage dignity, as she stood erect, her\namber-coloured robe bound about her with a scarlet girdle, and her\ngray hair gathered closely under a small coif of the same vivid hue.\nHer wrinkled visage had more animation in it than on the previous\nnight, and her harsh voice grew soft as she looked at the picturesque\nglowing beauty of the young man beside her, and addressed him.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi has gone?\u201d she asked.\n\nF\u00e9raz nodded. He generally made her understand him either by signs,\nor the use of the finger-alphabet, at which he was very dexterous.\n\n\u201cOn what quest?\u201d she demanded.\n\nF\u00e9raz explained rapidly and mutely that he had gone to visit a friend\nresiding at a distance from town.\n\n\u201cThen he will not return to-night;\u201d--muttered Zaroba thoughtfully--\u201cHe\nwill not return to-night.\u201d\n\nShe sat down, and, clasping her hands across her knees, rocked herself\nto and fro for some minutes in silence. Then she spoke, more to\nherself than to her listener.\n\n\u201cHe is an angel or a fiend,\u201d she said in low meditative accents. \u201cOr\nmaybe he is both in one. He saved me from death once--I shall never\nforget that. And by his power he sent me back to my native land last\nnight--I bound my black tresses with pearl and gold, and laughed and\nsang,--I was young again!\u201d--and with a sudden cry she raised her hands\nabove her head and clapped them fiercely together, so that the silver\nbangles on her arms jangled like bells;--\u201cAs God liveth, I was young!\n_You_ know what it is to be young\u201d--and she turned her dark orbs half\nenviously upon F\u00e9raz, who, leaning against his brother\u2019s\nwriting-table, regarded her with interest and something of awe--\u201cor\nyou should know it! To feel the blood leap in the veins, while the\nhappy heart keeps time like the beat of a joyous cymbal,--to catch the\nbreath and tremble with ecstasy as the eyes one loves best in the\nworld flash lightning-passion into your own,--to make companions of\nthe roses, and feel the pulses quicken at the songs of birds,--to\ntread the ground so lightly as to scarcely know whether it is earth or\nair--this is to be young!--young!--and I was young last night. My love\nwas with me,--my love, my more than lover--\u2018Zaroba, beautiful Zaroba!\u2019\nhe said, and his kisses were as honey on my lips--\u2018Zaroba, pearl of\npassion! fountain of sweetness in a desert land!--thine eyes are fire\nin which I burn my soul,--thy round arms the prison in which I lock my\nheart! Zaroba, beautiful Zaroba!\u2019--Beautiful! Ay!--through the power\nof El-R\u00e2mi I was fair to see--last night! ... only last night!\u201d\n\nHer voice sank down into a feeble wailing, and F\u00e9raz gazed at her\ncompassionately and in a little wonder,--he was accustomed to see her\nin various strange and incomprehensible moods, but she was seldom so\nexcited as now.\n\n\u201cWhy do you not laugh?\u201d she asked suddenly and with a touch of\ndefiance--\u201cWhy do you not laugh at me?--at me, the wretched\nZaroba,--old and unsightly--bent and wrinkled!--that I should dare to\nsay I was once beautiful!--It is a thing to make sport of--an old\nforsaken woman\u2019s dream of her dead youth.\u201d\n\nWith an impulsive movement that was as graceful as it was becoming,\nF\u00e9raz, for sole reply, dropped on one knee beside her, and, taking\nher wrinkled hand, touched it lightly but reverently with his lips.\nShe trembled, and great tears rose in her eyes.\n\n\u201cPoor boy!\u201d she muttered--\u201cPoor child!--a child to me, and yet a man!\nAs God liveth, a man!\u201d She looked at him with a curious steadfastness.\n\u201cGood F\u00e9raz, forgive me--I did you wrong--I know you would not mock\nthe aged, or make wanton sport of their incurable woes,--you are too\ngentle. I would in truth you were less mild of spirit--less womanish\nof heart!\u201d\n\n\u201cWomanish!\u201d and F\u00e9raz leaped up, stung by the word, he knew not why.\nHis heart beat strangely--his blood tingled,--it seemed to him that if\nhe had possessed a weapon his instinct would have been to draw it\nthen. Never had he looked so handsome; and Zaroba, watching his\nexpression, clapped her withered hands in a sort of witch-like\ntriumph.\n\n\u201cHa!\u201d--she cried--\u201cThe man\u2019s mettle speaks! There is something more\nthan the dreamer in you then--something that will help you to explain\nthe mystery of your existence--something that says--\u2018F\u00e9raz, you are\nthe slave of destiny--up! be its master! F\u00e9raz, you sleep--awake!\u2019\u201d\nand Zaroba stood up tall and imposing, with the air of an inspired\nsorceress delivering a prophecy--\u201cF\u00e9raz, you have manhood--prove\nit!--F\u00e9raz, you have missed the one joy of life--Love!--Win it!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz stared at her amazed. Her words were such as she had never\naddressed to him before, and yet they moved him with a singular\nuneasiness. Love? Surely he knew the meaning of love? It was an ideal\npassion, like the lifting up of life in prayer. Had not his brother\ntold him that perfect love was unattainable on this planet?--and was\nit not a word the very suggestions of which could only be expressed in\nmusic? These thoughts ran through his mind while he stood inert and\nwondering--then, rousing himself a little from the effects of Zaroba\u2019s\noutburst, he sat down at the table, and, taking up a pencil, wrote as\nfollows--\n\n \u201cYou talk wildly, Zaroba--you cannot be well. Let me hear no more--you\n disturb my peace. I know what love is--I know what life is. But the\n best part of my life and love is not here,--but elsewhere.\u201d\n\nZaroba took the paper from his hand, read it, and tore it to bits in a\nrage.\n\n\u201cO foolish youth!\u201d she exclaimed--\u201cYour love is the love of a\nDream,--your life is the life of a Dream! You see with another\u2019s\neyes--you think through another\u2019s brain. You are a mere machine,\nplayed upon by another\u2019s will! But not for ever shall you be\ndeceived--not for ever,--\u201d here she gave a slight start and looked\naround her nervously as though she expected some one to enter the room\nsuddenly--\u201cListen! Come to me to-night,--to-night when all is dark and\nsilent,--when every sound in the outside street is stilled,--come to\nme--and I will show you a marvel of the world!--one who, like you, is\nthe victim of a Dream!\u201d She broke off abruptly and glanced from right\nto left in evident alarm,--then, with a fresh impetus of courage, she\nbent towards her companion again and whispered in his ear--\u201cCome!\u201d\n\n\u201cBut where?\u201d asked F\u00e9raz in the language of signs.\n\n\u201cUp yonder!\u201d said Zaroba firmly, regardless of the utter amazement\nwith which F\u00e9raz greeted this answer--\u201cUp, where El-R\u00e2mi hides his\ngreat secret. Yes--I know he has forbidden you to venture there,--even\nso has he forbidden me to speak of what he cherishes so closely,--but\nare we slaves, you and I? Do you purpose always to obey him? So be it,\nan you will? But if I were you,--a man--I would defy both gods and\nfiends if they opposed my liberty of action. Do as it pleases you,--I,\nZaroba, have given you the choice,--stay and dream of life--or come\nand live it! Till to-night--farewell!\u201d\n\nShe had reached the door and vanished through it, before F\u00e9raz could\ndemand more of her meaning,--and he was left alone, a prey to the most\ntorturing emotions. \u201cThe vulgar vice of curiosity!\u201d That was the\nphrase his brother had used to him scarcely an hour agone,--and yet,\nhere he was, yielding to a fresh fit of the intolerable desire that\nhad possessed him for years to know El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s great secret. He\ndropped wearily into a chair and thought all the circumstances over.\nThey were as follows:--\n\nIn the first place he had never known any other protector or friend\nthan his brother, who, being several years older than himself, had\ntaken sole charge of him after the almost simultaneous death of their\nfather and mother, an event which he knew had occurred somewhere in\nthe East, but how or when, he could not exactly remember, nor had he\never been told much about it. He had always been very happy in\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s companionship, and had travelled with him nearly all over\nthe world,--and, though they had never been rich, they always had\nsufficient wherewith to live comfortably, though how even this small\ncompetence was gained F\u00e9raz never knew. There had been no particular\nmystery about his brother\u2019s life, however, till on one occasion, when\nthey were travelling together across the Syrian desert, where they had\ncome upon a caravan of half-starved Arab wanderers in dire distress\nfrom want and sickness. Among them was an elderly woman at the extreme\npoint of death, and an orphan child named Lilith, who was also dying.\nEl-R\u00e2mi had suddenly, for no special reason, save kindness of heart\nand compassion, offered his services as physician to the stricken\nlittle party, and had restored the elderly woman, a widow, almost\nmiraculously to health and strength in a day or two. This woman was no\nother than Zaroba. The sick child however, a girl of about twelve\nyears old, died. And here began the puzzle. On the day of this girl\u2019s\ndeath, El-R\u00e2mi, with sudden and inexplicable haste, had sent his\nyoung brother on to Alexandria, bidding him there take ship\nimmediately for the Island of Cyprus, and carry to a certain monastery\nsome miles from Famagousta a packet of documents, which he stated were\nof the most extraordinary value and importance. F\u00e9raz had obeyed,\nand, according to further instructions, had remained as a visitor in\nthat Cyprian religious retreat, among monks unlike any other monks he\nhad ever seen or heard of, till he was sent for, whereupon, according\nto command, he rejoined El-R\u00e2mi in London. He found him, somewhat to\nhis surprise, installed in the small house where they now were,--with\nthe woman Zaroba, whose presence was another cause of blank\nastonishment, especially as she seemed to have nothing to do but keep\ncertain rooms upstairs in order. But all the questions F\u00e9raz poured\nout respecting her, and everything that had happened since their\nparting in the Syrian desert, were met by equivocal replies or\nabsolute silence on his brother\u2019s part, and by and by the young man\ngrew accustomed to his position. Day by day he became more and more\nsubservient to El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s will, though he could never quite comprehend\nwhy he was so willingly submissive. Of course he knew that his brother\nwas gifted with certain powers of physical magnetism,--because he had\nallowed himself to be practised upon, and he took a certain interest\nin the scientific development of those powers, this being, as he quite\ncomprehended, one of the branches of study on which El-R\u00e2mi was\nengaged. He knew that his brother could compel response to thought\nfrom a distance,--but, as there were others of his race who could do\nthe same thing, and as that sort of mild hypnotism was largely\npractised in the East, where he was born, he attached no special\nimportance to it. Endowed with various gifts of genius such as music\nand poetry, and a quick perception of everything beautiful and\nartistic, F\u00e9raz lived in a tranquil little Eden of his own,--and the\nonly serpent in it that now and then lifted its head to hiss doubt and\nperplexity was the inexplicable mystery of those upstair rooms over\nwhich Zaroba had guardianship. The merest allusion to the subject\nexcited El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s displeasure; and during the whole time they had\nlived together in that house, now nearly six years, he had not dared\nto speak of it more than a very few times, while Zaroba, on her part,\nhad faithfully preserved the utmost secrecy. Now, she seemed disposed\nto break the long-kept rules,--and F\u00e9raz knew not what to think of\nit.\n\n\u201cIs everything destiny, as El-R\u00e2mi says?\u201d he mused--\u201cOr shall I\nfollow my own desires in the face of destiny? Shall I yield to\ntemptation--or shall I overcome it? Shall I break his command,--lose\nhis affection and be a free man,--or shall I obey him still, and be\nhis slave? And what should I do with my liberty if I had it, I wonder?\nWomanish! What a word! _Am_ I womanish?\u201d He paced up and down the room\nin sudden irritation and haughtiness;--the piano stood open, but its\nivory keys failed to attract him,--his brain was full of other\nsuggestions than the making of sweet harmony.\n\n\u201cDo not seek out sorrow for yourself by rash and idle questioning.\u201d\n\nSo his brother had said at parting And the words rang in his ears as\nhe walked to and fro restlessly, thinking, wondering, and worrying his\nmind with vague wishes and foreboding anxieties, till the shining\nafternoon wore away and darkness fell.\n\n\n\n\n IX.\n\nA rough night at sea,--but the skies were clear, and the great\nworlds of God, which we call stars, throbbed in the heavens like\nlustrous lamps, all the more brilliantly for there being no moon to\neclipse their glory. A high gale was blowing, and the waves dashed up\non the coast of Ilfracombe with an organ-like thud and roar as they\nbroke in high jets of spray, and then ran swiftly back again with a\nsoft swish and ripple suggestive of the downward chromatic scale\nplayed rapidly on well-attuned strings. There was freshness and life\nin the dancing wind;--the world seemed well in motion;--and, standing\naloft among the rocks, and looking down at the tossing sea, one could\nrealise completely the continuous whirl of the globe beneath one\u2019s\nfeet, and the perpetual movement of the planet-studded heavens. High\nabove the shore, on a bare jutting promontory, a solitary house faced\nseaward;--it was squarely built and surmounted with a tower, wherein\none light burned fitfully, its pale sparkle seeming to quiver with\nfear as the wild wind fled past joyously, with a swirl and cry like\nsome huge sea-bird on the wing. It looked a dismal residence at its\nbest, even when the sun was shining,--but at night its aspect was\ninfinitely more dreary. It was an old house, and it enjoyed the\nreputation of being haunted,--a circumstance which had enabled its\npresent owner to purchase the lease of it for a very moderate sum. He\nit was who had built the tower, and, whether because of this piece of\nextravagance or for other unexplained reasons, he had won for himself\npersonally almost as uncanny a reputation as the house had possessed\nbefore he occupied it. A man who lived the life of a recluse,--who\nseemed to have no relations with the outside world at all,--who had\nonly one servant (a young German, whom the shrewder gossips declared\nwas his \u201ckeeper\u201d)--who lived on such simple fare as certainly would\nnever have contented a modern Hodge earning twelve shillings a week,\nand who seemed to purchase nothing but strange astronomical and\ngeometrical instruments,--surely such a queer personage must either be\nmad, or in league with some evil \u201csecret society,\u201d--the more\nespecially that he had had that tower erected, into which, after it\nwas finished, no one but himself ever entered, so far as the people of\nthe neighbourhood could tell. Under all these suspicious\ncircumstances, it was natural he should be avoided; and avoided he was\nby the good folk of Ilfracombe, in that pleasantly diverting fashion\nwhich causes provincial respectability to shudder away from the merest\nsuggestion of superior intelligence.\n\nAnd yet poor old Dr. Kremlin was a being not altogether to be\ndespised. His appearance was perhaps against him inasmuch as his\nclothes were shabby, and his eyes rather wild,--but the expression of\nhis meagre face was kind and gentle, and a perpetual compassion for\neverything and everybody seemed to vibrate in his voice and reflect\nitself in his melancholy smile. He was deeply occupied--so he told a\nfew friends in Russia, where he was born--in serious scientific\ninvestigations,--but the \u201cfriends,\u201d deeming him mad, held aloof till\nthose investigations should become results. If the results proved\ndisappointing, there would be no need to notice him any more,--if\nsuccessful, why then, by a mystic process known only to themselves,\nthe \u201cfriends\u201d would so increase and multiply that he would be quite\ninconveniently surrounded by them. In the meantime, nobody wrote to\nhim, or came to see him, except El-R\u00e2mi; and it was El-R\u00e2mi now,\nwho, towards ten o\u2019clock in the evening, knocked at the door of his\nlonely habitation and was at once admitted with every sign of\ndeference and pleasure by the servant Karl.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m glad you\u2019ve come, sir,\u201d--said this individual cheerfully,--\u201cThe\nHerr Doctor has not been out all day, and he eats less than ever. It\nwill do him good to see you.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe is in the tower as usual, at work?\u201d inquired El-R\u00e2mi, throwing\noff his coat.\n\nKarl assented, with rather a doleful look,--and, opening the door of a\nsmall dining-room, showed the supper-table laid for two.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s no good, Karl!\u201d he said kindly--\u201cIt\u2019s very well meant on your\npart, but it\u2019s no good at all. You will never persuade your master to\neat at this time of night, or me either. Clear all these things\naway,--and make your mind easy,--go to bed and sleep. To-morrow\nmorning prepare as excellent a breakfast as you please--I promise you\nwe\u2019ll do justice to it! Don\u2019t look so discontented--don\u2019t you know\nthat over-feeding kills the working capacity?\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd over-starving kills the man,--working capacity and\nall\u201d--responded Karl lugubriously--\u201cHowever, I suppose you know best,\nsir!\u201d\n\n\u201cIn this case I do\u201d--replied El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cYour master expects me?\u201d\n\nKarl nodded,--and El-R\u00e2mi, with a brief \u201cgood-night,\u201d ascended the\nstaircase rapidly and soon disappeared. A door banged aloft--then all\nwas still. Karl sighed profoundly, and slowly cleared away the useless\nsupper.\n\n\u201cWell! How wise men can bear to starve themselves just for the sake of\nteaching fools, is more than I shall ever understand!\u201d he said half\naloud--\u201cBut then I shall never be wise--I am an ass and always was. A\ngood dinner and a glass of good wine have always seemed to me better\nthan all the science going,--there\u2019s a shameful confession of\nignorance and brutality together, if you like. \u2018Where do you think you\nwill go to when you die, Karl?\u2019 says the poor old Herr Doctor. And\nwhat do _I_ say? I say--\u2018I don\u2019t know, _mein Herr_--and I don\u2019t care.\nThis world is good enough for me so long as I live in it.\u2019 \u2018But\nafterwards, Karl,--afterwards?\u2019 he says, with his gray head shaking.\nAnd what do _I_ say? Why, I say--\u2018I can\u2019t tell, _mein Herr_! but\nwhoever sent me Here will surely have sense enough to look after me\nThere!\u2019 And he laughs, and his head shakes worse than ever. Ah!\nNothing can ever make me clever, and I\u2019m very glad of it!\u201d\n\nHe whistled a lively tune softly, as he went to bed in his little\nside-room off the passage, and wondered again, as he had wondered\nhundreds of times before, what caused that solemn low humming noise\nthat throbbed so incessantly through the house, and seemed so loud\nwhen everything else was still. It was a grave sound,--suggestive of a\nlong-sustained organ-note held by the pedal-bass;--the murmuring of\nseas and rivers seemed in it, as well as the rush of the wind. Karl\nhad grown accustomed to it, though he did not know what it meant,--and\nhe listened to it, till drowsiness made him fancy it was the hum of\nhis mother\u2019s spinning-wheel, at home in his native German village\namong the pine-forests, and so he fell happily asleep.\n\nMeanwhile El-R\u00e2mi, ascending to the tower, knocked sharply at a small\nnail-studded door in the wall. The mysterious murmuring noise was now\nlouder than ever,--and the knock had to be repeated three or four\ntimes before it was attended to. Then the door was cautiously opened,\nand the \u201cHerr Doctor\u201d himself looked out, his wizened, aged,\nmeditative face illumined like a Rembrandt picture by the small\nhand-lamp he held in his hand.\n\n\u201cAh!--El-R\u00e2mi!\u201d he said in slow yet pleased tones--\u201cI thought it\nmight be you. And like \u2018Bernardo\u2019--you \u2018come most carefully upon your\nhour.\u2019\u201d\n\nHe smiled, as one well satisfied to have made an apt quotation, and\nopened the door more widely to admit his visitor.\n\n\u201cCome in quickly,\u201d--he said--\u201cThe great window is open to the skies,\nand the wind is high,--I fear some damage from the draught,--come\nin--come in!\u201d\n\nHis voice became suddenly testy and querulous,--and El-R\u00e2mi stepped\nin at once without reply. Dr. Kremlin shut to the door carefully and\nbolted it--then he turned the light of the lamp he carried full on the\ndark handsome face and dignified figure of his companion.\n\n\u201cYou are looking well--well,\u201d--he muttered,--\u201cNot a shade\nolder--always sound and strong! Just Heavens!--if I had your physique,\nI think, with Archimedes, that I could lift the world! But I am\ngetting very old,--the life in me is ebbing fast,--and I have not done\nmy work-- ... God! ... God! I have not done my work!\u201d\n\nHe clenched his hands, and his voice quavered down into a sound that\nwas almost a groan. El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s black beaming eyes rested on him\ncompassionately.\n\n\u201cYou are worn out, my dear Kremlin,\u201d--he said gently--\u201cworn out and\nexhausted with long toil. You shall sleep to-night. I have come\naccording to my promise, and I will do what I can for you. Trust\nme--you shall not lose the reward of your life\u2019s work by want of time.\nYou shall have time,--even leisure to complete your labours,--I will\ngive you \u2018length of days\u2019!\u201d\n\nThe elder man sank into a chair trembling, and rested his head wearily\non one hand.\n\n\u201cYou cannot;\u201d--he said faintly--\u201cyou cannot stop the advance of death,\nmy friend! You are a very clever man--you have a far-reaching subtlety\nof brain,--but your learning and wisdom must pause _there_--there at\nthe boundary-line of the grave. You cannot overstep it or penetrate\nbeyond it--you cannot slacken the pace of the on-rushing years;--no,\nno! I shall be forced to depart with half my discovery uncompleted.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled,--a slightly derisive smile.\n\n\u201cYou, who have faith in so much that cannot be proved, are singularly\nincredulous of a fact that _can_ be proved;\u201d--he said--\u201cAnyway,\nwhatever you choose to think, here I am in answer to your rather\nsudden summons--and here is your saving remedy;--\u201d and he placed a\ngold-stoppered flask on the table near which they sat--\u201cIt is, or\nmight be called, a veritable distilled essence of time,--for it will\ndo what they say God cannot do, make the days spin backward!\u201d\n\nDr. Kremlin took up the flask curiously.\n\n\u201cYou are so positive of its action?\u201d\n\n\u201cPositive. I have kept one human creature alive and in perfect health\nfor six years on that vital fluid alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cWonderful!--wonderful!\u201d--and the old scientist held it close to the\nlight, where it seemed to flash like a diamond,--then he smiled\ndubiously--\u201cAm I the new Faust, and you Mephisto?\u201d\n\n\u201cBah!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi shrugged his shoulders carelessly--\u201cAn old nurse\u2019s\ntale!--yet, like all old nurses\u2019 tales and legends of every sort under\nthe sun, it is not without its grain of truth. As I have often told\nyou, there is really nothing imagined by the human brain that is not\npossible of realisation, either here or hereafter. It would be a false\nnote and a useless calculation to allow thought to dwell on what\ncannot be,--hence our airiest visions are bound to become facts in\ntime. All the same, I am not of such superhuman ability that I can\nmake you change your skin like a serpent, and blossom into youth and\nthe common vulgar lusts of life, which to the thinker must be\nvalueless. No. What you hold there will simply renew the tissues, and\ngradually enrich the blood with fresh globules--nothing more,--but\nthat is all you need. Plainly and practically speaking, as long as the\ntissues and the blood continue to renew themselves, you cannot die\nexcept by violence.\u201d\n\n\u201cCannot die!\u201d echoed Kremlin, in stupefied wonder--\u201cCannot die?\u201d\n\n\u201cExcept by violence--\u201d repeated El-R\u00e2mi with emphasis, \u201cWell!--and\nwhat now? There is nothing really astonishing in the statement. Death\nby violence is the only death possible to any one familiar with the\nsecrets of Nature, and there is more than one lesson to be learned\nfrom the old story of Cain and Abel. The first death in the world,\naccording to that legend, was death by violence. Without violence,\nlife should be immortal, or at least renewable at pleasure.\u201d\n\n\u201cImmortal!\u201d muttered Dr. Kremlin--\u201cImmortal! Renewable at pleasure! My\nGod!--then I have time before me--plenty of time!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have, if you care for it--\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi with a tinge of\nmelancholy in his accents--\u201cand if you continue to care for it. Few\ndo, nowadays.\u201d\n\nBut his companion scarcely heard him. He was balancing the little\nflask in his hand in wonderment and awe.\n\n\u201cDeath by violence?\u201d he repeated slowly. \u201cBut, my friend, may not God\nHimself use violence towards us? May He not snatch the unwilling soul\nfrom its earthly tenement at an unexpected moment,--and so, all the\nscheming and labour and patient calculation of years be ended in one\nflash of time?\u201d\n\n\u201cGod--if there be a God, which some are fain to believe there\nis,--uses no violence--\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cDeaths by violence are due\nto the ignorance, or brutality, or long-inherited foolhardiness and\ninterference of man alone.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat of shipwreck?--storm?--lightning?\u201d--queried Dr. Kremlin, still\nplaying with the flask he held.\n\n\u201cYou are not going to sea, are you?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi smiling--\u201cAnd\nsurely you, of all men, should know that even shipwrecks are due to a\nlack of mathematical balance in shipbuilding. One little trifle of\nexactitude, which is always missing, unfortunately,--one little\ndelicate scientific adjustment, and the fiercest storm and wind could\nnot prevail against the properly poised vessel. As for lightning--of\ncourse people are killed by it if they persist in maintaining an erect\nposition like a lightning-rod or conductor, while the electrical\ncurrents are in full play. If they were to lie flat down, as savages\ndo, they could not attract the descending force. But who, among\narrogant stupid men, cares to adopt such simple precautions? Any way,\nI do not see that you need fear any of these disasters.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d--said the old man meditatively, \u201cI need not fear,--no, no! I\nhave nothing to fear.\u201d\n\nHis voice sank into silence. He and El-R\u00e2mi were sitting in a small\nsquare chamber of the tower,--very narrow, with only space enough for\nthe one tiny table and two chairs which furnished it,--the walls were\ncovered with very curious maps, composed of lines and curves and\nzigzag patterns, meaningless to all except Kremlin himself, whose\ndreamy gaze wandered to them between-whiles with an ardent yearning\nand anxiety. And ever that strange deep, monotonous humming noise\nsurged through the tower as of a mighty wheel at work, the vibration\nof the sound seemed almost to shake the solid masonry, while mingling\nwith it now and again came the wild sea-bird cry of the wind. El-R\u00e2mi\nlistened.\n\n\u201cAnd still it moves?\u201d he queried softly, using almost the words of\nGalileo,--\u201c_e pur si muove_.\u201d\n\nDr. Kremlin looked up, his pale eyes full of a sudden fire and\nanimation.\n\n\u201cAy!--still it moves!\u201d he responded with a touch of eager triumph in\nhis tone--\u201cStill it moves--and still it sounds! The music of the\nEarth, my friend!--the dominant note of all Nature\u2019s melody! Hear\nit!--round, full, grand, and perfect!--one tone in the ascending scale\nof the planets,--the song of _one_ Star,--our Star--as it rolls on its\npredestined way! Come!--come with me!\u201d and he sprang up excitedly--\u201cIt\nis a night for work;--the heavens are clear as a mirror,--come and see\nmy Dial of the Fates,--you have seen it before, I know, but there are\nnew reflexes upon it now,--new lines of light and colour,--ah, my good\nEl-R\u00e2mi, if you could solve _my_ problem, you would be soon wiser\nthan you are! Your gift of long life would be almost valueless\ncompared to my proof of what is beyond life----\u201d\n\n\u201cYes--if the proof could be obtained--\u201d interposed El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cIt shall be obtained!\u201d cried Kremlin wildly--\u201cIt shall! I will not\ndie till the secret is won! I will wrench it out from the Holy of\nHolies--I will pluck it from the very thoughts of God!\u201d\n\nHe trembled with the violence of his own emotions,--then passing his\nhand across his forehead, he relapsed into sudden calm, and, smiling\ngently, said again--\n\n\u201cCome!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi rose at once in obedience to this request,--and the old man\npreceded him to a high narrow door which looked like a slit in the\nwall, and which he unbarred and opened with an almost jealous care. A\nbrisk puff of wind blew in their faces through the aperture, but this\nsubsided into mere cool freshness of air as they entered and stood\ntogether within the great central chamber of the tower,--a lofty\napartment, where the strange work of Kremlin\u2019s life was displayed in\nall its marvellous complexity,--a work such as no human being had ever\nattempted before, or would be likely to attempt again.\n\n\n\n\n X.\n\nThe singular object that at once caught and fixed the eye in\nfascinated amazement, and something of terror, was a huge disc,\nsuspended between ceiling and floor by an apparently inextricable mesh\nand tangle of wires. It was made of some smooth glittering substance\nlike crystal, and seemed from its great height and circumference to\noccupy nearly the whole of the lofty tower-room. It appeared to be\nlightly poised and balanced on a long steel rod,--a sort of gigantic\nneedle which hung from the very top of the tower. The entire surface\nof the disc was a subdued blaze of light,--light which fluctuated in\nwaves and lines, and zigzag patterns like a kaleidoscope, as the\nenormous thing circled round and round, as it did, with a sort of\nmeasured motion, and a sustained solemn buzzing sound. Here was the\nexplanation of the mysterious noise that vibrated throughout the\nhouse,--it was simply the movement of this round shield-like mass\namong its wonderful network of rods and wires. Dr. Kremlin called it\nhis \u201ccrystal\u201d disc,--but it was utterly unlike ordinary crystal, for\nit not only shone with a transparent watery clearness, but possessed\nthe scintillating lustre of a fine diamond cut into numerous prisms,\nso that El-R\u00e2mi shaded his eyes from the flash of it as he stood\ncontemplating it in silence. It swirled round and round steadily;\nfacing it, a large casement window, about the size of half the wall,\nwas thrown open to the night, and through this could be seen a myriad\nsparkling stars. The wind blew in, but not fiercely now, for part of\nthe wrath of the gale was past,--and the wash of the sea on the beach\nbelow had exactly the same tone in it as the monotonous hum of the\ndisc as it moved. At one side of the open window a fine telescope\nmounted on a high stand pointed out towards the heavens,--there were\nnumerous other scientific implements in the room, but it was\nimpossible to take much notice of anything but the disc itself, with\nits majestic motion and the solemn sound to which it swung. Dr.\nKremlin seemed to have almost forgotten El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s presence,--going up\nto the window, he sat down on a low bench in the corner, and folding\nhis arms across his breast gazed at his strange invention with a\nfixed, wondering, and appealing stare.\n\n\u201cHow to unravel the meaning--how to decipher the message!\u201d he\nmuttered--\u201cSphinx of my brain, tell me, is there no answer? Shall the\nactual offspring of my thought refuse to clear up the riddle I\npropound? Nay, is it possible the creature should baffle the creator?\nSee! the lines change again--the vibrations are altered,--the circle\nis ever the circle, but the reflexes differ,--how can one separate or\nclassify them--how?\u201d\n\nThus far his half-whispered words were audible,--when El-R\u00e2mi came\nand stood beside him. Then he seemed to suddenly recollect himself,\nand, looking up, he rose to his feet and spoke in a perfectly calm and\ncollected manner.\n\n\u201cYou see\u201d--he said, pointing to the disc with the air of a lecturer\nillustrating his discourse--\u201cTo begin with, there is the fine\nhair\u2019s-breadth balance of matter which gives perpetual motion. Nothing\ncan stop that movement save the destruction of the whole piece of\nmechanism. By some such subtly delicate balance as that, the Universe\nmoves,--and nothing can stop it save the destruction of the Universe.\nIs not that fairly reasoned?\u201d\n\n\u201cPerfectly,\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi, who was listening with profound\nattention.\n\n\u201cSurely that of itself,--the secret of perpetual motion,--is a great\ndiscovery, is it not?\u201d questioned Kremlin eagerly.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi hesitated.\n\n\u201cIt is,\u201d he said at last. \u201cForgive me if I paused a moment before\nreplying,--the reason of my doing so was this. You cannot claim to\nyourself any actual discovery of perpetual motion, because that is\nNature\u2019s own particular mystery. Perhaps I do not explain myself with\nsufficient clearness,--well, what I mean to imply is this--namely,\nthat your wonderful dial there would not revolve as it does if the\nEarth on which we stand were not also revolving. If we could imagine\nour planet stopping suddenly in its course, your disc would stop\nalso,--is not that correct?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, naturally!\u201d assented Kremlin impatiently. \u201cIts movement is\nmathematically calculated to follow, in a slower degree, but with\nrhythmical exactitude, the Earth\u2019s own movement, and is so balanced as\nto be absolutely accurate to the very half-quarter of a\nhair\u2019s-breadth.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,--and there is the chief wonder of your invention,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi\nquietly. \u201cIt is that peculiarly precise calculation of yours that is\nso marvellous, in that it enables you _to follow the course of\nperpetual motion_. With perpetual motion itself you have nothing to\ndo,--you cannot find its why or its when or its how,--it is eternal as\nEternity. Things must move,--and we all move with them--your disc\nincluded.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut the moving things are balanced--so!\u201d said Kremlin, pointing\ntriumphantly to his work--\u201cOn one point--one pivot!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd that point----?\u201d queried El-R\u00e2mi dubiously.\n\n\u201cIs a Central Universe\u201d--responded Kremlin--\u201cwhere God abides.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him with dark, dilating, burning eyes.\n\n\u201cSuppose,\u201d he said suddenly--\u201csuppose--for the sake of argument--that\nthis Central Universe, you imagine exists, were but the outer covering\nor shell of another Central Universe, and so on through innumerable\nCentral Universes for ever and ever and ever, and no point or pivot\nreachable!\u201d\n\nKremlin uttered a cry, and clasped his hands with a gesture of terror.\n\n\u201cStop--stop!\u201d he gasped--\u201cSuch an idea is frightful!--horrible! Would\nyou drive me mad?--mad, I tell you? No human brain could steadily\ncontemplate the thought of such pitiless infinity!\u201d\n\nHe sank back on the seat and rocked himself to and fro like a person\nin physical pain, the while he stared at El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s majestic figure\nand dark meditative face as though he saw some demon in a dream.\nEl-R\u00e2mi met his gaze with a compassionate glance in his own eyes.\n\n\u201cYou are narrow, my friend,\u201d--he observed--\u201cas narrow of outward and\nonward conception as most scientists are. I grant you the human brain\nhas limits; but the human Soul has none! There is no \u2018pitiless\ninfinity\u2019 to the Soul\u2019s aspirations,--it is never contented,--but\neternally ambitious, eternally inquiring, eternally young, it is ready\nto scale heights and depths without end, unconscious of fatigue or\nsatiety. What of a million million Universes? I--even I--can\ncontemplate them without dismay,--the brain may totter and reel at the\nmultiplicity of them,--but the Soul would absorb them all and yet\nseek space for more!\u201d\n\nHis rich, deep, tranquil voice had the effect of calming Kremlin\u2019s\nexcited nerves. He paused in his uneasy rocking to and fro, and\nlistened as though he heard music.\n\n\u201cYou are a bold man, El-R\u00e2mi,\u201d he said slowly--\u201cI have always said\nit,--bold even to rashness. Yet with all your large ideas I find you\ninconsistent; for example, you talk of the Soul now, as if you\nbelieved in it,--but there are times when you declare yourself\ndoubtful of its existence.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is necessary to split hairs of argument with you, I see\u201d--returned\nEl-R\u00e2mi with a slight smile,--\u201cCan you not understand that I may\n_believe_ in the Soul without being sure of it? It is the natural\ninstinct of every man to credit himself with immortality, because this\nlife is so short and unsatisfactory,--the notion may be a fault of\nheritage perhaps, still it is implanted in us all the same. And I do\nbelieve in the Soul,--but I require certainty to make my mere belief\nan undeniable fact. And the whole business of my life is to establish\nthat fact provably, and beyond any sort of doubt whatever,--what\ninconsistency do you find there?\u201d\n\n\u201cNone--none--\u201d said Kremlin hastily--\u201cBut you will not succeed,--yours\nis too daring an attempt,--too arrogant and audacious a demand upon\nthe unknown forces.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what of the daring and arrogance displayed here?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi,\nwith a wave of his hand towards the glittering disc in front of them.\n\nKremlin jumped up excitedly.\n\n\u201cNo, no!--you cannot call the mere scientific investigation of natural\nobjects arrogant,\u201d he said--\u201cBesides, the whole thing is so very\nsimple after all. It is well known that every star in the heavens\nsends forth perpetual radiations of light; which radiations in a given\nnumber of minutes, days, months, or years, reach our Earth. It depends\nof course on the distance between the particular star and our planet,\nas to how long these light-vibrations take to arrive here. One ray\nfrom some stars will occupy thousands of years in its course,--in\nfact, the original planet from which it fell may be swept out of\nexistence before it has time to penetrate our atmosphere. All this is\nin the lesson-books of children, and is familiar to every beginner in\nthe rudiments of astronomy. But apart from time and distance, there is\n_no cessation_ to these light-beats or vibrations; they keep on\narriving for ever, without an instant\u2019s pause. Now my great idea was,\nas you know, to catch these reflexes on a mirror or dial of magnetic\nspar,--and you see for yourself that this thing, which seemed\nimpossible, is to a certain extent done. Magnetic spar is not a new\nsubstance to you, any more than it was to the Egyptian priests of\nold--and the quality it has, of attracting light in its exact lines\nwherever light falls, is no surprise to you, though it might seem a\nmarvel to the ignorant. Every little zigzag or circular flash on that\ndisc is a vibration of light from some star,--but what puzzles and\nconfounds my skill is this;--That there is a meaning in those lines--a\ndistinct meaning which asks to be interpreted,--a picture which is\never on the point of declaring itself, and is never declared. Mine is\nthe torture of a Tantalus watching night after night that mystic\ndial!\u201d\n\nHe went close up to the disc, and pointed out one particular spot on\nits surface where at that moment there was a glittering tangle of\nlittle prismatic tints.\n\n\u201cObserve this with me--\u201d he said, and El-R\u00e2mi approached him--\u201cHere\nis a perfect cluster of light-vibrations,--in two minutes by my watch\nthey will be here no longer,--and a year or more may pass before they\nappear again. From what stars they fall, and why they have deeper\ncolours than most of the reflexes, I cannot tell. There--see!\u201d and he\nlooked round with an air of melancholy triumph, mingled with wonder,\nas the little spot of brilliant colour suddenly disappeared like the\nmoisture of breath from a mirror--\u201cThey are gone! I have seen them\nfour times only since the disc was balanced twelve years ago,--and I\nhave tried in every way to trace their origin--in vain--all, all in\nvain! If I could only decipher the meaning!--for as sure as God lives\nthere is a meaning there.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi was silent, and Dr. Kremlin went on.\n\n\u201cThe air is a conveyer of Sound--\u201d he said meditatively--\u201cThe light is\na conveyer of Scenes. Mark that well. The light may be said to create\nlandscape and generate Colour. Reflexes of light make\npictures,--witness the instantaneous flash, which, with the aid of\nchemistry, will give you a photograph in a second. I firmly believe\nthat all reflexes of light are so many letters of a marvellous\nalphabet, which, if we could only read it, would enable us to grasp\nthe highest secrets of creation. The seven tones of music, for\nexample, are in Nature;--in any ordinary storm, where there is wind\nand rain and the rustle of leaves, you can hear the complete scale on\nwhich every atom of musical composition has ever been written. Yet\nwhat ages it took us to reduce that scale to a visible tangible\nform,--and even now we have not mastered the _quarter-tones_ heard in\nthe songs of birds. And just as the whole realm of music is in seven\ntones of natural Sound, so the whole realm of light is in a pictured\nlanguage of Design, Colour, and Method, with an intention and a\nmessage, which _we_--we human beings--are intended to discover. Yet,\nwith all these great mysteries waiting to be solved, the most of us\nare content to eat and drink and sleep and breed and die, like the\nlowest cattle, in brutish ignorance of more than half our intellectual\nprivileges. I tell you, El-R\u00e2mi, if I could only find out and place\ncorrectly _one_ of those light-vibrations, the rest might be easy.\u201d\n\nHe heaved a profound sigh,--and the great disc, circling steadily with\nits grave monotonous hum, might have passed for the wheel of Fate\nwhich he, poor mortal, was powerless to stop though it should grind\nhim to atoms.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi watched him with interest and something of compassion for a\nminute or two,--then he touched his arm gently.\n\n\u201cKremlin, is it not time for you to rest?\u201d he asked kindly--\u201cYou have\nnot slept well for many nights,--you are tired out,--why not sleep\nnow, and gather strength for future labours?\u201d\n\nThe old man started, and a slight shiver ran through him.\n\n\u201cYou mean----?\u201d he began.\n\n\u201cI mean to do for you what I promised--\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi, \u201cYou asked\nme for this--\u201d and he held up the gold-stoppered flask he had brought\nin with him from the next room--\u201cIt is all ready prepared for\nyou--drink it, and to-morrow you will find yourself a new man.\u201d\n\nDr. Kremlin looked at him suspiciously--and then began to laugh with a\nsort of hysterical nervousness.\n\n\u201cI believe--\u201d he murmured indistinctly and with affected\njocularity--\u201cI believe that you want to poison me! Yes--yes!--to\npoison me and take all my discoveries for yourself! You want to solve\nthe great Star-problem and take all the glory and rob me--yes, rob me\nof my hard-earned fame!--yes--it is poison--poison!\u201d\n\nAnd he chuckled feebly, and hid his face between his hands.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi heard him with an expression of pain and pity in his fine\neyes.\n\n\u201cMy poor old friend--\u201d he said gently--\u201cYou are wearied to death--so I\npardon you your sudden distrust of me. As for poison--see!\u201d and he\nlifted the flask he held to his lips and drank a few drops--\u201cHave no\nfear! Your Star-problem is your own,--and I desire that you should\nlive long enough to read its great mystery. As for me, I have other\nlabours;--to me stars, solar systems, ay! whole universes are\nnothing,--my business is with the Spirit that dominates Matter--not\nwith Matter itself. Enough;--will you live or will you die? It rests\nwith yourself to choose--for you are ill, Kremlin--very ill,--your\nbrain is fagged and weak--you cannot go on much longer like this. Why\ndid you send for me if you do not believe in me?\u201d\n\nThe old Doctor tottered to the window-bench and sat down,--then\nlooking up, he forced a smile.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you see for yourself what a coward I have become?\u201d he said--\u201cI\ntell you I am afraid of everything;--of you--of myself--and worst of\nall, of _that_--\u201d and he pointed to the disc--\u201cwhich lately seems to\nhave grown stronger than I am.\u201d He paused a moment--then went on with\nan effort--\u201cI had a strange idea the other night,--I thought, suppose\nGod, in the beginning, created the universe simply to divert\nHimself--just as I created my dial there;--and suppose it had happened\nthat instead of being His servant, as He originally intended, it had\nbecome His master?--that He actually had no more power over it?\nSuppose He were _dead_? We see that the works of men live ages after\ntheir death,--why not the works of God? Horrible--horrible! Death is\nhorrible! I do not want to die, El-R\u00e2mi!\u201d and his faint voice rose to\na querulous wail, \u201cNot yet--not yet! I cannot!--I must finish my\nwork--I must know--I must live----\u201d\n\n\u201cYou shall live,\u201d interrupted El-R\u00e2mi. \u201cTrust me--there is no death\nin _this_!\u201d\n\nHe held up the mysterious flask again. Kremlin stared at it, shaking\nall over with nervousness--then on a sudden impulse clutched it.\n\n\u201cAm I to drink it all?\u201d he asked faintly.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi bent his head in assent.\n\nKremlin hesitated a moment longer--then, with the air of one who takes\na sudden desperate resolve, he gave one eager yearning look at the\nhuge revolving disc, and, putting the flask to his lips, drained its\ncontents. He had scarcely swallowed the last drop, when he sprang to\nhis feet, uttered a smothered cry, staggered, and fell on the floor\nmotionless. El-R\u00e2mi caught him up at once, and lifted him easily in\nhis strong arms on to the window-seat, where he laid him down gently,\nplacing coverings over him and a pillow under his head. The old man\u2019s\nface was white and rigid as the face of a corpse, but he breathed\neasily and quietly, and El-R\u00e2mi, knowing the action of the draught he\nhad administered, saw there was no cause for anxiety in his condition.\nHe himself leaned on the sill of the great open window and looked out\nat the starlit sky for some minutes, and listened to the sonorous\nplashing of the waves on the shore below. Now and then he glanced back\nover his shoulder at the great dial and its shining star-patterns.\n\n\u201cOnly Lilith could decipher the meaning of it all,\u201d he mused.\n\u201cPerhaps,--some day--it might be possible to ask her. But then, do I\nin truth believe what she tells me?--would _he_ believe? The\ntranscendentally uplifted soul of a woman!--ought we to credit the\nmessage obtained through so ethereal a means? I doubt it. We men are\ncomposed of such stuff that we must convince ourselves of a fact by\nevery known test before we finally accept it,--like St. Thomas, unless\nwe put our rough hand into the wounded side of Christ, and thrust our\nfingers into the nail-prints, we will not believe. And I shall never\nresolve myself as to which is the wisest course,--to accept everything\nwith the faith of a child, or dispute everything with the arguments of\na controversialist. The child is happiest; but then the question\narises--Were we meant to be happy? I think not,--since there is\nnothing that can make us so for long.\u201d\n\nHis brow clouded and he stood absorbed, looking at the stars, yet\nscarcely conscious of beholding them. Happiness! It had a sweet\nsound,--an exquisite suggestion; and his thoughts clung round it\npersistently as bees round honey. Happiness!--What could engender it?\nThe answer came unbidden to his brain--\u201cLove!\u201d He gave an involuntary\ngesture of irritation, as though some one had spoken the word in his\near.\n\n\u201cLove!\u201d he exclaimed half aloud. \u201cThere is no such thing--not on\nearth. There is Desire,--the animal attraction of one body for\nanother, which ends in disgust and satiety. Love should have no touch\nof coarseness in it,--and can anything be coarser than the\nmarriage-tie?--the bond which compels a man and woman to live together\nin daily partnership of bed and board, and reproduce their kind like\npigs, or other common cattle. To call that _love_ is a sacrilege to\nthe very name,--for Love is a divine emotion, and demands divinest\ncomprehension.\u201d\n\nHe went up to where Kremlin lay reclined,--the old man slept\nprofoundly and peacefully,--his face had gained colour and seemed less\npinched and meagre in outline. El-R\u00e2mi felt his pulse,--it beat\nregularly and calmly. Satisfied with his examination, he wheeled away\nthe great telescope into a corner, and shut the window against the\nnight air,--then he lay down himself on the floor, with his coat\nrolled under him for a pillow, and composed himself to sleep till\nmorning.\n\n\n\n\n XI.\n\nThe next day dawned in brilliant sunshine; the sea was as smooth as\na lake, and the air pleasantly warm and still. Dr. Kremlin\u2019s servant\nKarl got up in a very excellent humour,--he had slept well, and he\nawoke with the comfortable certainty of finding his eccentric master\nin better health and spirits, as this was always the case after one of\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s rare visits. And Karl, though he did not much appreciate\nlearning, especially when the pursuit of it induced people, as he\nsaid, to starve themselves for the sake of acquiring wisdom, did feel\nin his own heart that there was something about El-R\u00e2mi that was not\nprecisely like other men, and he had accordingly for him not only a\ngreat attraction, but a profound respect.\n\n\u201cIf anybody can do the Herr Doctor good, he can--\u201d he thought, as he\nlaid the breakfast-table in the little dining-room whose French\nwindows opened out to a tiny green lawn fronting the sea,--\u201cCertainly\none can never cure old age,--that is an ailment for which there is no\nremedy; but however old we are bound to get, I don\u2019t see why we should\nnot be merry over it and enjoy our meals to the last. Now let me\nsee--what have I to get ready--\u201d and he enumerated on his\nfingers--\u201cCoffee--toast--rolls,--butter--eggs--fish,--I think that\nwill do;--and if I just put these few roses in the middle of the table\nto tempt the eye a bit,\u201d--and he suited the action to the word--\u201cThere\nnow!--if the Herr Doctor can be pleased at all----\u201d\n\n\u201cBreakfast, Karl! breakfast!\u201d interrupted a clear cheerful voice, the\nsound of which made Karl start with nervous astonishment. \u201cMake haste,\nmy good fellow! My friend here has to catch an early train.\u201d\n\nKarl turned round, stared, and stood motionless, open-mouthed, and\nstruck dumb with sheer surprise. Could it be the old Doctor who spoke?\nWas it his master at all,--this hale, upright, fresh-faced individual\nwho stood before him, smiling pleasantly and giving his orders with\nsuch a brisk air of authority? Bewildered and half afraid, he cast a\ndesperate glance at El-R\u00e2mi, who had also entered the room, and who,\nseeing his confusion, made him a secret sign.\n\n\u201cYes--be as quick as you can, Karl,\u201d he said. \u201cYour master has had a\ngood night, and is much better, as you see. We shall be glad of our\nbreakfast; I told you we should, last night. Don\u2019t keep us waiting!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, sir--no, sir!\u201d stammered Karl, trying to collect his scattered\nsenses and staring again at Dr. Kremlin,--then, scarcely knowing\nwhether he was on his head or his heels, he scrambled out of the room\ninto the passage, where he stood for a minute stupefied and inert.\n\n\u201cIt must be devils\u2019 work!\u201d he ejaculated amazedly. \u201cWho but the devil\ncould make a man look twenty years younger in a single night?\nYes--twenty years younger,--he looks that if he looks a day. God have\nmercy on us!--what will happen next--what sort of a service have I got\ninto?--Oh, my poor mother!\u201d\n\nThis last was Karl\u2019s supremest adjuration,--when he could find nothing\nelse to say, the phrase \u201cOh, my poor mother!\u201d came as naturally to his\nlips as the familiar \u201cD----n it!\u201d from the mouth of an old swaggerer\nin the army or navy. He meant nothing by it, except perhaps a vague\nallusion to the innocent days of his childhood, when he was ignorant\nof the wicked ways of the wicked world, and when \u201cOh, my poor mother!\u201d\nhad not the most distant idea as to what was going to become of her\nhopeful first-born.\n\nMeantime, while he went down into the kitchen and bustled about there,\ngetting the coffee, frying the fish, boiling the eggs, and cogitating\nwith his own surprised and half-terrified self, Dr. Kremlin and his\nguest had stepped out into the little garden together, and they now\nstood there on the grass-plot surveying the glittering wide expanse of\nocean before them. They spoke not a word for some minutes,--then, all\nat once, Kremlin turned round and caught both El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s hands in his\nown and pressed them fervently--there were tears in his eyes.\n\n\u201cWhat can I say to you?\u201d he murmured in a voice broken by strong\nemotion--\u201cHow can I thank you? You have been as a god to me;--I live\nagain,--I breathe again,--this morning the world seems new to my\neyes,--as new as though I had never seen it before. I have left a\nwhole cycle of years, with all their suffering and bitterness, behind\nme, and I am ready now to commence life afresh.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is well!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi gently, cordially returning the pressure\nof his hands. \u201cThat is as it should be. To see your strength and\nvitality thus renewed is more than enough reward for me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do I really _look_ younger?--am I actually changed in\nappearance?\u201d asked Kremlin eagerly.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled. \u201cWell, you saw poor Karl\u2019s amazement\u201d--he replied.\n\u201cHe was afraid of you, I think--and also of me. Yes, you are changed,\nthough not miraculously so. Your hair is as gray as ever,--the same\nfurrows of thought are on your face;--all that has occurred is the\nsimple renewal of the tissues, and revivifying of the blood,--and this\ngives you the look of vigour and heartiness you have this morning.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut will it last?--will it last?\u201d queried Kremlin anxiously.\n\n\u201cIf you follow my instructions, of course it will--\u201d returned\nEl-R\u00e2mi--\u201cI will see to that. I have left with you a certain quantity\nof the vital fluid,--all you have to do is to take ten drops every\nthird night, or inject it into your veins if you prefer that\nmethod;--then,--as I told you,--you cannot die, except by violence.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd no violence comes here\u201d--said Kremlin with a smile, glancing\nround at the barren yet picturesque scene--\u201cI am as lonely as an\nunmated eagle on a rock,--and the greater my solitude the happier I\nam. The world is very beautiful--that I grant,--but the beings that\ninhabit it spoil it for me, albeit I am one of them. And so I cannot\ndie, except by violence? Almost I touch immortality! Marvellous\nEl-R\u00e2mi! You should be a king of nations!\u201d\n\n\u201cToo low a destiny!\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cI\u2019d rather be a ruler of\nplanets.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, there is your stumbling-block!\u201d said Kremlin, with sudden\nseriousness,--\u201cYou soar too high--you are never contented.\u201d\n\n\u201cContent is impossible to the Soul\u201d--returned El-R\u00e2mi,--\u201cNothing is\ntoo high or too low for its investigation. And whatever _can_ be done,\n_should_ be done, in order that the whole gamut of life may be\nproperly understood by those who are forced to live it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do not you understand it?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn part--yes. But not wholly. It is not sufficient to have traced the\nripple of a brain-wave through the air and followed its action and\nresult with exactitude,--nor is it entirely satisfactory to have all\nthe secrets of physical and mental magnetism, and attraction between\nbodies and minds, made clear and easy without knowing the _reason_ of\nthese things. It is like the light vibrations on your disc,--they\ncome--and go; but one needs to know why and whence they come and go. I\nknow much--but I would fain know more.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut is not the pursuit of knowledge infinite?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt may be--_if_ infinity exists. Infinity is possible--and I believe\nin it,--all the same I must prove it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will need a thousand lifetimes to fulfil such works as you\nattempt!\u201d exclaimed Kremlin.\n\n\u201cAnd I will live them all;\u201d--responded El-R\u00e2mi composedly--\u201cI have\nsworn to let nothing baffle me, and nothing shall!\u201d\n\nDr. Kremlin looked at him in vague awe,--the dark, haughty, handsome\nface spoke more resolvedly than words.\n\n\u201cPardon me, El-R\u00e2mi\u201d--he said with a little diffidence--\u201cIt seems a\nvery personal question to put, and possibly you may resent it, still I\nhave often thought of asking it. You are a very handsome and very\nfascinating man--you would be a fool if you were not perfectly aware\nof your own attractiveness,--well, now tell me--have you never loved\nanybody?--any woman?\u201d\n\nThe sleepy brilliancy of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s fine eyes lightened with sudden\nlaughter.\n\n\u201cLoved a woman?--_I_?\u201d he exclaimed--\u201cThe Fates forbid! What should I\ndo with the gazelles and kittens and toys of life, such as women are?\nOf all animals on earth, they have the least attraction for me. I\nwould rather stroke a bird\u2019s wings than a woman\u2019s hair, and the\nfragrance of a rose pressed against my lips is sweeter and more\nsincere than any woman\u2019s kisses. As the females of the race, women are\nuseful in their way, but not interesting at any time--at least, not to\nme.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you not believe in love then?\u201d asked Kremlin.\n\n\u201cNo. Do you?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,\u201d--and Kremlin\u2019s voice was very tender and impressive--\u201cI believe\nit is the only thing of God in an almost godless world.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi shrugged his shoulders.\n\n\u201cYou talk like a poet. I, who am not poetical, cannot so idealise the\nphysical attraction between male and female, which is nothing but a\nlaw of nature, and is shared by us in common with the beasts of the\nfield.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think your wisdom is in error there\u201d--said Kremlin\nslowly--\u201cPhysical attraction there is, no doubt--but there is\nsomething else--something more subtle and delicate, which escapes the\nanalysis of both philosopher and scientist. Moreover it is an\nimperative spiritual sense, as well as a material craving,--the soul\ncan no more be satisfied without love than the body.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is your opinion--\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi smiled again,--\u201cBut you see a\ncontradiction of it in me. _I_ am satisfied to be without love,--and\ncertainly I never look upon the ordinary woman of the day without the\ndisagreeable consciousness that I am beholding the living essence of\nsensualism and folly.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are very bitter,\u201d said Kremlin wonderingly--\u201cOf course no\n\u2018ordinary\u2019 woman could impress you,--but there are remarkable\nwomen,--women of power and genius and lofty ambition.\u201d\n\n\u201cLes femmes incomprises--oh yes, I know!\u201d laughed\nEl-R\u00e2mi--\u201cTroublesome creatures all, both to themselves and others.\nWhy do you talk on these subjects, my dear Kremlin?--Is it the effect\nof your rejuvenated condition? I am sure there are many more\ninteresting matters worthy of discussion. I shall never love--not in\nthis planet; in some other state of existence I may experience the\n\u2018divine\u2019 emotion. But the meannesses, vanities, contemptible\njealousies, and low spites of women such as inhabit this earth fill me\nwith disgust and repulsion,--besides, women are treacherous,--and I\nloathe treachery.\u201d\n\nAt that moment Karl appeared at the dining-room window as a sign that\nbreakfast was served, and they turned to go indoors.\n\n\u201cAll the same, El-R\u00e2mi--\u201d persisted Kremlin, laying one hand on his\nfriend\u2019s arm--\u201cDo not count on being able to escape the fate to which\nall humanity must succumb----\u201d\n\n\u201cDeath?\u201d interposed El-R\u00e2mi lightly--\u201cI have almost conquered that!\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, but you cannot conquer Love!\u201d said Kremlin impressively--\u201cLove is\nstronger than Death.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi made no answer,--and they went in to breakfast. They did full\njustice to the meal, much to Karl\u2019s satisfaction, though he could not\nhelp stealing covert glances at his master\u2019s changed countenance,\nwhich had become so much fresher and younger since the previous day.\nHow such a change had been effected he could not imagine, but on the\nwhole he was disposed to be content with the evident improvement.\n\n\u201cEven if he is the devil himself--\u201d he considered, his thoughts\nreverting to El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cI am bound to say that the devil is a\nkind-hearted fellow. There\u2019s no doubt about that. I suppose I am an\nabandoned sinner only fit for the burning--but if God insists on\nmaking us old and sick and miserable, and the devil is able to make us\nyoung and strong and jolly, why let us be friends with the devil, say\nI! Oh, my poor mother!\u201d\n\nWith such curious emotions as these in his mind, it was rather\ndifficult to maintain a composed face, and wait upon the two gentlemen\nwith that grave deportment which it is the duty of every well-trained\nattendant to assume,--however, he managed fairly well, and got\naccustomed at last to hand his master a cup of coffee without staring\nat him till his eyes almost projected out of his head.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi took his departure soon after breakfast, with a few\nrecommendations to his friend not to work too hard on the problems\nsuggested by the disc.\n\n\u201cAh, but I have now found a new clue,\u201d said Kremlin triumphantly--\u201cI\nfound it in sleep. I shall work it out in the course of a few weeks, I\ndaresay--and I will let you know if the result is successful. You see,\nthanks to you, my friend, I have time now,--there is no need to toil\nwith feverish haste and anxiety--death, that seemed so near, is thrust\nback in the distance----\u201d\n\n\u201cEven so!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi with a strange smile--\u201cIn the far, far\ndistance,--baffled and kept at bay. Oddly enough, there are some who\nsay there is no death----\u201d\n\n\u201cBut there is--there must be!--\u201d exclaimed Kremlin quickly.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi raised his hand with a slight commanding gesture.\n\n\u201cIt is not a certainty--\u201d he said--\u201cinasmuch as there is no\ncertainty. And there is no \u2018Must-be,\u2019--there is only the Soul\u2019s\n\u2018Shall-be\u2019!\u201d\n\nAnd with these somewhat enigmatical words he bade his friend farewell,\nand went his way.\n\n\n\n\n XII.\n\nIt was yet early in the afternoon when he arrived back in London. He\nwent straight home to his own house, letting himself in as usual with\nhis latch-key. In the hall he paused, listening. He half expected to\nhear F\u00e9raz playing one of his delicious dreamy improvisations,--but\nthere was not a sound anywhere, and the deep silence touched him with\nan odd sense of disappointment and vague foreboding. His study door\nstood slightly ajar,--he pushed it wider open very noiselessly and\nlooked in. His young brother was there, seated in a chair near the\nwindow, reading. El-R\u00e2mi gazed at him dubiously, with a slowly\ndawning sense that there was some alteration in his appearance which\nhe could not all at once comprehend. Presently he realised that F\u00e9raz\nhad evidently yielded to some overwhelming suggestion of personal\nvanity, which had induced him to put on more brilliant attire. He had\nchanged his plain white linen garb for one of richer material,\ncomposed in the same Eastern fashion,--he wore a finely-chased gold\nbelt, from which a gold-sheathed dagger depended,--and a few gold\nornaments gleamed here and there among the drawn silken folds of his\nupper vest. He looked handsome enough for a new Agathon as he sat\nthere apparently absorbed in study,--the big volume he perused resting\npartly on his knee,--but El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s brow contracted with sudden anger\nas he observed him from the half-open doorway where he stood, himself\nunseen,--and his dark face grew very pale. He threw the door back on\nits hinges with a clattering sound and entered the room.\n\n\u201cF\u00e9raz!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz looked up, lifting his eyelids indifferently and smiling\ncoldly.\n\n\u201cWhat, El-R\u00e2mi! Back so early? I did not expect you till nightfall.\u201d\n\n\u201cDid you not?\u201d said his brother, advancing slowly--\u201cPray how was that?\nYou know I generally return after a night\u2019s absence early in the next\nday. Where is your usual word of welcome? What ails you? You seem in a\nvery odd humour!\u201d\n\n\u201cDo I?\u201d--and F\u00e9raz stretched himself a little,--rose, yawning, and\nlaid down the volume he held on the table--\u201cI am not aware of it\nmyself, I assure you. How did you find your old madman? And did you\ntell him you were nearly as mad as he?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s eyes flashed indignant amazement and wrath.\n\n\u201cF\u00e9raz!--What do you mean?\u201d\n\nWith a fierce impulsive movement F\u00e9raz turned and fully faced\nhim,--all his forced and feigned calmness gone to the winds,--a\nglowing picture of youth and beauty and rage commingled.\n\n\u201cWhat do I mean?\u201d he cried--\u201cI mean this! That I am tired of being\nyour slave--your \u2018subject\u2019 for conjurer\u2019s tricks of mesmerism,--that\nfrom henceforth I resist your power,--that I will not serve you--will\nnot obey you--will not yield--no!--not an inch of my liberty--to your\ninfluence,--that I am a free man, as you are, and that I will have the\nfull rights of both my freedom and manhood. You shall play no more\nwith me; I refuse to be your dupe as I have been. This is what I\nmean!--and as I will have no deception or subterfuge between us,--for\nI scorn a lie,--hear the truth from me at once;--I know your secret--I\nhave seen Her!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi stood erect,--immovable;--he was very pale; his breath came\nand went quickly--once his hand clenched, but he said nothing.\n\n\u201cI have seen Her!\u201d cried F\u00e9raz again, flinging up his arms with an\necstatic wild gesture--\u201cA creature fairer than any vision!--and\nyou--you have the heart to bind her fast in darkness and in\nnothingness,--you it is who have shut her sight to the world,--you\nhave made for her, through your horrible skill, a living death in\nwhich she knows nothing, feels nothing, sees nothing, loves nothing! I\ntell you it is a cursed deed you are doing,--a deed worse than\nmurder--I would not have believed it of you! I thought your\nexperiments were all for good,--I never would have deemed you capable\nof cruelty to a helpless woman! But I will release her from your\nspells,--she is too beautiful to be made her own living\nmonument,--Zaroba is right--she needs life--joy--love!--she shall have\nthem all;--through _me_!\u201d\n\nHe paused, out of breath with the heat and violence of his own\nemotions;--El-R\u00e2mi stood, still immovably regarding him.\n\n\u201cYou may be as angered as you please\u201d--went on F\u00e9raz with sullen\npassion--\u201cI care nothing now. It was Zaroba who bade me go up yonder\nand see her where she slept; ... it was Zaroba----\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018The woman tempted me and I did eat--\u2019\u201d quoted El-R\u00e2mi coldly,--\u201cOf\ncourse it was Zaroba. No other than a woman could thus break a sworn\nword. Naturally it was Zaroba,--the paid and kept slave of my service,\nwho owes to me her very existence,--who persuaded my brother to\ndishonour.\u201d\n\n\u201cDishonour!\u201d and F\u00e9raz laid his hand with a quick, almost savage\ngesture on the hilt of the dagger at his belt. El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s dark eyes\nblazed upon him scornfully.\n\n\u201cSo soon a braggart of the knife?\u201d he said. \u201cWhat theatrical show is\nthis? You--you--the poet, the dreamer, the musician--the gentle lad\nwhose life was one of peaceful and innocent reverie--are you so soon\nchanged to the mere swaggering puppy of manhood who pranks himself out\nin gaudy clothing, and thinks by vulgar threatening to overawe his\nbetters? If so, \u2019tis a pity--but I shall not waste time in deploring\nit. Hear me, F\u00e9raz--I said \u2018dishonour,\u2019--swallow the word as best you\nmay, it is the only one that fits the act of prying into secrets not\nyour own. But I am not angered,--the mischief wrought is not beyond\nremedy, and if it were there would be still less use in bewailing it.\nWhat is done cannot be undone. Now tell me,--you say you have seen\nHer. _Whom_ have you seen?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz regarded him amazedly.\n\n\u201cWhom have I seen?\u201d he echoed--\u201cWhom should I see, if not the girl you\nkeep locked in those upper rooms,--a beautiful maiden, sleeping her\nlife away, in cruel darkness and ignorance of all things true and\nfair!\u201d\n\n\u201cAn enchanted princess, to your fancy--\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi derisively.\n\u201cWell, if you thought so, and if you believed yourself to be a new\nsort of Prince Charming, why, if she were only sleeping, did you not\nwake her?\u201d\n\n\u201cWake her?\u201d exclaimed F\u00e9raz excitedly.--\u201cOh, I would have given my\nlife to see those fringed lids uplift and show the wonders of the eyes\nbeneath! I called her by every endearing name--I took her hands and\nwarmed them in my own--I would have kissed her lips----\u201d\n\n\u201cYou dared not!\u201d cried El-R\u00e2mi, fired beyond his own control, and\nmaking a fierce bound towards him--\u201cYou dared not pollute her by your\ntouch!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz recoiled,--a sudden chill ran through his blood. His brother\nwas transformed with the passion that surged through him,--his eyes\nflashed--his lips quivered--his very form seemed to tower up and\ntremble and dilate with rage.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi!\u201d he stammered nervously, feeling all his newly-born\ndefiance and bravado oozing away under the terrible magnetism of this\nman, whose fury was nearly as electric as that of a sudden\nthunderstorm,--\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi, I did no harm,--Zaroba was there beside\nme----\u201d\n\n\u201cZaroba!\u201d echoed El-R\u00e2mi furiously--\u201cZaroba would stand by and see an\nangel violated, and think it the greatest happiness that could befall\nher sanctity! To be of common clay, with household joys and kitchen\ngriefs, is Zaroba\u2019s idea of noble living. Oh rash unhappy F\u00e9raz! you\nsay you know my secret--you do not know it--you cannot guess it!\nFoolish, ignorant boy!--did you think yourself a new Christ with power\nto raise the Dead?\u201d\n\n\u201cThe dead?\u201d muttered F\u00e9raz, with white lips--\u201cThe dead? She--the girl\nI saw--lives and breathes ...\u201d\n\n\u201cBy _my_ will alone!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cBy my force--by my knowledge--by\nmy constant watchful care,--by my control over the subtle threads that\nconnect Spirit with Matter. Otherwise, according to all the laws of\nordinary nature, that girl is _dead_--she died in the Syrian desert\nsix years ago!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XIII.\n\nAt these words, pronounced slowly and with emphatic distinctness,\nF\u00e9raz staggered back dizzily and sank into a chair,--drops of\nperspiration bedewed his forehead, and a sick faint feeling overcame\nhim. He said nothing,--he could find no words in which to express his\nmingled horror and amazement. El-R\u00e2mi watched him keenly,--and\npresently F\u00e9raz, looking up, caught the calm, full, and fiery regard\nof his brother\u2019s eyes. With a smothered cry, he raised his hands as\nthough to shield himself from a blow.\n\n\u201cI will not have it;\u201d--he muttered faintly--\u201cYou shall not force my\nthoughts,--I will believe nothing against my own will. You shall no\nlonger delude my eyes and ears--I have read--I know,--I know how such\ntrickery is done!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi uttered an impatient exclamation, and paced once or twice up\nand down the room.\n\n\u201cSee here, F\u00e9raz;\u201d--he said, suddenly stopping before the chair in\nwhich his brother sat,--\u201cI swear to you that I am not exercising one\niota of my influence upon you. When I do, I will tell you that you may\nbe prepared to resist me if you choose. I am using no power of any\nkind upon you--be satisfied of that. But, as you have forced your way\ninto the difficult labyrinth of my life\u2019s work, it is as well that you\nshould have an explanation of what seems to you full of mysterious\nevil and black magic. You accuse me of wickedness,--you tell me I am\nguilty of a deed worse than murder. Now this is mere rant and\nnonsense,--you speak in such utter ignorance of the facts that I\nforgive you, as one is bound to forgive all faults committed through\nsheer want of instruction. I do not think I am a wicked man\u201d--he\npaused, with an earnest, almost pathetic expression on his face--\u201cat\nleast I strive not to be. I am ambitious and sceptical--and I am not\naltogether convinced of there being any real intention of ultimate\ngood in the arrangements of this world as they at present exist,--but\nI work without any malicious intention; and without undue boasting I\nbelieve I am as honest and conscientious as the best of my kind. But\nthat is neither here nor there,--as I said before, you have broken\ninto a secret not intended for your knowledge--and, that you may not\nmisunderstand me yet more thoroughly than you seem to do, I will tell\nyou what I never wished to bother your brains with. For you have been\nvery happy till now, F\u00e9raz--happy in the beautiful simplicity of the\nlife you led--the life of a poet and dreamer,--the happiest life in\nthe world!\u201d\n\nHe broke off, with a short sigh of mingled vexation and regret--then\nhe seated himself immediately opposite his brother and went on--\n\n\u201cYou were too young to understand the loss it was to us both when our\nparents died,--or to know the immense reputation our father Nadir\nZar\u00e2nos had won throughout the East for his marvellous skill in\nnatural science and medicine. He died in the prime of his life,--our\nmother followed him within a month,--and you were left to my\ncharge,--you a child then, and I almost a man. Our father\u2019s small but\nrare library came into my possession, together with his own\nmanuscripts treating of the scientific and spiritual organisation of\nNature in all its branches,--and these opened such extraordinary\nvistas of possibility to me, as to what might be done if such and such\ntheories could be practically carried out and acted upon, that I\nbecame fired with the ardour of discovery. The more I studied, the\nmore convinced and eager I became in the pursuit of such knowledge as\nis generally deemed supernatural, and beyond the reach of all human\ninquiry. One or two delicate experiments in chemistry of a rare and\nsubtle nature were entirely successful,--and by and by I began to look\nabout for a subject on whom I could practise the power I had attained.\nThere was no one whom I could personally watch and surround with my\nhourly influence except yourself,--therefore I made my first great\ntrial upon _you_.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz moved uneasily in his chair,--his face wore a doubtful,\nhalf-sullen expression, but he listened to El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s every word with\nvivid and almost painful interest.\n\n\u201cAt that time you were a mere boy--\u201d pursued El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cbut strong and\nvigorous, and full of the mischievous pranks and sports customary to\nhealthy boyhood. I began by slow degrees to educate you--not with the\naid of schools or tutors--but simply by my Will. You had a singularly\nunretentive brain,--you were never fond of music--you would never\nread,--you had no taste for study. Your delight was to ride--to swim\nlike a fish,--to handle a gun--to race, to leap,--to play practical\njokes on other boys of your own age and fight them if they resented\nit;--all very amusing performances no doubt, but totally devoid of\nintelligence. Judging you dispassionately, I found that you were a\nvery charming gamesome animal,--physically perfect--with a Mind\nsomewhere if one could only discover it, and a Soul or Spirit behind\nthe Mind--if one could only discover that also. I set myself the task\nof finding out both these hidden portions of your composition--and of\nnot only finding them, but moulding and influencing them according to\nmy desire and plan.\u201d\n\nA faint tremor shook the younger man\u2019s frame--but he said nothing.\n\n\u201cYou are attending to me closely, I hope?\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi\npointedly--\u201cbecause you must distinctly understand that this\nconversation is the first and last we shall have on the matter. After\nto-day, the subject must drop between us for ever, and I shall refuse\nto answer any more questions. You hear?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz bent his head.\n\n\u201cI hear--\u201d he answered with an effort--\u201cAnd what I hear seems strange\nand terrible!\u201d\n\n\u201cStrange and terrible?\u201d echoed El-R\u00e2mi. \u201cHow so? What is there\nstrange or terrible in the pursuit of Wisdom? Yet--perhaps you are\nright, and the blank ignorance of a young child is best,--for there\n_is_ something appalling in the infinitude of knowledge--an infinitude\nwhich must remain infinite, if it be true that there is a God who is\nfor ever thinking, and whose thoughts become realities.\u201d\n\nHe paused, with a rapt look,--then resumed in the same even tone,--\n\n\u201cWhen I had made up my mind to experimentalise upon you, I lost no\ntime in commencing my work. One of my chief desires was to avoid the\nleast risk of endangering your health--your physical condition was\nadmirable, and I resolved to keep it so. In this I succeeded. I made\nlife a joy to you--the mere act of breathing a pleasure--you grew up\nbefore my eyes like the vigorous sapling of an oak that rejoices in\nthe mere expansion of its leaves to the fresh air. The other and more\nsubtle task was harder,--it needed all my patience--all my skill,--but\nI was at last rewarded. Through my concentrated influence, which\nsurrounded you as with an atmosphere in which you moved, and slept,\nand woke again, and which forced every fibre of your brain to respond\nto mine, the animal faculties, which were strongest in you, became\nsubdued and tamed,--and the mental slowly asserted themselves. I\nresolved you should be a poet and musician--you became both; you\ndeveloped an ardent love of study, and every few months that passed\ngave richer promise of your ripening intelligence. Moreover, you were\nhappy,--happy in everything--happiest perhaps in your music, which\nbecame your leading passion. Having thus, unconsciously to yourself,\nfostered your mind by the silent workings of my own, and trained it to\ngrow up like a dower to the light, I thought I might make my next\nattempt, which was to probe for that subtle essence we call the\nSoul--the large wings that are hidden in the moth\u2019s chrysalis;--and\ninfluence that too;--but there--there, by some inexplicable opposition\nof forces, I was baffled.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz raised himself half out of his chair, his lips parted in\nbreathless eagerness--his eyes dilated and sparkling.\n\n\u201cBaffled?\u201d he repeated hurriedly--\u201cHow do you mean?--in what way?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, in various ways--\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi, looking at him with a\nsomewhat melancholy expression--\u201cWays that I myself am not able to\ncomprehend. I found I could influence your Inner Self to obey me,--but\nonly to a very limited extent, and in mere trifles,--for example, as\nyou yourself know, I could compel you to come to me from a certain\ndistance in response to my thought,--but in higher things you escaped\nme. You became subject to long trances,--this I was prepared for, as\nit was partially my work,--and, during these times of physical\nunconsciousness, it was evident that your Soul enjoyed a life and\nliberty superior to anything these earth-regions can offer. But you\ncould never remember all you saw in these absences,--indeed, the only\nsuggestions you seem to have brought away from that other state of\nexistence are the strange melodies you play sometimes, and that idea\nyou have about your native Star.\u201d\n\nA curious expression flitted across F\u00e9raz\u2019s face as he heard--and his\nlips parted in a slight smile, but he said nothing.\n\n\u201cTherefore,\u201d--pursued his brother meditatively--\u201cas I could get no\nclear exposition of other worlds from you, as I had hoped to do, I\nknew I had failed to command you in a spiritual sense. But my\ndominance over your mind continued; it continues still,--nay, my good\nF\u00e9raz!\u201d--this, as F\u00e9raz seemed about to utter some impetuous\nword--\u201cPray that you may never be able to shake off my force\nentirely,--for, if you do, you will lose what the people of a grander\nand poetic day called Genius--and what the miserable Dry-as-Dusts of\nour modern era call Madness--the only gift of the gods that has ever\nserved to enlighten and purify the world. But _your_ genius, F\u00e9raz,\nbelongs to _me_;--I gave it to you, and I can take it back again if I\nso choose;--and leave you as you originally were--a handsome animal\nwith no more true conception of art or beauty than my Lord Melthorpe,\nor his spendthrift young cousin Vaughan.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz had listened thus far in silence--but now he sprang out of his\nchair with a reckless gesture.\n\n\u201cI cannot bear it!\u201d he said--\u201cI cannot bear it! El-R\u00e2mi, I cannot--I\nwill not!\u201d\n\n\u201cCannot bear what?\u201d inquired his brother with a touch of satire in his\ntone--\u201cPray be calm!--there is no necessity for such melodramatic\nexcitement. Cannot bear what?\u201d\n\n\u201cI will not owe everything to you!\u201d went on F\u00e9raz passionately--\u201cHow\ncan I endure to know that my very thoughts are not my own, but emanate\nfrom you?--that my music has been instilled into me by you?--that you\npossess me by your power, body and brain,--great Heaven! it is\nawful--intolerable--impossible!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi rose and laid one hand gently on his shoulder--he recoiled\nshudderingly--and the elder man sighed heavily.\n\n\u201cYou tremble at my touch,--\u201d he said sadly--\u201cthe touch of a hand that\nhas never wilfully wrought you harm, but has always striven to make\nlife beautiful to you? Well!--be it so!--you have only to say the\nword, F\u00e9raz, and you shall owe me nothing. I will undo all I have\ndone,--and you shall reassume the existence for which Nature\noriginally made you--an idle voluptuous wasting of time in sensualism\nand folly. And even _that_ form of life you must owe to Some\nOne,--even that you must account for--to God!\u201d\n\nThe young man\u2019s head drooped,--a faint sense of shame stirred in him,\nbut he was still resentful and sullen.\n\n\u201cWhat have I done to you,\u201d went on El-R\u00e2mi, \u201cthat you should turn\nfrom me thus, all because you have seen a dead woman\u2019s face for an\nhour? I have made your thoughts harmonious--I have given you pleasure\nsuch as the world\u2019s ways cannot give--your mind has been as a clear\nmirror in which only the fairest visions of life were reflected. You\nwould alter this?--then do so, if you decide thereon,--but weigh the\nmatter well and long, before you shake off my touch, my tenderness, my\ncare.\u201d\n\nHis voice faltered a little--but he quickly controlled his emotion,\nand continued--\n\n\u201cI must ask you to sit down again and hear me out patiently to the end\nof my story. At present I have only told you what concerns\nyourself--and how the failure of my experiment upon the spiritual part\nof your nature obliged me to seek for another subject on whom to\ncontinue my investigations. As far as you are personally concerned, no\nfailure is apparent--for your spirit is allowed frequent intervals of\nsupernatural freedom, in which you have experiences that give you\npeculiar pleasure, though you are unable to impart them to me with\npositive lucidity. You visit a Star--so you say--with which you really\nseem to have some home connection--but you never get beyond this, so\nthat it would appear that any higher insight is denied you. Now what I\nneeded to obtain was not only a higher insight, but the highest\nknowledge that could possibly be procured through a mingled\ncombination of material and spiritual essences, and it was many a long\nand weary day before I found what I sought. At last my hour came--as\nit comes to all who have the patience and fortitude to wait for it.\u201d\n\nHe paused a moment--then went on more quickly--\n\n\u201cYou remember of course that occasion on which we chanced upon a party\nof Arab wanderers who were journeying across the Syrian desert?--all\npoor and ailing, and almost destitute of food or water?\u201d\n\n\u201cI remember it perfectly!\u201d and F\u00e9raz, seating himself opposite his\nbrother again, listened with renewed interest and attention.\n\n\u201cThey had two dying persons with them,\u201d continued El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cAn\nelderly woman--a widow, known as Zaroba,--the other an orphan girl of\nabout twelve years of age named Lilith. Both were perishing of fever\nand famine. I came to the rescue. I saved Zaroba,--and she, with the\npassionate impulsiveness of her race, threw herself in gratitude at my\nfeet, and swore by all her most sacred beliefs that she would be my\nslave from henceforth as long as she lived. All her people were dead,\nshe told me--she was alone in the world--she prayed me to let her be\nmy faithful servant. And truly, her fidelity has never failed--till\nnow. But of that hereafter. The child Lilith, more fragile of frame\nand weakened to the last extremity of exhaustion--in spite of my\nunremitting care--died. Do you thoroughly understand me--she _died_.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe died!\u201d repeated F\u00e9raz slowly--\u201cWell--what then?\u201d\n\n\u201cI was supporting her in my arms\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi, the ardour of his\ndescription growing upon him, and his black eyes dilating and burning\nlike great jewels under the darkness of his brows--\u201cwhen she drew her\nlast breath and sank back--a corpse. But before her flesh had time to\nstiffen,--before the warmth had gone out of her blood,--an idea, wild\nand daring, flashed across my mind. \u2018If this child has a Soul,\u2019 I said\nto myself--\u2018I will stay it in its flight from hence! It shall become\nthe new Ariel of my wish and will--and not till it has performed my\nbidding to the utmost extent will I, like another Prospero, give it\nits true liberty. And I will preserve the body, its mortal shell, by\nartificial means, that through its medium I may receive the messages\nof the Spirit in mortal language such as I am able to understand.\u2019 No\nsooner had I conceived my bold project than I proceeded to carry it\ninto execution. I injected into the still warm veins of the dead girl\na certain fluid whose properties I alone know the working of--and then\nI sought and readily obtained permission from the Arabs to bury her in\nthe desert, while they went on their way. They were in haste to\ncontinue their journey, and were grateful to me for taking this office\noff their hands. That very day--the day the girl died--I sent _you_\nfrom me, as you know, bidding you make all possible speed, on an\nerrand which I easily invented, to the Brethren of the Cross in the\nIsland of Cyprus,--you went obediently enough,--surprised perhaps, but\nsuspecting nothing. That same evening, when the heats abated and the\nmoon rose, the caravan resumed its pilgrimage, leaving Lilith\u2019s dead\nbody with me, and also the woman Zaroba, who volunteered to remain and\nserve me in my tent, an offer which I accepted, seeing that it was her\nown desire, and that she would be useful to me. She, poor silly soul,\ntook me then for a sort of god, because she was unable to understand\nthe miracle of her own recovery from imminent death, and I felt\ncertain I could rely upon her fidelity. Part of my plan I told\nher,--she heard with mingled fear and reverence,--the magic of the\nEast was in her blood, however, and she had a superstitious belief\nthat a truly \u2018wise man\u2019 could do anything. So, for several days we\nstayed encamped in the desert--I passing all my hours beside the dead\nLilith,--dead, but to a certain extent living through artificial\nmeans. As soon as I received proof positive that my experiment was\nlikely to be successful, I procured means to continue my journey on to\nAlexandria, and thence to England. To all inquirers I said the girl\nwas a patient of mine who was suffering from epileptic trances, and\nthe presence of Zaroba, who filled her post admirably as nurse and\nattendant, was sufficient to stop the mouths of would-be\nscandal-mongers. I chose my residence in London, because it is the\nlargest city in the world, and the one most suited to pursue a course\nof study in, without one\u2019s motives becoming generally known. One can\nbe more alone in London than in a desert if one chooses. Now, you know\nall. You have seen the dead Lilith,--the human chrysalis of the\nmoth,--but there is a living Lilith too--the Soul of Lilith, which is\npartly free and partly captive, but in both conditions is always the\nservant of my Will!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz looked at him in mingled awe and fear.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi,\u201d--he said tremulously--\u201cWhat you tell me is\nwonderful--terrible--almost beyond belief,--but, I know something of\nyour power and I must believe you. Only--surely you are in error when\nyou say that Lilith is dead? How can she be dead, if you have given\nher life?\u201d\n\n\u201cCan you call that life which sleeps perpetually and will not wake?\u201d\ndemanded El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cWould you have her wake?\u201d asked F\u00e9raz, his heart beating quickly.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi bent his burning gaze upon him.\n\n\u201cNot so,--for if she wakes, in the usual sense of waking--she dies a\nsecond death from which there can be no recall. There is the terror of\nthe thing. Zaroba\u2019s foolish teaching, and your misguided yielding to\nher temptation, might have resulted in the fatal end to my life\u2019s best\nand grandest work. But--I forgive you;--you did not know,--and\nshe--she did not wake.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe did not wake,\u201d echoed F\u00e9raz softly. \u201cNo--but--she smiled!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi still kept his eyes fixed upon him,--there was an odd sense\nof irritation in his usually calm and coldly balanced organisation--a\nfeeling he strove in vain to subdue. She smiled!--the exquisite\nLilith--the life-in-death Lilith smiled, because F\u00e9raz had called her\nby some endearing name! Surely it could not be!--and, smothering his\nannoyance, he turned towards the writing-table and feigned to arrange\nsome books and papers there.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi--\u201d murmured F\u00e9raz again, but timidly--\u201cIf she was a child\nwhen she died as you say--how is it she has grown to womanhood?\u201d\n\n\u201cBy artificial vitality,\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cAs a flower is forced under\na hothouse,--and with no more trouble, and less consciousness of\neffort than a rose under a glass dome.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen she lives,--\u201d declared F\u00e9raz impetuously. \u201cShe\nlives,--artificial or natural, she _has_ vitality. Through your power\nshe exists, and if you chose, oh, if you chose, El-R\u00e2mi, you could\nwake her to the fullest life--to perfect consciousness,--to joy--to\nlove!--Oh, she is in a blessed trance--you cannot call her _dead_!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi turned upon him abruptly.\n\n\u201cBe silent!\u201d he said sternly--\u201cI read your thoughts,--control them, if\nyou are wise! You echo Zaroba\u2019s prating--Zaroba\u2019s teaching. Lilith is\ndead, I tell you,--dead to you,--and, in the sense _you_ mean--dead to\nme.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XIV.\n\nAfter this, a long silence fell between them. F\u00e9raz sat moodily in\nhis chair, conscious of a certain faint sense of shame. He was sorry\nthat he had wilfully trespassed upon his brother\u2019s great secret,--and\nyet there was an angry pride in him,--a vague resentment at having\nbeen kept so long in ignorance of this wonderful story of\nLilith,--which made him reluctant to acknowledge himself in the wrong.\nMoreover, his mind was possessed and haunted by Lilith\u2019s face,--the\nradiant face that looked like that of an angel sleeping,--and,\nperplexedly thinking over all he had heard, he wondered if he would\never again have the opportunity of beholding what had seemed to him\nthe incarnation of ideal loveliness. Surely yes!--Zaroba would be his\nfriend,--Zaroba would let him gaze his fill on that exquisite\nform--would let him touch that little, ethereally delicate hand, as\nsoft as velvet and as white as snow! Absorbed in these reflections, he\nscarcely noticed that El-R\u00e2mi had moved away from him to the\nwriting-table, and that he now sat there in his ebony chair, turning\nover the leaves of the curious Arabic volume which F\u00e9raz had had such\ntrouble in deciphering on the previous day. The silence in the room\ncontinued; outside there was the perpetual sullen roar of raging\nrestless London,--now and again the sharp chirruping of contentious\nsparrows, arguing over a crumb of food as parliamentary agitators\nchatter over a crumb of difference, stirred the quiet air. F\u00e9raz\nstretched himself and yawned,--he was getting sleepy, and as he\nrealised this fact he nervously attributed it to his brother\u2019s\ninfluence, and sprang up abruptly, rubbing his eyes and pushing his\nthick hair from his brows. At this hasty movement, El-R\u00e2mi turned\nslowly towards him with a grave yet kindly smile.\n\n\u201cWell, F\u00e9raz\u201d--he said--\u201cDo you still think me \u2018wicked\u2019 now you know\nall? Speak frankly--do not be afraid.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz paused, irresolute.\n\n\u201cI do not know what to think--\u201d he answered hesitatingly,--\u201cYour\nexperiment is of course wonderful,--but--as I said before--to me, it\nseems terrible.\u201d\n\n\u201cLife is terrible--\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cDeath is terrible,--Love is\nterrible,--God is terrible. All Nature\u2019s pulses beat to the note of\nTerror,--terror of the Unknown that May Be,--terror of the Known that\nIs!\u201d\n\nHis deep voice rang with impressive solemnity through the room,--his\neyes were full of that strange lurid gleam which gave them the\nappearance of having a flame behind them.\n\n\u201cCome here, F\u00e9raz,\u201d he continued--\u201cWhy do you stand at so cautious a\ndistance from me? With that brave show-dagger at your belt, are you a\ncoward? Silly lad!--I swear to you my influence shall not touch you\nunless I warn you of it beforehand. Come!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz obeyed, but slowly and with an uncertain step. His brother\nlooked at him attentively as he came,--then, with a gesture indicating\nthe volume before him, he said--\n\n\u201cYou found this book on my table yesterday, and tried to read it,--is\nit not so?\u201d\n\n\u201cI did.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, and have you learnt anything from it?\u201d pursued El-R\u00e2mi with a\nstrange smile.\n\n\u201cYes. I learnt how the senses may be deceived by trickery--\u201d retorted\nF\u00e9raz with some heat and quickness--\u201cand how a clever\nmagnetiser--like yourself--may fool the eye and delude the ear with\nsights and sounds that have no existence.\u201d\n\n\u201cPrecisely. Listen to this passage;\u201d--and El-R\u00e2mi read aloud--\u201c\u2018The\nKing, when he had any affair, assembled the Priests without the City\nMemphis, and the People met together in the streets of the said City.\nThen they (the Priests) made their entrance one after another in\norder, the drum beating before them to bring the people together; and\nevery one made some miraculous discovery of his Magick and Wisdom. One\nhad, _to their thinking who looked on him_, his face surrounded with a\nlight like that of the Sun, so that none could look earnestly upon\nhim. Another seemed clad with a Robe beset with precious stones of\ndivers colours, green, red, or yellow, or wrought with gold. Another\ncame mounted on a Lion compassed with Serpents like Girdles. Another\ncame in covered with a canopy or pavilion of Light. Another appeared\nsurrounded with Fire turning about him, so as that nobody durst come\nnear him. Another was seen with dreadful birds perching about his head\nand shaking their wings like black eagles and vultures. In fine, every\none did what was taught him;--_yet all was but Apparition and Illusion\nwithout any reality_, insomuch that when they came up to the King they\nspake thus to him:--_You imagined that it was so and so,--but the\ntruth is that it was such or such a thing_.\u2019[2] The A B C of\nmagnetism is contained in the last words--\u201d continued El-R\u00e2mi,\nlifting his eyes from the book,--\u201cThe merest tyro in the science knows\nthat; and also realises that the Imagination is the centre of both\nphysical and bodily health or disease. And did you learn nothing\nmore?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz made a half-angry gesture in the negative.\n\n\u201cWhat a pity!\u201d--and his brother surveyed him with good-humoured\ncompassion--\u201cTo know how a \u2018miracle\u2019 is done is one thing--but to do\nit is quite another matter. Now let me recall to your mind what I\npreviously told you--that from this day henceforth I forbid you to\nmake any allusion to the subject of my work. I forbid you to mention\nthe name of Lilith,--and I forbid you to approach or to enter the room\nwhere her body lies. You understand me?--I forbid you!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz\u2019s eyes flashed angry opposition, and he drew himself up with a\nhaughty self-assertiveness.\n\n\u201cYou forbid me!\u201d he echoed proudly--\u201cWhat right have you to forbid me\nanything? And how if I refuse to obey?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi rose and confronted him, one hand resting on the big Arabic\nvolume.\n\n\u201cYou will not refuse--\u201d he said--\u201cbecause I will take no refusal. You\nwill obey, because I exact your obedience. Moreover, you will swear by\nthe Most Holy Name of God, that you will never, either to me, or to\nany other living soul, speak a syllable concerning my life\u2019s greatest\nexperiment,--you will swear that the name of Lilith shall never pass\nyour lips----\u201d\n\nBut here F\u00e9raz interrupted him.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi, I will _not_ swear!\u201d he cried desperately--\u201cThe name of\nLilith is sweet to me!--why should I not utter it,--why should I not\nsing of it--why should I not even remember it in my prayers?\u201d\n\nA terrible look darkened El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s countenance; his brows contracted\ndarkly, and his lips drew together in a close resolute line.\n\n\u201cThere are a thousand reasons why--\u201d he said in low fierce\naccents,--\u201cOne is, that the soul of Lilith and the body of Lilith are\n_mine_, and that you have no share in their possession. She does not\nneed your songs--still less has she need of your prayers. Rash\nfool!--you shall forget the name of Lilith--and you _shall_ swear, as\nI command you. Resist my will if you can,--now!--I warn you in time!\u201d\n\nHe seemed to grow in height as he spoke,--his eyes blazed ominously,\nand F\u00e9raz, meeting that lightning-like glance, knew how hopeless it\nwould be for him to attempt to oppose such an intense force as was\ncontained in this man\u2019s mysterious organisation. He tried his\nbest,--but in vain,--with every second he felt his strength oozing out\nof him--his power of resistance growing less and less.\n\n\u201cSwear!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi imperatively--\u201cSwear in God\u2019s Name to keep my\nsecret--swear by Christ\u2019s Death!--swear on _this_!\u201d\n\nAnd he held out a small golden crucifix.\n\nMechanically, but still devoutly, F\u00e9raz instantly dropped on one\nknee, and kissed the holy emblem.\n\n\u201cI swear!\u201d he said--but, as he spoke, the rising tears were in his\nthroat, and he murmured--\u201cForget the name of Lilith!--never!\u201d\n\n\u201cIn God\u2019s Name!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cIn God\u2019s Name!\u201d\n\n\u201cBy Christ\u2019s Death!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz trembled. In the particular form of religion professed by\nhimself and his brother, this was the most solemn and binding vow that\ncould be taken. And his voice was faint and unsteady as he repeated\nit--\n\n\u201cBy Christ\u2019s Death!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi put aside the crucifix.\n\n\u201cThat is well;--\u201d he said, in mild accents which contrasted agreeably\nwith his previous angry tone--\u201cSuch oaths are chronicled in heaven,\nremember,--and whoever breaks his sworn word is accursed of the gods.\nBut you,--you will keep your vow, F\u00e9raz,--and ... you will also\nforget the name of Lilith,--if I choose!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz stood mute and motionless,--he would have said something, but\nsomehow words failed him to express what was in his mind. He was\nangry, he said to himself,--he had sworn a foolish oath against his\nwill, and he had every right to be angry--very angry,--but with whom?\nSurely not with his brother--his friend,--his protector for so many\nyears? As he thought of this, shame and penitence and old affection\ngrew stronger and welled up in his heart, and he moved slowly towards\nEl-R\u00e2mi, with hands outstretched.\n\n\u201cForgive me;\u201d--he said humbly. \u201cI have offended you--I am sorry. I\nwill show my repentance in whatever way you please,--but do not,\nEl-R\u00e2mi--do not ask me, do not force me to forget the name of\nLilith,--it is like a note in music, and it cannot do you harm that I\nshould think of it sometimes. For the rest I will obey you\nfaithfully,--and, for what is past, I ask your pardon.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi took his hands and pressed them affectionately in his own.\n\n\u201cNo sooner asked than granted--\u201d he said--\u201cYou are young, F\u00e9raz,--and\nI am not so harsh as you perhaps imagine. The impulsiveness of youth\nshould always be quickly pardoned--seeing how gracious a thing youth\nis, and how short a time it lasts. Keep your poetic dreams and\nfancies--take the sweetness of thought without its bitterness,--and,\nif you are content to have it so, let me still help to guide your\nfate. If not, why, nothing is easier than to part company,--part as\ngood friends and brethren always,--you on your chosen road and I on\nmine,--who knows but that after all you might n be happier so?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz lifted his dark eyes, heavy with unshed tears.\n\n\u201cWould you send me from you?\u201d he asked falteringly.\n\n\u201cNot I! I would not send you,--but you might wish to go.\u201d\n\n\u201cNever!\u201d said F\u00e9raz resolutely--\u201cI feel that I must stay with\nyou--till the end.\u201d\n\nHe uttered the last words with a sigh, and El-R\u00e2mi looked at him\ncuriously.\n\n\u201cTill the end?\u201d--he repeated--\u201cWhat end?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, the end of life or death or anything;\u201d replied F\u00e9raz with forced\nlightness--\u201cThere must surely be an end somewhere, as there was a\nbeginning.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is rather a doubtful problem!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cThe great\nquestion is, was there ever a Beginning? and will there ever be an\nEnd?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz gave a languid gesture.\n\n\u201cYou inquire too far,\u201d--he said wearily--\u201cI always think you inquire\ntoo far. I cannot follow you--I am tired. Do you want anything?--can I\ndo anything? or may I go to my room? I want to be alone for a little\nwhile, just to consider quietly what my life is, and what I can make\nof it.\u201d\n\n\u201cA truly wise and philosophical subject of meditation!\u201d observed\nEl-R\u00e2mi, and he smiled kindly and held out his hand. F\u00e9raz laid his\nown slender fingers somewhat listlessly in that firm warm\npalm;--then--with a sudden start, looked eagerly around him. The air\nseemed to have grown denser,--there was a delicious scent of roses in\nthe room, and hush! ... What entrancing voices were those that sang in\nthe distance? He listened absorbed;--the harmonies were very sweet and\nperfect--almost he thought he could distinguish words. Loosening his\nhand from his brother\u2019s clasp, the melody seemed to grow fainter and\nfainter,--recognising this, he roused himself with a quick movement,\nhis eyes flashing with a sudden gleam of defiance.\n\n\u201cMore magic music!\u201d he said--\u201cI hear the sound of singing, and you\n_know_ that I hear it! I understand!--it is _imagined_ music--your\nwork, El-R\u00e2mi,--your skill. It is wonderful, beautiful,--and you are\nthe most marvellous man on earth!--you should have been a priest of\nold Egypt! Yes--I am tired--I will rest;--I will accept the dreams you\noffer me for what they are worth,--but I must remember that there are\nrealities as well as dreams,--and I shall not forget the name\nof--Lilith!\u201d\n\nHe smiled audaciously, looking as graceful as a pictured Adonis in the\ncareless yet proud attitude he had unconsciously assumed,--then with a\nplayful yet affectionate salutation he moved to the doorway.\n\n\u201cCall me if you want me,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cI shall not want you;\u201d--replied his brother, regarding him steadily.\n\nThe door opened and closed again,--F\u00e9raz was gone.\n\nShutting up the great volume in front of him, El-R\u00e2mi rested his arms\nupon it, and stared into vacancy with darkly-knitted brows.\n\n\u201cWhat premonition of evil is there in the air?\u201d he muttered--\u201cWhat\nrestless emotion is at work within me? Are the Fates turning against\nme?--and am I after all nothing but the merest composition of vulgar\nmatter--a weak human wretch capable of being swayed by changeful\npassions? What is it? What am I that I should vex my spirit thus--all\nbecause Lilith smiled at the sound of a voice that was not mine?\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XV.\n\nJust then there came a light tap at his door. He opened it,--and\nZaroba stood before him. No repentance for her fault of disobedience\nand betrayal of trust clouded that withered old face of hers,--her\ndeep-set dark eyes glittered with triumph, and her whole aspect was\none of commanding, and almost imperious, dignity. In fact, she made\nsuch an ostentatious show of her own self-importance in her look and\nmanner that El-R\u00e2mi stared at her for a moment in haughty amazement\nat what he considered her effrontery in thus boldly facing him after\nher direct violation of his commands. He eyed her up and down--she\nreturned him glance for glance unquailingly.\n\n\u201cLet me come in--\u201d she said in her strong harsh voice--\u201cI make no\ndoubt but that the poor lad F\u00e9raz has told you his story--now, as God\nliveth, you must hear mine.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi turned upon his heel with a contemptuous movement, and went\nback to his own chair by the writing-table. Zaroba, paying no heed to\nthe wrath conveyed by this mute action, stalked in also, and, shutting\nthe door after her, came and stood close beside him.\n\n\u201cWrite down what you think of me--\u201d she said, pointing with her yellow\nforefinger at the pens and paper--\u201cWrite the worst. I have betrayed my\ntrust. That is true. I have disobeyed your commands after keeping them\nfor six long years. True again. What else?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi fixed his eyes upon her, a world of indignation and reproach\nin their brilliant depths, and snatching up a pencil he wrote on a\nslip of paper rapidly--\n\n \u201cNothing else--nothing more than treachery! You are unworthy of your\n sacred task--you are false to your sworn fidelity.\u201d\n\nZaroba read the lines as quickly as he wrote them, but when she came\nto the last words she made a swift gesture of denial, and drew herself\nup haughtily.\n\n\u201cNo--not false!\u201d she said passionately--\u201cNot false to _you_, El-R\u00e2mi,\nI swear! I would slay myself rather than do you wrong. You saved my\nlife, though my life was not worth saving, and for that gentle deed I\nwould pour out every drop of my blood to requite you. No, no! Zaroba\nis not false--she is true!\u201d\n\nShe tossed up her arms wildly,--then suddenly folding them tight\nacross her chest, she dropped her voice to a gentler and more\nappealing tone.\n\n\u201cHear me, El-R\u00e2mi!--Hear me, wise man and Master of the magic of the\nEast!--I have done well for you;--well! I have disobeyed you for your\nown sake,--I have betrayed my trust that you may discover how and\nwhere you may find your best reward. I have sinned with the resolved\nintent to make you happy,--as God liveth, I speak truth from my heart\nand soul!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi turned towards her, his face expressing curiosity in spite of\nhimself. He was very pale, and outwardly he was calm enough--but his\nnerves were on the rack of suspense--he wondered what sudden frenzied\nidea had possessed this woman that she should comport herself as\nthough she held some strange secret of which the very utterance might\nmove heaven and earth to wonderment. Controlling his feelings with an\neffort he wrote again--\n\n \u201cThere exists no reason for disloyalty. Your excuses avail\n nothing--let me hear no more of them. Tell me of Lilith--what news?\u201d\n\n\u201cNews!\u201d repeated Zaroba scornfully--\u201cWhat news should there be? She\nbreathes and sleeps as she has breathed and slept always--she has not\nstirred. There is no harm done by my bidding F\u00e9raz look on her,--no\nchange is wrought except in _you_, El-R\u00e2mi!--except in you!\u201d\n\nHalf springing from his chair he confronted her--then recollecting her\ndeafness, he bit his lips angrily and sank back again with an assumed\nair of indifference.\n\n\u201cYou have heard F\u00e9raz--\u201d pursued Zaroba, with that indescribable\ntriumph of hers lighting up her strong old face--\u201cYou must now hear\nme. I thank the gods that my ears are closed to the sound of human\nvoices, and that neither reproach nor curse can move me to dismay. And\nI am ignorant of _your_ magic, El-R\u00e2mi,--the magic that chills the\nblood and sends the spirit flitting through the land of dreams,--the\nonly magic _I_ know is the magic of the heart--of the passions,--a\nnatural witchcraft that conquers the world!\u201d\n\nShe waved her arms to and fro--then crossing them on her bosom, she\nmade a profound half-mocking salutation.\n\n\u201cWise El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos!\u201d she said. \u201cProud ruler of the arts and\nsciences that govern Nature,--have you ever, with all your learning,\ntaken the measure of your own passions, and slain them so utterly that\nthey shall never rise up again? They sleep at times, like the serpents\nof the desert, coiled up in many a secret place,--but at the touch of\nsome unwary heel, some casual falling pebble, they unwind their\nlengths--they raise their glittering heads, and sting! I, Zaroba, have\nfelt them here\u201d--and she pressed her hands more closely on her\nbreast--\u201cI have felt their poison in my blood--sweet poison, sweeter\nthan life!--their stings have given me all the joy my days have ever\nknown. But it is not of myself that I should speak--it is of you--of\nyou, whose life is lonely, and for whom the coming years hold forth no\nprospect of delight. When I lay dying in the desert and you restored\nme to strength again, I swore to serve you with fidelity. As God\nliveth, El-R\u00e2mi, I have kept my vow,--and in return for the life you\ngave me I bid you take what is yours to claim--the love of Lilith!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi rose out of his chair, white to the lips, and his hand shook.\nIf he could have concentrated his inward forces at that moment, he\nwould have struck Zaroba dumb by one effort of his will, and so put an\nend to her undesired eloquence,--but something, he knew not what,\ndisturbed the centre of his self-control, and his thoughts were in a\nwhirl. He despised himself for the unusual emotion which seized\nhim--inwardly he was furious with the garrulous old woman,--but\noutwardly he could only make her an angry imperative sign to be\nsilent.\n\n\u201cNay, I will not cease from speaking--\u201d said Zaroba\nimperturbably--\u201cfor all has to be said now, or never. The love of\nLilith! imagine it, El-R\u00e2mi!--the clinging of her young white\narms--the kisses of her sweet red mouth,--the open glances of her\ninnocent eyes--all this is yours, if you but say the word. Listen! For\nsix and more long years I have watched her,--and I have watched _you_.\nShe has slept the sleep of death-in-life, for you have willed it\nso,--and in that sleep she has imperceptibly passed from childhood to\nwomanhood. You--cold as a man of bronze or marble,--have made of her\nnothing but a \u2018subject\u2019 for your science,--and never a breath of love\nor longing on your part, or even admiration for her beauty, has\nstirred the virgin-trance in which she lies. And I have marvelled at\nit--I have thought--and I have prayed;--the gods have answered me, and\nnow I know!\u201d\n\nShe clapped her hands ecstatically, and then went on.\n\n\u201cThe child Lilith died,--but you, El-R\u00e2mi, you caused her to live\nagain. And she lives still--yes, though it may suit your fancy to\ndeclare her dead. She is a woman--you are a man;--you dare not keep\nher longer in that living death--you dare not doom her to perpetual\ndarkness!--the gods would curse you for such cruelty, and who may\nabide their curse? I, Zaroba, have sworn it--Lilith shall know the\njoys of love!--and you, El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos, shall be her lover!--and\nfor this holy end I have employed the talisman which alone sets fire\nto the sleeping passions...\u201d and she craned her neck forward and\nalmost hissed the word in his ear--\u201cJealousy!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled--a cold derisive smile, which implied the most utter\ncontempt for the whole of Zaroba\u2019s wild harangue. She, however, went\non undismayed, and with increasing excitement--\n\n\u201cJealousy!\u201d she cried--\u201cThe little asp is in your soul already, proud\nEl-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos, and why? Because another\u2019s eyes have looked on\nLilith! This was my work! It was I who led F\u00e9raz into her\nchamber,--it was I who bade him kneel beside her as she slept,--it was\nI who let him touch her hand,--and though I could not hear his voice I\nknow he called upon her to awaken. In vain!--he might as well have\ncalled the dead--I knew she would not stir for him--her very breath\nbelongs to you. But I--I let him gaze upon her beauty and worship\nit,--all his young soul was in his eyes--he looked and looked again\nand _loved_ what he beheld! And mark me yet further, El-R\u00e2mi,--I saw\nher smile when F\u00e9raz took her hand,--so, though she did not move, she\n_felt_; she felt a touch that was not yours,--not yours, El-R\u00e2mi!--as\nGod liveth, she is not quite so much your own as once she was!\u201d\n\nAs she said this and laughed in that triumphant way, El-R\u00e2mi advanced\none step towards her with a fierce movement as though he would have\nthrust her from the room,--checking himself, however, he seized the\npencil again and wrote--\n\n \u201cI have listened to you with more patience than you deserve. You are\n an ignorant woman and foolish--your fancies have no foundation\n whatever in fact. Your disobedience might have ruined my life\u2019s\n work,--as it is, I daresay some mischief has been done. Return to your\n duties, and take heed how you trespass against my command in future.\n If you dare to speak to me on this subject again I will have you\n shipped back to your own land and left there, as friendless and as\n unprovided for as you were when I saved you from death by famine.\n Go--and let me hear no more foolishness.\u201d\n\nZaroba read, and her face darkened and grew weary--but the pride and\nobstinacy of her own convictions remained written on every line of her\nfeatures. She bowed her head resignedly, however, and said in slow\neven tones--\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos is wise,--El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos is master. But let him\nremember the words of Zaroba. Zaroba is also skilled in the ways and\nthe arts of the East,--and the voice of Fate speaks sometimes to the\nlowest as well as to the highest. There are the laws of Life and the\nlaws of Death--but there are also the laws of Love. Without the laws\nof Love, the Universe would cease to be,--it is for El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos\nto prove himself stronger than the Universe,--if he can!\u201d\n\nShe made the usual obsequious \u201csalaam\u201d common to Eastern races, and\nthen with a swift, silent movement left the room, closing the door\nnoiselessly behind her. El-R\u00e2mi stood where she had left him, idly\ntearing up the scraps of paper on which he had written his part of the\nconversation,--he was hardly conscious of thought, so great were his\nemotions of surprise and self-contempt.\n\n\u201c\u2018O what a rogue and peasant-slave am I!\u2019\u201d he muttered, quoting his\nfavourite _Hamlet_--\u201cWhy did I not paralyse her tongue before she\nspoke? Where had fled my force,--what became of my skill? Surely I\ncould have struck her down before me with the speed of a\nlightning-flash--only--she is a woman--and old. Strange how these\nfeminine animals always harp on the subject of love, as though it were\nthe Be-all and End-all of everything. The love of Lilith! Oh fool! The\nlove of a corpse kept breathing by artificial means! And what of the\nSoul of Lilith? Can It love? Can It hate? Can It even feel? Surely\nnot. It is an ethereal transparency,--a delicate film which takes upon\nitself the reflex of all existing things without experiencing personal\nemotion. Such is the Soul, as I believe in it--an immortal Essence, in\nitself formless, yet capable of taking all forms,--ignorant of the\njoys or pains of feeling, yet reflecting all shades of sensation as a\ncrystal reflects all colours in the prism. This, and no more.\u201d\n\nHe paced up and down the room--and a deep involuntary sigh escaped\nhim.\n\n\u201cNo--\u201d he murmured, as though answering some inward query--\u201cNo, I will\nnot go to her now--not till the appointed time. I resolved on an\nabsence of forty-eight hours, and forty-eight hours it shall be. Then\nI will go,--and she will tell me all--I shall know the full extent of\nthe mischief done. And so F\u00e9raz \u2018looked and looked again, and _loved_\nwhat he beheld!\u2019 Love! The very word seems like a desecrating blot on\nthe virgin soul of Lilith!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XVI.\n\nF\u00e9raz meanwhile was fast asleep in his own room. He had sought to\nbe alone for the purpose of thinking quietly and connectedly over all\nhe had heard,--but no sooner had he obtained the desired solitude than\na sudden and heavy drowsiness overcame him, such as he was unable to\nresist, and, throwing himself on his bed, he dropped into a profound\nslumber, which deepened as the minutes crept on. The afternoon wore\nslowly away,--sunset came and passed,--the coming shadows lengthened,\nand just as the first faint star peeped out in the darkening skies he\nawoke, startled to find it so late. He sprang from his couch,\nbewildered and vexed with himself,--it was time for supper, he\nthought, and El-R\u00e2mi must be waiting. He hastened to the study, and\nthere he found his brother conversing with a gentleman,--no other than\nLord Melthorpe, who was talking in a loud cheerful voice, which\ncontrasted oddly with El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s slow musical accents, that ever had a\nnote of sadness in them. When F\u00e9raz made his hurried entrance, his\neyes humid with sleep, yet dewily brilliant,--his thick dark hair\ntangled in rough curls above his brows, Lord Melthorpe stared at him\nin honestly undisguised admiration, and then glanced at El-R\u00e2mi\ninquiringly.\n\n\u201cMy brother, F\u00e9raz Zar\u00e2nos\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi, readily performing the\nceremony of introduction--\u201cF\u00e9raz, this is Lord Melthorpe,--you have\nheard me speak of him.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz bowed with his usual perfect grace, and Lord Melthorpe shook\nhands with him.\n\n\u201cUpon my word!\u201d he said good-humouredly, \u201cthis young gentleman reminds\none of the _Arabian Nights_, El-R\u00e2mi! He looks like one of those\namazing fellows who always had remarkable adventures; Prince Ahmed, or\nthe son of a king, or something--don\u2019t you know?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled gravely.\n\n\u201cThe Eastern dress is responsible for that idea in your mind, no\ndoubt--\u201d he replied--\u201cF\u00e9raz wears it in the house, because he moves\nmore easily and is more comfortable in it than in the regulation\nBritish attire, which really is the most hideous mode of garb in the\nworld. Englishmen are among the finest types of the human race, but\ntheir dress does them scant justice.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are right--we\u2019re all on the same tailor\u2019s pattern--and a\nfrightful pattern it is!\u201d and his lordship put up his eyeglass to\nsurvey F\u00e9raz once more, the while he thought--\u201cDevilish handsome\nfellow!--would make quite a sensation in the room--new sort of craze\nfor my lady.\u201d Aloud he said--\u201cPray bring your brother with you on\nTuesday evening--my wife will be charmed.\u201d\n\n\u201cF\u00e9raz never goes into society--\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cBut of course,\nif you insist----\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I never insist--\u201d declared Lord Melthorpe, laughing, \u201c_You_ are\nthe man for insisting, not I. But I shall take it as a favour if he\nwill accompany you.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou hear, F\u00e9raz--\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi looked at his brother\ninquiringly--\u201cLord Melthorpe invites you to a great reception next\nTuesday evening. Would you like to go?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz glanced from one to the other half smilingly, half doubtfully.\n\n\u201cYes, I should like it,\u201d he said at last.\n\n\u201cThen we shall expect you,--\u201d and Lord Melthorpe rose to take his\nleave,--\u201cIt\u2019s a sort of diplomatic and official affair--fellows will\nlook in either before or after the Foreign Office crush, which is on\nthe same evening, and orders and decorations will be in full force, I\nbelieve. Oh, by the way, Lady Melthorpe begged me to ask you most\nparticularly to wear Oriental dress.\u201d\n\n\u201cI shall obey her ladyship;\u201d--and El-R\u00e2mi smiled a little\nsatirically--the character of the lady in question was one that always\nvaguely amused him.\n\n\u201cAnd your brother will do the same, I hope?\u201d\n\n\u201cAssuredly!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi shook hands with his visitor, bidding F\u00e9raz\nescort him to the door. When he had gone, F\u00e9raz sprang into the study\nagain with all the eager impetuosity of a boy.\n\n\u201cWhat is it like--a reception in England?\u201d he asked--\u201cAnd why does\nLord Melthorpe ask me?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot imagine!\u201d returned his brother drily--\u201cWhy do you want to\ngo?\u201d\n\n\u201cI should like to see life;\u201d--said F\u00e9raz.\n\n\u201cSee life!\u201d echoed El-R\u00e2mi somewhat disdainfully--\u201cWhat do you mean?\nDon\u2019t you \u2018see life\u2019 as it is?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d answered F\u00e9raz quickly--\u201cI see men and women--but I don\u2019t know\nhow they live, and I don\u2019t know what they do.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey live in a perpetual effort to out-reach and injure one\nanother\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi, \u201cand all their forces are concentrated on\nbringing themselves into notice. That is how they live,--that is what\nthey do. It is not a dignified or noble way of living, but it is all\nthey care about. You will see illustrations of this at Lord\nMelthorpe\u2019s reception. You will find the woman with the most diamonds\ngiving herself peacock-like airs over the woman who has fewest,--you\nwill see the snob-millionaire treated with greater consideration by\nevery one than the born gentleman who happens to have little of this\nworld\u2019s wealth. You will find that no one thinks of putting himself\nout to give personal pleasure to another,--you will hear the same\ncommonplace observations from every mouth,--you will discover a lack\nof wit, a dearth of kindness, a scarcity of cheerfulness, and a most\ndesperate want of tact in every member of the whole fashionable\nassemblage. And so you shall \u2018see life\u2019--if you think you can discern\nit there. Sufficient for the day is the evil thereof!--meanwhile let\nus have supper,--time flies, and I have work to do to-night that must\nbe done.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz busied himself nimbly about his usual duties--the frugal meal\nwas soon prepared and soon dispensed with, and, at its close, the\nbrothers sat in silence, El-R\u00e2mi watching F\u00e9raz with a curious\nintentness, because he felt for the first time in his life that he was\nnot quite master of the young man\u2019s thoughts. Did he still remember\nthe name of Lilith? El-R\u00e2mi had willed that every trace of it should\nvanish from his memory during that long afternoon sleep in which the\nlad had indulged himself unresistingly,--but the question was now--Had\nthat force of will gained the victory? He, El-R\u00e2mi, could not\ntell--not yet--but he turned the problem over and over in his mind\nwith sombre irritation and restlessness. Presently F\u00e9raz broke the\nsilence. Drawing from his vest pocket a small manuscript book, and\nraising his eyes, he said--\n\n\u201cDo you mind hearing something I wrote last night? I don\u2019t quite know\nhow it came to me--I think I must have been dreaming----\u201d\n\n\u201cRead on;\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cIf it be poesy, then its origin cannot be\nexplained. Were you able to explain it, it would become prose.\u201d\n\n\u201cI daresay the lines are not very good,\u201d--went on F\u00e9raz\ndiffidently--\u201cyet they are the true expression of a thought that is in\nme. And whether I owe it to you, or to my own temperament, I have\nvisions now and then--visions not only of love, but of fame--strange\nglories that I almost realise, yet cannot grasp. And there is a\nsadness and futility in it all that grieves me ... everything is so\nvague and swift and fleeting. Yet if love, as you say, be a mere\nchimera,--surely there is such a thing as Fame?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is--\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s eyes flashed, then darkened again--\u201cThere\nis the applause of this world, which may mean the derision of the\nnext. Read on!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz obeyed. \u201cI call it for the present \u2018The Star of Destiny\u2019\u201d--he\nsaid; and then his mellifluous voice, rich and well modulated, gave\nflowing musical enunciation to the following lines:\n\n \u201cThe soft low plash of waves upon the shore,\n  Mariners\u2019 voices singing out at sea,\n The sighing of the wind that evermore\n  Chants to my spirit mystic melody,--\n These are the mingling sounds I vaguely hear\n  As o\u2019er the darkening misty main I gaze,\n Where one fair planet, warmly bright and clear,\n  Pours from its heart a rain of silver rays.\n\n \u201cO patient Star of Love! in yon pale sky\n  What absolute serenity is thine!\n Beneath thy steadfast, half-reproachful eye\n  Large Ocean chafes,--and, white with bitter brine,\n Heaves restlessly, and ripples from the light\n  To darker shadows,--ev\u2019n as noble thought\n Recoils from human passion, to a night\n  Of splendid gloom by its own mystery wrought.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat made you think of the sea?\u201d interrupted El-R\u00e2mi.\n\nF\u00e9raz looked up dreamily.\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t know,\u201d--he said.\n\n\u201cWell!--go on!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz continued,--\n\n \u201cO searching Star, I bring my grief to thee,--\n  Regard it, Thou, as pitying angels may\n Regard a tortured saint,--and, down to me\n  Send one bright glance, one heart-assuring ray\n From that high throne where thou in sheeny state\n  Dost hang, thought-pensive, \u2019twixt the heaven and earth;\n Thou, sure, dost know the secret of my Fate,\n  For thou didst shine upon my hour of birth.\n\n \u201cO Star, from whom the clouds asunder roll,\n  Tell this poor spirit pent in dying flesh,\n This fighting, working, praying, prisoned soul,\n  Why it is trapped and strangled in the mesh\n Of foolish Life and Time? Its wild young voice\n  Calls for release, unanswered and unstilled,--\n It sought not out this world,--it had no choice\n  Of other worlds where glory is fulfilled.\n\n \u201cHow hard to live at all, if living be\n  The thing it seems to us!--the few brief years\n Made up of toil and sorrow, where we see\n  No joy without companionship of tears,--\n What is the artist\u2019s fame?--the golden chords\n  Of rapt musician? or the poet\u2019s themes?\n All incomplete!--the nailed-down coffin boards\n  Are mocking sequels to the grandest dreams.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is not your creed,\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi with a searching look.\n\nF\u00e9raz sighed. \u201cNo--it is not my actual creed--but it is my frequent\nthought.\u201d\n\n\u201cA thought unworthy of you,\u201d--said his brother--\u201cThere is nothing left\n\u2018incomplete\u2019 in the whole Universe--and there is no sequel possible to\nCreation.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps not,--but again perhaps there may be a sequel beyond all\nimagination or comprehension. And surely you must admit that some\nthings are left distressingly incomplete. Shelley\u2019s \u2018Fragments\u2019 for\ninstance, Keats\u2019s \u2018Hyperion\u2019--Schubert\u2019s \u2018Unfinished\u2019 Symphony----\u201d\n\n\u201cIncomplete _here_--yes--;\u201d agreed El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cBut--finished elsewhere,\nas surely as day is day, and night is night. There is nothing\nlost,--no, not so much as the lightest flicker of a thought in a man\u2019s\nbrain,--nothing wasted or forgotten,--not even so much as an idle\nword. _We_ forget--but the forces of Nature are non-oblivious. All is\nchronicled and registered--all is scientifically set down in plain\nfigures that no mistake may be made in the final reckoning.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou really think that?--you really believe that?\u201d asked F\u00e9raz, his\neyes dilating eagerly.\n\n\u201cI do, most positively;\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cIt is a fact which Nature\nmost potently sets forth, and insists upon. But is there no more of\nyour verse?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes--\u201d and F\u00e9raz read on--\n\n \u201cO, we are sorrowful, my Soul and I:\n  We war together fondly--yet we pray\n For separate roads,--the Body fain would die\n  And sleep i\u2019 the ground, low-hidden from the day--\n The Soul erect, its large wings cramped for room,\n  Doth pantingly and passionately rebel,\n Against this strange, uncomprehended doom\n  Called Life, where nothing is, or shall be well.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood!\u201d--murmured El-R\u00e2mi softly--\u201cGood--and true!\u201d\n\n \u201cHear me, my Star!--star of my natal hour,\n  Thou calm unmov\u00ebd one amid all clouds!\n Give me my birth-right,--the imperial sway\n  Of Thought supreme above the common crowds,--\n O let me feel thy swift compelling beam\n  Drawing me upwards to a goal divine;\n Fulfil thy promise, O thou glittering Dream,\n  And let one crown of victory be mine.\n\n \u201cLet me behold this world recede and pass\n  Like shifting mist upon a stormy coast\n Or vision in a necromancer\u2019s glass;--\n  For I, \u2019mid perishable earth can boast\n Of proven Immortality,--can reach\n  Glories ungrasped by minds of lower tone;--\n Thus, in a silence vaster than all speech,\n  I follow thee, my Star of Love, alone!\u201d\n\nHe ceased. El-R\u00e2mi, who had listened attentively, resting his head on\none hand, now lifted his eyes and looked at his young brother with an\nexpression of mingled curiosity and compassion.\n\n\u201cThe verses are good;\u201d--he said at last--\u201cgood and perfectly\nrhythmical, but surely they have a touch of arrogance?--\n\n   \u201c\u2018I, \u2019mid perishable earth can boast\n Of proven Immortality.\u2019\n\nWhat do you mean by \u2018proven\u2019 Immortality? Where are your proofs?\u201d\n\n\u201cI have them in my inner consciousness;\u201d replied F\u00e9raz slowly--\u201cBut\nto put them into the limited language spoken by mortals is impossible.\nThere are existing emotions--existing facts, which can never be\nrendered into common speech. God is a Fact--but He cannot be explained\nor described.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi was silent,--a slight frown contracted his dark even brows.\n\n\u201cYou are beginning to think too much,\u201d--he observed, rising from his\nchair as he spoke--\u201cDo not analyse yourself, F\u00e9raz, ... self-analysis\nis the temper of the age, but it engenders distrust and sorrow. Your\npoem is excellent, but it breathes of sadness,--I prefer your \u2018star\u2019\nsongs which are so full of joy. To be wise is to be happy,--to be\nhappy is to be wise----\u201d\n\nA loud rat-tat at the street door interrupted him. F\u00e9raz sprang up to\nanswer the imperative summons, and returned with a telegram. El-R\u00e2mi\nopened and read it with astonished eyes, his face growing suddenly\npale.\n\n\u201cHe will be here to-morrow night!\u201d he ejaculated in a\nwhisper--\u201cTo-morrow night! He, the saint--the king--here to-morrow\nnight! Why should he come?--What would he have with me?\u201d\n\nHis expression was one of dazed bewilderment, and F\u00e9raz looked at him\ninquiringly.\n\n\u201cAny bad news?\u201d he asked--\u201cWho is it that is coming?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi recollected himself, and, folding up the telegram, thrust it\nin his breast pocket.\n\n\u201cA poor monk who is travelling hither on a secret mission solicits my\nhospitality for the night\u201d--he replied hurriedly--\u201cThat is all. He\nwill be here to-morrow.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz stood silent, an incredulous smile in his fine eyes.\n\n\u201cWhy should you stoop to deceive me, El-R\u00e2mi, my brother?\u201d he said\ngently at last--\u201cSurely it is not one of your ways to perfection? Why\ntry to disguise the truth from me?--I am not of a treacherous nature.\nIf I guess rightly, this \u2018poor monk\u2019 is the Supreme Head of the\nBrethren of the Cross, from whose mystic band you were dismissed for a\nbreach of discipline. What harm is there in my knowing of this?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s hand clenched, and his eyes had that dark and terrible look\nin them that F\u00e9raz had learned to fear, but his voice was very calm.\n\n\u201cWho told you?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cOne of the monks at Cyprus long ago, when I went on your\nerrand\u201d--replied F\u00e9raz; \u201cHe spoke of your wisdom, your power, your\nbrilliant faculties, in genuine regret that, all for some slight\nmatter in which you would not bend your pride, you had lost touch with\ntheir various centres of action in all parts of the globe. He said no\nmore than this,--and no more than this I know.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou know quite enough,\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi quietly--\u201cIf I _have_ lost\ntouch with their modes of work, I have gained insight beyond their\nreach. And,--I am sorry I did not at once say the truth to you--it\n_is_ their chief leader who comes here to-morrow. No doubt,\u201d--and he\nsmiled with a sense of triumph--\u201cno doubt he seeks for fresh\nknowledge, such as I alone can give him.\u201d\n\n\u201cI thought,\u201d said F\u00e9raz in a low half-awed tone,--\u201cthat he was one of\nthose who are wise with the wisdom of the angels?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf there _are_ angels!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi with a touch of scorn, \u201cHe is\nwise in faith alone--he believes and he imagines,--and there is no\nquestion as to the strange power he has obtained through the simplest\nmeans,--but I--I have no faith!--I seek to _prove_--I work to\n_know_,--and my power is as great as his, though it is won in a\ndifferent way.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz said nothing, but sat down to the piano, allowing his hands to\nwander over the keys in a dreamy fashion that sounded like the far-off\necho of a rippling mountain stream. El-R\u00e2mi waited a moment,\nlistening,--then glanced at his watch--it was growing late.\n\n\u201cGood-night, F\u00e9raz;\u201d--he said in gentle accents--\u201cI shall want\nnothing more this evening. I am going to my work.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-night,\u201d--answered F\u00e9raz with equal gentleness, as he went on\nplaying. His brother opened and closed the door softly;--he was gone.\n\nAs soon as he found himself alone, F\u00e9raz pressed the pedal of his\ninstrument so that the music pealed through the room in rich salvos of\nsound--chord after chord rolled grandly forth, and sweet ringing notes\ncame throbbing from under his agile finger-tips, the while he said\naloud, with a mingling of triumph and tenderness--\n\n\u201cForget! I shall never forget! Does one forget the flowers, the birds,\nthe moonlight, the sound of a sweet song? Is the world so fair that I\nshould blot from my mind the fairest thing in it? Not so! My memory\nmay fail me in a thousand things--but let me be tortured, harassed,\nperplexed with dreams, persuaded by fantasies, I shall never forget\nthe name of----\u201d\n\nHe stopped abruptly--a look of pain and terror and effort flashed into\nhis eyes,--his hands fell on the keys of the piano with a discordant\njangle,--he stared about him, wondering and afraid.\n\n\u201cThe name--the name!\u201d he muttered hoarsely--\u201cA flower\u2019s name--an\nangel\u2019s name--the sweetest name I ever heard! How is this?--Am I mad\nthat my lips refuse to utter it? The name--the name of ... My God! my\nGod! I _have_ forgotten it!\u201d\n\nAnd springing from his chair he stood for one instant in mute wrath,\nincredulity, and bewilderment,--then throwing himself down again, he\nburied his face in his hands, his whole frame trembling with mingled\nterror and awe at the mystic power of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s indomitable Will,\nwhich had, he knew, forced him to forget what most he desired to\nremember.\n\n\n\n\n XVII.\n\nWithin the chamber of Lilith all was very still. Zaroba sat there,\ncrouched down in what seemed to be her favourite and accustomed\ncorner, busy with the intricate thread-work which she wove with so\nmuch celerity;--the lamp burned brightly,--there were odours of\nfrankincense and roses in the air,--and not so much as the sound of a\nsuppressed sigh or soft breath stirred the deep and almost sacred\nquiet of the room. The tranced Lilith herself, pale but beautiful, lay\ncalm and still as ever among the glistening satin cushions of her\ncostly couch, and, just above her, the purple draperies that covered\nthe walls and ceiling were drawn aside to admit of the opening of a\npreviously-concealed window, through which one or two stars could be\nseen dimly sparkling in the skies. A white moth, attracted by the\nlight, had flown in by way of this aperture, and was now fluttering\nheedlessly and aimlessly round the lamp,--but by and by it took a\nlower and less hazardous course, and finally settled on a shining\ncorner of the cushion that supported Lilith\u2019s head. There the fragile\ninsect rested,--now expanding its velvety white wings, now folding\nthem close and extending its delicate feelers to touch and test the\nglittering fabric on which it found itself at ease,--but never moving\nfrom the spot it had evidently chosen for its night\u2019s repose.\nSuddenly, and without sound, El-R\u00e2mi entered. He advanced close up to\nthe couch, and looked upon the sleeping girl with an eager, almost\npassionate intentness. His heart beat quickly;--a singular excitement\npossessed him, and for once he was unable to analyse his own\nsensations. Closer and closer he bent over Lilith\u2019s exquisite\nform,--doubtfully and with a certain scorn of himself, he took up a\nshining tress of her glorious hair and looked at it curiously as\nthough it were something new, strange, or unnatural. The little moth,\ndisturbed, flew off the pillow and fluttered about his head in wild\nalarm, and El-R\u00e2mi watched its reckless flight as it made off towards\nthe fatally-attractive lamp again, with meditative eyes, still\nmechanically stroking that soft lock of Lilith\u2019s hair which he held\nbetween his fingers.\n\n\u201cInto the light!\u201d he murmured--\u201cInto the very heart of the\nlight!--into the very core of the fire! That is the end of all\nambition--to take wings and plunge so--into the glowing, burning\nmolten Creative Centre--and die for our foolhardiness? Is that\nall?--or is there more behind? It is a question,--who may answer it?\u201d\n\nHe sighed heavily, and leaned more closely over the couch, till the\nsoft scarcely perceptible breath from Lilith\u2019s lips touched his cheek\nwarmly like a caress. Observantly, as one might study the parts of a\nbird or a flower, he noted those lips, how delicately curved, how\ncoral-red they were,--and what a soft rose-tint, like the flush of a\npink sunrise on white flowers, was the hue which spread itself\nwaveringly over her cheeks,--till there,--there where the long\neyelashes curled upwards, there were fine shadows,--shadows which\nsuggested light,--such light as must be burning in those\nsweetly-closed eyes. Then there was the pure, smooth brow, over which\nlittle vine-like tendrils of hair caught and clung amorously,--and\nthen--that wondrous wealth of the hair itself which, like twin showers\nof gold, shed light on either side. It was all beautiful,--a wonderful\ngem of Nature\u2019s handiwork,--a masterpiece of form and colour which,\nbut for him, El-R\u00e2mi, would long ere this have mouldered away to\nunsightly ash and bone, in a lonely grave dug hurriedly among the\nsands of the Syrian desert. He was almost, if not quite, the author of\nthat warm if unnatural vitality that flowed through those azure veins\nand branching arteries,--he, like the Christ of Galilee, had raised\nthe dead to life,--ay, if he chose, he could say as the Master said to\nthe daughter of Jairus, \u201cMaiden, arise!\u201d and she would obey him--would\nrise and walk, and smile and speak, and look upon the world,--if he\nchose! The arrogance of Will burned in his brain;--the pride of power,\nthe majesty of conscious strength made his pulses beat high with\ntriumph beyond that of any king or emperor,--and he gazed down upon\nthe tranced fair form, himself entranced, and all unconscious that\nZaroba had come out of her corner, and that she now stood beside him,\nwatching his face with passionate and inquisitive eagerness. Just as\nhe reluctantly lifted himself up from his leaning position he saw her\nstaring at him, and a frown darkened his brows. He made his usual\nimperative sign to her to leave the room,--a sign she was accustomed\nto understand and to obey--but this time she remained motionless,\nfixing her eyes steadily upon him.\n\n\u201cThe conqueror shall be conquered, El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos--\u201d she said\nslowly, pointing to the sleeping Lilith--\u201cThe victorious master over\nthe forces unutterable shall yet be overthrown! The work has\nbegun,--the small seed has been sown--the great harvest shall be\nreaped. For in the history of Heaven itself certain proud angels rose\nup and fought for the possession of supreme majesty and power--and\nthey fell,--downbeaten to the darkness,--unforgiven, and are they not\nin darkness still? Even so must the haughty spirit fall that contends\nagainst God and the Universal Law.\u201d\n\nShe spoke impressively, and with a certain dignity of manner that gave\nan added force to her words,--but El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s impassive countenance\nshowed no sign of having either heard or understood her. He merely\nrepeated his gesture of dismissal, and this time Zaroba obeyed it.\nWrapping her flowing robe closely about her, she withdrew, but with\nevident reluctance, letting the velvet porti\u00e8re fall only by slow\ndegrees behind her, and to the last keeping her dark deep-set eyes\nfixed on El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s face. As soon as she had disappeared, he sprang to\nwhere the dividing-curtain hid a massive door between the one room and\nthe ante-chamber,--this door he shut and locked,--then he returned to\nthe couch, and proceeded, according to his usual method, to will the\nwandering spirit of his \u201csubject\u201d into speech.\n\n\u201cLilith! Lilith!\u201d\n\nAs before, he had to wait ere any reply was vouchsafed to him.\nImpatiently he glanced at the clock, and counted slowly a hundred\nbeats.\n\n\u201cLilith!\u201d\n\nShe turned round towards him, smiled, and murmured something--her lips\nmoved, but whatever they uttered did not reach his ear.\n\n\u201cLilith! Where are you?\u201d\n\nThis time, her voice, though soft, was perfectly distinct.\n\n\u201cHere. Close to you, with your hand on mine.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi was puzzled. True, he held her left hand in his own, but she\nhad never described any actual sensation of human touch before.\n\n\u201cThen,--can you see me?\u201d he asked somewhat anxiously.\n\nThe answer came sadly.\n\n\u201cNo. Bright air surrounds me, and the colours of the air--nothing\nmore.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are alone, Lilith?\u201d\n\nOh, what a sigh came heaving from her breast!\n\n\u201cI am always alone!\u201d\n\nHalf remorseful, he heard her. She had complained of solitude\nbefore,--and it was a thought he did not wish her to dwell upon. He\nmade haste to speak again.\n\n\u201cTell me,\u201d--he said--\u201cWhere have you been, Lilith, and what have you\nseen?\u201d\n\nThere was silence for a minute or two, and she moved restlessly.\n\n\u201cYou bade me seek out Hell for you\u201d--she murmured at last--\u201cI have\nsearched, but I cannot find it.\u201d\n\nAnother pause, and she went on.\n\n\u201cYou spoke of a strange thing,\u201d she said--\u201cA place of punishment, of\ntorture, of darkness, of horror and despair,--there is no such dreary\nblot on all God\u2019s fair Creation. In all the golden spaces of the\nfarthest stars I find no punishment, no pain, no darkness. I can\ndiscover nothing save beauty, light, and--Love!\u201d\n\nThe last word was uttered softly, and sounded like a note of music,\nsweet but distant.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi listened, bewildered, and in a manner disappointed.\n\n\u201cO Lilith, take heed what you say!\u201d he exclaimed with some\npassion--\u201cNo pain?--no punishment? no darkness? Then this world is\nHell and you know naught of it!\u201d\n\nAs he said this, she moved uneasily among her pillows,--then, to his\namazement, she suddenly sat up of her own accord, and went on\nspeaking, enunciating her words with singular clearness and emphasis,\nalways keeping her eyes closed and allowing her left hand to remain in\nhis.\n\n\u201cI am bound to tell you what I know;\u201d--she said--\u201cBut I am unable to\ntell you what is not true. In God\u2019s design I find no evil--no\npunishment, no death. If there are such things, they must be in your\nworld alone,--they must be Man\u2019s work and Man\u2019s imagining.\u201d\n\n\u201cMan\u2019s work--Man\u2019s imagining?\u201d repeated El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cAnd what is man?\u201d\n\n\u201cGod\u2019s angel,\u201d replied Lilith quickly--\u201cWith God\u2019s own attribute of\nFree-Will. He, like his Maker, doth create,--he also doth\ndestroy,--what he elects to do, God will not prevent. Therefore, if\nMan makes Evil, Evil must exist till Man himself destroys it.\u201d\n\nThis was a deep and strange saying, and El-R\u00e2mi pondered over it\nwithout speaking.\n\n\u201cIn the spaces where I roam,\u201d went on Lilith softly--\u201cthere is no\nevil. Those who are the Makers of Life in yonder fair regions seek\nonly what is pure. Why should pain exist, or sin be known? I do not\nunderstand.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi bitterly--\u201cYou do not understand, because you are\nyourself too happy,--happiness sees no fault in anything. Oh, you have\nwandered too far from earth and you forget! The tie that binds you to\nthis planet is over-fragile,--you have lost touch with pain. I would\nthat I could make you feel my thoughts!--for, Lilith, God is cruel,\nnot kind, ... upon God, and God alone, rests the weight of woe that\nburdens the universe, and for the eternal sorrow of things there is\nneither reason nor remedy.\u201d\n\nLilith sank back again in a recumbent posture, a smile upon her lips.\n\n\u201cO poor blind eyes!\u201d she murmured--\u201cSad eyes that are so tired--too\ntired to bear the light!\u201d\n\nHer voice was so exquisitely pathetic that he was startled by its very\ngentleness,--his heart gave one fierce bound against his side, and\nthen seemed almost to stand still.\n\n\u201cYou pity me?\u201d he asked tremulously.\n\nShe sighed. \u201cI pity you\u201d--she answered--\u201cI pity myself.\u201d\n\nAlmost breathlessly he asked \u201cWhy?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause I cannot see you--because you cannot see me. If I could see\nyou--if you could see me as I am, you would know all--you would\nunderstand all.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do see you, Lilith,\u201d he said--\u201cI hold your hand.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo--not my real hand\u201d--she said--\u201cOnly its shadow.\u201d\n\nInstinctively he looked at the delicate fingers that lay in his\npalm--so rosy-tipped and warm. Only the \u201cshadow\u201d of a hand! Then where\nwas its substance?\n\n\u201cIt will pass away\u201d--went on Lilith--\u201clike all shadows--but _I_ shall\nremain--not here, not here,--but elsewhere. When will you let me go?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere do you wish to go?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cTo my friends,\u201d she answered swiftly and with eagerness--\u201cThey call\nme often--I hear their voices singing \u2018Lilith! Lilith!\u2019 and sometimes\nI see them beckoning me--but I cannot reach them. It is cruel, for\nthey love me and you do not,--why will you keep me here unloved so\nlong?\u201d\n\nHe trembled and hesitated, fixing his dark eyes on the fair face,\nwhich, in spite of its beauty, was to him but as the image of a Sphinx\nthat for ever refused to give up its riddle.\n\n\u201cIs love your craving, Lilith?\u201d he asked slowly--\u201cAnd what is your\nthought--or dream--of love?\u201d\n\n\u201cLove is no dream;\u201d--she responded--\u201cLove is reality--Love is Life. I\nam not fully living yet--I hover in the Realms Between, where spirits\nwait in silence and alone.\u201d\n\nHe sighed. \u201cThen you are sad, Lilith?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo. I am never sad. There is light within my solitude, and the glory\nof God\u2019s beauty everywhere.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi gazed down upon her, an expression very like despair\nshadowing his own features.\n\n\u201cToo far, too far she wends her flight;\u201d--he muttered to himself\nwearily. \u201cHow can I argue on these vague and sublimated utterances! I\ncannot understand her joy--she cannot understand my pain. Evidently\nHeaven\u2019s language is incomprehensible to mortal ears. And\nyet;--Lilith!\u201d he called again almost imperiously. \u201cYou talk of God as\nif you knew Him. But I--I know Him not--I have not proved Him; tell me\nof His Shape, His Seeming,--if indeed you have the power.\u201d\n\nShe was silent. He studied her tranquil face intently,--the smile upon\nit was in very truth divine.\n\n\u201cNo answer!\u201d he said with some derision. \u201cOf course,--what answer\nshould there be! What Shape or Seeming should there be to a mere huge\nblind Force that creates without reason, and destroys without\nnecessity!\u201d\n\nAs he thus soliloquised, Lilith stirred, and flung her white arms\nupward as though in ecstasy, letting them fall slowly afterwards in a\nfolded position behind her head.\n\n\u201cTo the seven declared tones of Music, add seventy million more,\u201d--she\nsaid--\u201cand let them ring their sweetest cadence, they shall make but a\nfeeble echo of the music of God\u2019s voice! To all the shades of radiant\ncolour, to all the lines of noblest form, add the splendour of eternal\nyouth, eternal goodness, eternal joy, eternal power, and yet we shall\nnot render into speech or song the beauty of our God! From His glance\nflows Light--from His presence rushes Harmony,--as He moves through\nSpace great worlds are born; and at His bidding planets grow within\nthe air like flowers. Oh to see Him passing \u2019mid the stars!----\u201d\n\nShe broke off suddenly and drew a long deep breath, as of sheer\ndelight,--but the shadow on El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s features darkened wearily.\n\n\u201cYou teach me nothing, Lilith\u201d--he said sadly and somewhat\nsternly--\u201cYou speak of what you see--or what you think you see--but\nyou cannot convince me of its truth.\u201d\n\nHer face grew paler,--the smile vanished from her lips, and all her\ndelicate beauty seemed to freeze into a cold and grave rigidity.\n\n\u201cLove begets faith;\u201d--she said--\u201cWhere we do not love, we doubt. Doubt\nbreeds Evil, and Evil knows not God.\u201d\n\n\u201cPlatitudes, upon my life!--mere platitudes!\u201d exclaimed El-R\u00e2mi\nbitterly--\u201cIf this half-released spirit can do no more than prate of\nthe same old laws and duties our preachers teach us, then indeed my\nservice is vain. But she shall not baffle me thus;\u201d--and, bending over\nLilith\u2019s figure, he unwound her arms from the indolent position in\nwhich they were folded, took her hands roughly in his own, and,\nsitting on the edge of her couch, fixed his burning eyes upon her as\nthough he sought to pierce her to the heart\u2019s core with their ardent,\nalmost cruel lustre.\n\n\u201cLilith!\u201d he commanded--\u201cSpeak plainly, that I may fully understand\nyour words. You say there is no hell?\u201d\n\nThe answer came steadily.\n\n\u201cNone.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen must evil go unpunished?\u201d\n\n\u201cEvil wreaks punishment upon itself. Evil destroys itself. That is the\nLaw.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd the Prophets!\u201d muttered El-R\u00e2mi scornfully--\u201cWell! Go on,\nstrange sprite! Why--for such things are known--why does goodness\nsuffer for being good?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat never is. That is impossible.\u201d\n\n\u201cImpossible?\u201d queried El-R\u00e2mi incredulously.\n\n\u201cImpossible,\u201d--repeated, the soft voice firmly. \u201cGoodness _seems_ to\nsuffer, but it does not. Evil _seems_ to prosper, but it does not.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd God exists?\u201d\n\n\u201cGod exists.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd what of Heaven?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich heaven?\u201d asked Lilith--\u201cThere are a million million heavens.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi stopped--thinking,--then finally said--\n\n\u201cGod\u2019s Heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou would say God\u2019s World;\u201d--returned Lilith tranquilly--\u201cNay, you\nwill not let me reach that centre. I see it; I feel it afar off--but\nyour will binds me--you will not let me go.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I were to let you go, what would you do?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cWould\nyou return to me?\u201d\n\n\u201cNever! Those who enter the Perfect Glory return no more to an\nimperfect light.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi paused--he was arranging other questions to ask, when her\nnext words startled him--\n\n\u201cSome one called me by my name,\u201d--she said--\u201cTenderly and softly, as\nthough it were a name beloved. I heard the voice--I could not\nanswer--but I heard it--and I know that some one loves me. The sense\nof love is sweet, and makes your dreary world seem fair!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s heart began to beat violently--the voice of F\u00e9raz had\nreached her in her trance then after all! And she remembered it!--more\nthan this--it had carried a vague emotion of love to that vagrant and\nethereal essence which he called her \u201csoul\u201d but which he had his\ndoubts of all the while. For he was unable to convince himself\npositively of any such thing as \u201cSoul\u201d;--all emotions, even of the\nmost divinely transcendent nature, he was disposed to set down to the\naction of brain merely. But he was scientist enough to know that the\nbrain must gather its ideas from _something_,--something either\nexternal or internal,--even such a vague thing as an Idea cannot\nspring out of blank Chaos. And this was what especially puzzled him in\nhis experiment with the girl Lilith--for, ever since he had placed her\nin the \u201clife-in-death\u201d condition she was, he had been careful to avoid\nimpressing any of his own thoughts or ideas upon her. And, as a matter\nof fact, all she said about God, or about a present or a future state,\nwas precisely the reverse of what he himself argued;--the question\ntherefore remained--From Where and How did she get her knowledge? She\nhad been a mere pretty, ignorant, half-barbaric Arab child, when she\n_died_ (according to natural law), and, during the six years she had\n_lived_ (by scientific law) in her strange trance, her brain had been\nabsolutely unconscious of all external impressions, while of internal\nshe could have none, beyond the memories of her childhood. Yet,--she\nhad grown beautiful beyond the beauty of mortals, and she spoke of\nthings beyond all mortal comprehension. The riddle of her physical and\nmental development seemed unanswerable,--it was the wonder, the\npuzzle, the difficulty, the delight of all El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s hours. But now\nthere was mischief done. She spoke of love,--not divine impersonal\nlove, as was her wont,--but love that touched her own existence with\na vaguely pleasing emotion. A voice had reached her that never should\nhave been allowed to penetrate her spiritual solitude, and realising\nthis, a sullen anger smouldered in El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s mind. He strove to\nconsider Zaroba\u2019s fault and F\u00e9raz\u2019s folly with all the leniency,\nforbearance, and forgiveness possible, and yet the strange\nrestlessness within him gave him no peace. What should be done? What\ncould be answered to those wistful words--\u201cThe sense of love is sweet,\nand makes your dreary world seem fair\u201d?\n\nHe pondered on the matter, vaguely uneasy and dissatisfied. He, and he\nalone, was the master of Lilith,--he commanded and she obeyed,--but\nwould it be always thus? The doubt turned his blood cold,--suppose she\nescaped him now, after all his studies and calculations! He resolved\nhe would ask her no more questions that night, and very gently he\nreleased the little slender hands he held.\n\n\u201cGo, Lilith!\u201d he said softly--\u201cThis world, as you say, is dreary--I\nwill not keep you longer in its gloom--go hence and rest.\u201d\n\n\u201cRest?\u201d sighed Lilith inquiringly--\u201cWhere?\u201d\n\nHe bent above her, and touched her loose gold locks almost\ncaressingly.\n\n\u201cWhere you choose!\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, that I may not!\u201d murmured Lilith sadly. \u201cI have no choice--I\nmust obey the Master\u2019s will.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s heart beat high with triumph at these words.\n\n\u201c_My_ will!\u201d he said, more to himself than to her--\u201cThe force of\nit!--the marvel of it!--_my_ will!\u201d\n\nLilith heard,--a strange glory seemed to shine round her, like a halo\nround a pictured saint, and the voice that came from her lips rang out\nwith singularly sweet clearness.\n\n\u201cYour will!\u201d she echoed--\u201cYour will--and also--God\u2019s will!\u201d\n\nHe started, amazed and irresolute. The words were not what he\nexpected, and he would have questioned their meaning, but that he saw\non the girl\u2019s lovely features a certain pale composed look which he\nrecognised as the look that meant silence.\n\n\u201cLilith!\u201d he whispered.\n\nNo answer. He stood looking down upon her, his face seeming sterner\nand darker than usual by reason of the intense, passionate anxiety in\nhis burning eyes.\n\n\u201cGod\u2019s will!\u201d he echoed with some disdain--\u201cGod\u2019s will would have\nannihilated her very existence long ago out in the desert;--what\nshould God do with her now that I have not done?\u201d\n\nHis arrogance seemed to be perfectly justifiable; and yet he very well\nknew that, strictly speaking, there was no such thing as\n\u201cannihilation\u201d possible to any atom in the universe. Moreover, he did\nnot choose to analyse the mystical reasons as to _why_ he had been\npermitted by Fate or Chance to obtain such mastery over one human\nsoul,--he preferred to attribute it all to his own discoveries in\nscience,--his own patient and untiring skill,--his own studious\ncomprehension of the forces of Nature,--and he was nearly, if not\nquite, oblivious of the fact that there is a Something behind natural\nforces, which knows and sees, controls and commands, and against\nwhich, if he places himself in opposition, Man is but the puniest,\nmost wretched straw that was ever tossed or split by a whirlwind. As a\nrule, men of science work not for God so much as against\nHim,--wherefore their most brilliant researches stop short of the\ngoal. Great intellects are seldom devout,--for brilliant culture\nbegets pride--and pride is incompatible with faith or worship. Perfect\nscience, combined with perfect selflessness, would give us what we\nneed,--a purified and reasoning Religion. But El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s chief\ncharacteristic was pride,--and he saw no mischief in it. Strong in his\nknowledge,--defiant of evil in the consciousness he possessed of his\nown extraordinary physical and mental endowments, he saw no reason why\nhe should bow down in humiliated abasement before forces, either\nnatural or spiritual, which he deemed himself able to control. And his\nbrow cleared, as he once more bent over his tranced \u201csubject\u201d and,\nwith all the methodical precaution of a physician, felt her pulse,\ntook note of her temperature, and judged that for the present she\nneeded no more of that strange Elixir which kept her veins aglow with\nsuch inexplicably beauteous vitality. Then--his examination done--he\nleft the room; and as he drew the velvet porti\u00e8re behind him the\nlittle white moth that had flown in for a night\u2019s shelter fluttered\ndown from the golden lamp like a falling leaf, and dropped on the\ncouch of Lilith, shrivelled and dead.\n\n\n\n\n XVIII.\n\nThe next day was very wet and stormy. From morning to night the rain\nfell in torrents, and a cold wind blew. El-R\u00e2mi stayed indoors,\nreading, writing, and answering a few of his more urgent\ncorrespondents, a great number of whom were total strangers to him,\nand who nevertheless wrote to him out of the sheer curiosity excited\nin them by the perusal of a certain book to which his name was\nappended as author. This book was a very original literary\nproduction,--the critics were angry with it, because it was so unlike\nanything else that ever was written. According to the theories set\nforth in its pages, Man, the poor and finite, was proved to be a\ncreature of superhuman and almost god-like attributes,--a \u201cflattering\nunction\u201d indeed, which when laid to the souls of commonplace egoists\nhad the effect of making them consider El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos a very\nwonderful person, and themselves more wonderful still. Only the truly\ngreat mind is humble enough to appreciate greatness, and of great\nminds there is a great scarcity. Most of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s correspondents\nwere of that lower order of intelligence which blandly accepts every\nfresh truth discovered as specially intended for themselves, and not\nat all for the world, as though indeed they were some particular and\nremoved class of superior beings who alone were capable of\nunderstanding true wisdom. \u201cYour work has appealed to _me_\u201d--wrote\none, \u201cas it will not appeal to all, because I am able to enter into\nthe divine spirit of things as the _vulgar herd_ cannot do!\u201d This, as\nif the \u201cvulgar herd\u201d were not also part of the \u201cdivine spirit of\nthings\u201d!\n\n\u201cI have delighted in your book\u201d--wrote another, \u201cbecause I am a poet,\nand the world, with its low aims and lower desires, I abhor and\ndespise!\u201d\n\nThe absurdity of a man presuming to call himself a poet, and in the\nsame breath declaring he \u201cdespises\u201d the world,--the world which\nsupports his life and provides him with all his needs,--never seems to\noccur to the minds of these poor boasters of a petty vanity. El-R\u00e2mi\nlooked weary enough as he glanced quickly through a heap of such\nill-judged and egotistical epistles, and threw them aside to be for\never left unanswered. To him there was something truly horrible and\ndiscouraging in the contemplation of the hopeless, helpless, absolute\nstupidity of the majority of mankind. The teachings of Mother Nature\nbeing always straight and plain, it _is_ remarkable what devious\nturnings and dark winding ways we prefer to stumble into rather than\ntake the fair and open course. For example Nature says to us--\u201cMy\nchildren, Truth is simple,--and I am bound by all my forces to assist\nits manifestation. A Lie is difficult--I can have none of it--it needs\nother lies to keep it going,--its ways are full of complexity and\npuzzle,--why then, O foolish ones, will you choose the Lie and avoid\nthe Truth? For, work as you may, the Truth must out, and not all the\nuproar of opposing multitudes can still its thunderous tongue.\u201d Thus\nNature;--but we heed her not,--we go on lying steadfastly, in a\nstrange delusion that thereby we may deceive Eternal Justice. But\nEternal Justice never is deceived,--never is obscured even, save for a\nmoment, as a passing cloud obscures the sun.\n\n\u201cHow easy after all to avoid mischief of any kind,\u201d mused El-R\u00e2mi\nnow, as he put by his papers and drew two or three old reference\nvolumes towards him--\u201cHow easy to live happily, free from care, free\nfrom sickness, free from every external or internal wretchedness, if\nwe could but practise the one rule--Self-abnegation. It is all\nthere,--and the ethereal Lilith may be right in her assurance as to\nthe non-existence of Evil unless we ourselves create it. At least one\nhalf the trouble in the world might be avoided if we chose. Debt, for\nexample,--that carking trouble always arises from living beyond one\u2019s\nmeans,--therefore _why_ live beyond one\u2019s means? What for? Show?\nVulgar ostentation? Luxury? Idleness? All these are things against\nwhich Heaven raises its eternal ban. Then take physical pain and\nsickness,--here Self is to blame again,--self-indulgence in the\npleasures of the table,--sensual craving--the marriage of weakly or\nill-conditioned persons,--all simple causes from which spring\nincalculable evils. Avoid the causes and we escape the evils. The\narrangements of Nature are all so clear and explicit, and yet we are\nfor ever going out of our way to find or invent difficulties. The\nfarmer grumbles and writes letters to the newspapers if his\nturnip-fields are invaded by what he deems a \u2018destructive pest\u2019 in the\nway of moth or caterpillar, and utterly ignores the fact that these\ninsects always appear for some wise reason or other, which he,\nabsorbed in his own immediate petty interests, fails to appreciate.\nHis turnips are eaten,--that is all he thinks or cares about,--but if\nhe knew that those same turnips contain a particular microbe poisonous\nto human life, a germ of typhoid, cholera, or the like, drawn up from\nthe soil and ready to fructify in the blood of cattle or of men, and\nthat these insects of which he complains are the scavengers sent by\nNature to utterly destroy the Plague in embryo, he might pause in his\ngrumbling to wonder at so much precaution taken by the elements for\nthe preservation of his unworthy and ignorant being. Perplexing and at\ntimes maddening is this our curse of Ignorance,--but that the \u2018sins of\nthe fathers are visited on the children\u2019 is a true saying is\nevident--for the faults of generations are still bred in our blood and\nbone.\u201d\n\nHe turned over the first volume before him listlessly,--his mind was\nnot set upon study, and his attention wandered. He was thinking of\nF\u00e9raz, with whom he had scarcely exchanged a word all day. He had\nlacked nothing in the way of service, for swift and courteous\nobedience to his brother\u2019s wishes had characterised F\u00e9raz in every\nsimple action, but there was a constraint between the two that had not\npreviously existed. F\u00e9raz bore himself with a stately yet sad\nhauteur,--he had the air of a proud prince in chains who, being\ncaptive, performed his prison work with exactitude and resignation as\na matter of discipline and duty. It was curious that El-R\u00e2mi, who had\nsteeled himself as he imagined against every tender sentiment, should\nnow feel the want of the impetuous confidence and grace of manner with\nwhich his young brother had formerly treated him.\n\n\u201cEverything changes--\u201d he mused gloomily, \u201cEverything _must_ change,\nof course; and nothing is so fluctuating as the humour of a boy who is\nnot yet a man, but is on the verge of manhood. And with F\u00e9raz my\npower has reached its limit,--I know exactly what I can do, and what I\ncan _not_ do with him,--it is a case of \u2018Thus far and no farther.\u2019\nWell,--he must choose his own way of life,--only let him not presume\nto set himself in _my_ way, or interfere in _my_ work! Ye gods!--there\nis nothing I would not do----\u201d\n\nHe paused, ashamed; the blood flushed his face darkly and his hand\nclenched itself involuntarily. Conscious of the thought that had\narisen within him, he felt a moment\u2019s shuddering horror of himself. He\nknew that in the very depths of his nature there was enough untamed\nsavagery to make him capable of crushing his young brother\u2019s life out\nof him, should he dare to obstruct his path or oppose him in his\nlabours. Realising this, a cold dew broke out on his forehead and he\ntrembled.\n\n\u201cO Soul of Lilith that cannot understand Evil!\u201d he exclaimed--\u201cWhence\ncame this evil thought in me? Does the evil in myself engender\nit?--and does the same bitter gall that stirred the blood of Cain lurk\nin the depths of my being, till Opportunity strikes the wicked hour?\n_Retro me, Sathanas!_ After all, there was something in the old\nbeliefs--the pious horror of a devil,--for a devil there is that walks\nthe world, and his name is Man!\u201d\n\nHe rose and paced the room impatiently,--what a long day it seemed,\nand with what dreary persistence the rain washed against the windows!\nHe looked out into the street,--there was not a passenger to be\nseen,--a wet dingy grayness pervaded the atmosphere and made\neverything ugly and cheerless. He went back to his books, and\npresently began to turn over the pages of the quaint Arabic volume\ninto which F\u00e9raz had unwisely dipped, gathering therefrom a crumb of\nknowledge, which, like all scrappy information, had only led him to\ndiscontent.\n\n\u201cAll these old experiments of the Egyptian priests were simple\nenough--\u201d he murmured as he read,--\u201cThey had one substratum of\nscience,--the art of bringing the countless atoms that fill the air\ninto temporary shape. The trick is so easy and natural that I fancy\nthere must have been a certain condition of the atmosphere in earlier\nages which _of itself_ shaped the atoms,--hence the ideas of nymphs,\ndryads, fauns, and water-sprites; these temporary shapes which dazzled\nfor some fleeting moments the astonished human eye and so gave rise to\nall the legends. To shape the atoms as a sculptor shapes clay, is but\na phase of chemistry,--a pretty experiment--yet what a miracle it\nwould always seem to the uninstructed multitude!\u201d\n\nHe unlocked a drawer in his desk, and took from it a box full of red\npowder, and two small flasks, one containing minute globules of a\nglittering green colour like tiny emeralds,--the other full of a pale\namber liquid. He smiled as he looked at these ingredients,--and then\nhe gave a glance out through the window at the dark and rainy\nafternoon.\n\n\u201cTo pass the time, why not?\u201d he queried half aloud. \u201cOne needs a\nlittle diversion sometimes even in science.\u201d\n\nWhereupon he placed some of the red powder in a small bronze vessel\nand set fire to it. A thick smoke arose at once and filled the room\nwith cloud that emitted a pungent perfume, and in which his own figure\nwas scarcely discernible. He cast five or six of the little green\nglobules into this smoke; they dissolved in their course and melted\nwithin it,--and finally he threw aloft a few drops of the amber\nliquid. The effect was extraordinary, and would have seemed incredible\nto any onlooker, for through the cloud a roseate Shape made itself\nslowly visible,--a Shape that was surrounded with streaks of light and\nrainbow flame as with a garland. Vague at first, but soon growing more\ndistinct, it gathered itself into seeming substance, and floated\nnearly to the ground,--then rising again, balanced itself lightly like\na blown feather sideways upon the dense mist that filled the air. In\nform this \u201ccoruscation of atoms,\u201d as El-R\u00e2mi called it, resembled a\nmaiden in the bloom of youth,--her flowing hair, her sparkling eyes,\nher smiling lips, were all plainly discernible;--but, that she was a\nmere phantasm and creature of the cloud was soon made plain, for\nscarcely had she declared herself in all her rounded laughing\nloveliness than she melted away and passed into nothingness like a\ndream. The cloud of smoke grew thinner and thinner, till it vanished\nalso so completely that there was no more left of it than a pale blue\nring such as might have been puffed from a stray cigar. El-R\u00e2mi,\nleaning lazily back in his chair, had watched the whole development\nand finish of his \u201cexperiment\u201d with indolent interest and amusement.\n\n\u201cHow admirably the lines of beauty are always kept in these\neffects,\u201d--he said to himself when it was over,--\u201cand what a fortune I\ncould make with that one example of the concentration of atoms if I\nchose to pass as a Miracle-maker. Moses was an adept at this kind of\nthing; so also was a certain Egyptian priest named Borsa of Memphis,\nwho just for that same graceful piece of chemistry was judged by the\npeople as divine,--made king,--and loaded with wealth and\nhonour;--excellent and most cunning Borsa! But we--we do not judge any\none \u201cdivine\u201d in these days of ours, not even God,--for He is supposed\nto be simply the lump of leaven working through the loaf of\nmatter,--though it will always remain a question as to why there is\nany leaven or any loaf at all existing.\u201d\n\nHe fell into a train of meditation, which caused him presently to take\nup his pen and write busily many pages of close manuscript. F\u00e9raz\ncame in at the usual hour with supper,--and then only he ceased\nworking, and shared the meal with his young brother, talking\ncheerfully, though saying little but commonplaces, and skilfully\nsteering off any allusion to subjects which might tend to increase\nF\u00e9raz\u2019s evident melancholy. Once he asked him rather abruptly why he\nhad not played any music that day.\n\n\u201cI do not know\u201d--answered the young man coldly--\u201cI seem to have\nforgotten music--with other things.\u201d\n\nHe spoke meaningly;--El-R\u00e2mi laughed, relieved and light at heart.\nThose \u201cother things\u201d meant the name of Lilith, which his will had\nsucceeded in erasing from his brother\u2019s memory. His eyes sparkled, and\nhis voice gathered new richness and warmth of feeling as he said\nkindly--\n\n\u201cI think not, F\u00e9raz,--I think you cannot have forgotten music. Surely\nit is no extraneous thing, but part of you,--a lovely portion of your\nlife which you would be loath to miss. Here is your little neglected\nfriend,\u201d--and, rising, he took out of its case an exquisitely-shaped\nmandolin inlaid with pearl--\u201cThe dear old lute,--for lute it is,\nthough modernised,--the same-shaped instrument on which the rose and\nfuchsia-crowned youths of old Pompeii played the accompaniment to\ntheir love songs; the same, the very same on which the long-haired,\ndusky-skinned maids of Thebes and Memphis thrummed their strange\nuncouth ditties to their black-browed warrior kings. I like it better\nthan the violin--its form is far more pleasing--we can see Apollo with\na lute, but it is difficult to fancy the Sun-god fitting his graceful\narm to the contorted positions of a fiddle. Play something,\nF\u00e9raz\u201d--and he smiled winningly as he gave the mandolin into his\nbrother\u2019s hands--\u201cHere,\u201d--and he detached the plectrum from its place\nunder the strings--\u201cWith this little piece of oval tortoiseshell, you\ncan set the nerves of music quivering,--those silver wires will answer\nto your touch like the fibres of the human heart struck by the\n_tremolo_ of passion.\u201d\n\nHe paused,--his eyes were full, of an ardent light, and F\u00e9raz looked\nat him wonderingly. What a voice he had!--how eloquently he\nspoke!--how noble and thoughtful were his features!--and what an air\nof almost pathetic dignity was given to his face by that curiously\nsnow-white hair of his, which so incongruously suggested age in youth!\nPoor F\u00e9raz!--his heart swelled within him; love and secret admiration\nfor his brother contended with a sense of outraged pride in\nhimself,--and yet--he felt his sullen _amour-propre_, his instinct of\nrebellion, and his distrustful reserve all oozing away under the spell\nof El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s persuasive tongue and fascinating manner,--and to escape\nfrom his own feelings, he bent over the mandolin and tried its chords\nwith a trembling hand and downcast eyes.\n\n\u201cYou speak of passion,\u201d he said in a low voice--\u201cbut you have never\nknown it.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, have I not!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi laughed lightly as he resumed his\nseat--\u201cNay, if I had not I should be more than man. The lightning has\nflashed across my path, F\u00e9raz, I assure you, only it has not killed\nme; and I have been ready to shed my blood drop by drop, for so slight\nand imperfect a production of Nature as--a woman! A thing of white\nflesh and soft curves, and long hair and large eyes, and a laugh like\nthe tinkle of a fountain in our Eastern courts,--a thing with less\nmind than a kitten, and less fidelity than a hound. Of course there\nare clever women and faithful women,--but then we men seldom choose\nthese; we are fools, and we pay for our folly. And I also have been a\nfool in my time,--why should you imagine I have not? It is flattering\nto me, but why?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz looked at him again, and in spite of himself smiled, though\nreluctantly.\n\n\u201cYou always seem to treat all earthly emotions with scorn--\u201d he\nreplied evasively, \u201cAnd once you told me there was no such thing in\nthe world as love.\u201d\n\n\u201cNor is there--\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi quickly--\u201cNot ideal love--not\neverlasting love. Love in its highest, purest sense, belongs to other\nplanets--in this its golden wings are clipped, and it becomes nothing\nmore than a common and vulgar physical attraction.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz thrummed his mandolin softly.\n\n\u201cI saw two lovers the other day--\u201d he said--\u201cThey seemed divinely\nhappy.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhere did you see them?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot here. In the land I know best--my Star.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him curiously, but forbore to speak.\n\n\u201cThey were beautiful--\u201d went on F\u00e9raz. \u201cThey were resting together on\na bank of flowers in a little nook of that lovely forest where there\nare thousands of song-birds sweeter than nightingales. Music filled\nthe air,--a rosy glory filled the sky,--their arms were twined around\neach other,--their lips met, and then--oh, then their joy smote me\nwith fear, because,--because _I_ was alone--and they were--together!\u201d\n\nHis voice trembled. El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s smile had in it something of\ncompassion.\n\n\u201cLove in your Star is a dream, F\u00e9raz--\u201d he said gently--\u201cBut love\nhere--here in this phase of things we call Reality,--means,--do you\nknow what it means?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz shook his head.\n\n\u201cIt means Money. It means lands, and houses and a big balance at the\nbank. Lovers do not subsist here on flowers and music,--they have\nrather more vulgar and substantial appetites. Love here is the\ndisillusion of Love--there, in the region you speak of, it may\nperchance be perfect----\u201d\n\nA sudden rush of rain battering at the windows, accompanied by a gust\nof wind, interrupted him.\n\n\u201cWhat a storm!\u201d exclaimed F\u00e9raz, looking up--\u201cAnd you are\nexpecting----\u201d\n\nA measured rat-tat-tat at the door came at that moment, and El-R\u00e2mi\nsprang to his feet. F\u00e9raz rose also, and set aside his mandolin.\nAnother gust of wind whistled by, bringing with it a sweeping torrent\nof hail.\n\n\u201cQuick!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, in a somewhat agitated voice--\u201cIt is--you know\nwho it is. Give him reverent greeting, F\u00e9raz--and show him at once in\nhere.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz withdrew,--and, when he had disappeared, El-R\u00e2mi looked about\nhim vaguely with the bewildered air of a man who would fain escape\nfrom some difficult position, could he but discover an egress,--a\nslight shudder ran through his frame, and he heaved a deep sigh.\n\n\u201cWhy has he come to me!\u201d he muttered, \u201cWhy--after all these years of\nabsolute silence and indifference to my work, does he seek me now?\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XIX.\n\nStanding in an attitude more of resignation than expectancy, he\nwaited, listening. He heard the street-door open and shut again,--then\ncame a brief pause, followed by the sound of a firm step in the outer\nhall,--and F\u00e9raz re-appeared, ushering in with grave respect a man of\nstately height and majestic demeanour, cloaked in a heavy travelling\nulster, the hood of which was pulled cowl-like over his head and\nalmost concealed his features.\n\n\u201cGreeting to El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos--\u201d said a rich mellow voice, \u201cAnd so\nthis is the weather provided by an English month of May! Well, it\nmight be worse,--certes, also, it might be better. I should have\ndisburdened myself of these \u2018lendings\u2019 in the hall, but that I knew\nnot whether you were quite alone--\u201d and, as he spoke, he threw off his\ncloak, which dripped with rain, and handed it to F\u00e9raz, disclosing\nhimself in the dress of a Carthusian monk, all save the disfiguring\ntonsure. \u201cI was not certain,\u201d he continued cheerfully--\u201cwhether you\nmight be ready or willing to receive me.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am always ready for such a visitor--\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, advancing\nhesitatingly, and with a curious diffidence in his manner--\u201cAnd more\nthan willing. Your presence honours this poor house and brings with it\na certain benediction.\u201d\n\n\u201cGracefully said, El-R\u00e2mi!\u201d exclaimed the monk with a keen flash of\nhis deep-set blue eyes--\u201cWhere did you learn to make pretty speeches?\nI remember you of old time as brusque of tongue and obstinate of\nhumour,--and even now humility sits ill upon you,--\u2019tis not your\nfavourite practised household virtue.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi flushed, but made no reply. He seemed all at once to have\nbecome even to himself the merest foolish nobody before this his\nremarkable-looking visitor with the brow and eyes of an inspired\nevangelist, and the splendid lines of thought, aspiration, and\nendeavour marking the already noble countenance with an expression\nseldom seen on features of mortal mould. F\u00e9raz now came forward to\nproffer wine and sundry other refreshments, all of which were\ncourteously refused.\n\n\u201cThis lad has grown, El-R\u00e2mi--\u201d said the stranger, surveying F\u00e9raz\nwith much interest and kindliness,--\u201csince he stayed with us in Cyprus\nand studied our views of poesy and song. A promising youth he\nseems,--and still your slave?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi gave a gesture of deprecation.\n\n\u201cYou mistake--\u201d he replied curtly--\u201cHe is my brother and my\nfriend,--as such he cannot be my slave. He is as free as air.\u201d\n\n\u201cOr as an eagle that ever flies back to its eyrie in the rocks out of\nsheer habit--\u201d observed the monk with a smile--\u201cIn this case you are\nthe eyrie, and the eagle is never absent long! Well--what now, pretty\nlad?\u201d this, as F\u00e9raz, moved by a sudden instinct which he could not\nexplain to himself, dropped reverently on one knee.\n\n\u201cYour blessing--\u201d he murmured timidly. \u201cI have heard it said that your\ntouch brings peace,--and I--I am not at peace.\u201d\n\nThe monk looked at him benignly.\n\n\u201cWe live in a world of storm, my boy--\u201d he said gently--\u201cwhere there\nis no peace but the peace of the inner spirit. That, with your youth\nand joyous nature, you should surely possess,--and, if you have it\nnot, may God grant it you! \u2019Tis the best blessing I can devise.\u201d\n\nAnd he signed the Cross on the young man\u2019s forehead with a gentle\nlingering touch,--a touch under which F\u00e9raz trembled and sighed for\npleasure, conscious of the delicious restfulness and ease that seemed\nsuddenly to pervade his being.\n\n\u201cWhat a child he is still, this brother of yours!\u201d then said the monk,\nturning abruptly towards El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cHe craves a blessing,--while you\nhave progressed beyond all such need!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi raised his dark eyes,--eyes full of a burning pain and\npride,--but made no answer. The monk looked at him steadily--and\nheaved a quick sigh.\n\n\u201c_Vigilate et orate ut non intretis in tentationem!_\u201d he\nmurmured,--\u201cTruly, to forgive is easy--but to forget is difficult. I\nhave much to say to you, El-R\u00e2mi,--for this is the last time I shall\nmeet you \u2018before I go hence and be no more seen.\u2019\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz uttered an involuntary exclamation.\n\n\u201cYou do not mean,\u201d he said almost breathlessly--\u201cthat you are going to\ndie?\u201d\n\n\u201cAssuredly not!\u201d replied the monk with a smile--\u201cI am going to live.\nSome people call it dying--but we know better,--we know we cannot\ndie.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe are not sure--\u201d began El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cSpeak for yourself, my friend!\u201d said the monk cheerily--\u201c_I_ am\nsure,--and so are those who labour with me. I am not made of\nperishable composition any more than the dust is perishable. Every\ngrain of dust contains a germ of life--I am co-equal with the dust,\nand I contain my germ also, of life that is capable of infinite\nreproduction.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him dubiously yet wonderingly. He seemed the very\nembodiment of physical strength and vitality, yet he only compared\nhimself to a grain of dust. And the very dust held the seeds of\nlife!--true!--then, after all, was there anything in the universe,\nhowever small and slight, that could die _utterly_? And was Lilith\nright when she said there was _no_ death? Wearily and impatiently\nEl-R\u00e2mi pondered the question,--and he almost started with nervous\nirritation when the slight noise of the door shutting told him that\nF\u00e9raz had retired, leaving him and his mysterious visitant alone\ntogether.\n\nSome minutes passed in silence. The monk sat quietly in El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s own\nchair, and El-R\u00e2mi himself stood close by, waiting, as it seemed, for\nsomething; with an air of mingled defiance and appeal. Outside, the\nrain and wind continued their gusty altercation;--inside, the lamp\nburned brightly, shedding warmth and lustre on the student-like\nsimplicity of the room. It was the monk himself who at last broke the\nspell of the absolute stillness.\n\n\u201cYou wonder,\u201d he said slowly--\u201cat the reason of my coming here,--to\nyou who are a recreant from the mystic tie of our brotherhood,--to\nyou, who have employed the most sacred and venerable secrets of our\nOrder, to wrest from Life and Nature the material for your own\nself-interested labours. You think I come for information--you think I\nwish to hear from your own lips the results of your scientific scheme\nof supernatural ambition,--alas, El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos!--how little you\nknow me! Prayer has taught me more science than Science will ever\ngrasp,--there is nothing in all the catalogue of your labours that I\ndo not understand, and you can give me no new message from lands\nbeyond the sun. I have come to you out of simple pity,--to warn you\nand if possible to save.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s dark eyes opened wide in astonishment.\n\n\u201cTo warn me?\u201d he echoed--\u201cTo save? From what?--Such a mission to me is\nincomprehensible.\u201d\n\n\u201cIncomprehensible to your stubborn spirit,--yes, no doubt it is--\u201d\nsaid the monk, with a touch of stern reproach in his accents,--\u201cFor\nyou will not see that the Veil of the Eternal, though it may lift\nitself for you a little from other men\u2019s lives, hangs dark across your\nown, and is impervious to your gaze. You will not grasp the fact that,\nthough it may be given to you to read other men\u2019s passions, you cannot\nread your own. You have begun at the wrong end of the mystery,\nEl-R\u00e2mi,--you should have mastered yourself first, before seeking to\nmaster others. And now there is danger ahead of you--be wise in\ntime,--accept the truth before it is too late.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi listened, impatient and incredulous.\n\n\u201cAccept what truth?\u201d he asked somewhat bitterly--\u201cAm I not searching\nfor truth everywhere? and seeking to prove it? Give me any sort of\ntruth to hold, and I will grasp it as a drowning sailor grasps the\nrope of rescue!\u201d\n\nThe monk\u2019s eyes rested on him in mingled compassion and sorrow.\n\n\u201cAfter all these years--\u201d he said--\u201care you still asking Pilate\u2019s\nquestion?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes--I am still asking Pilate\u2019s question!\u201d retorted El-R\u00e2mi with\nsudden passion--\u201cSee you--I know who you are,--great and wise, a\nmaster of the arts and sciences, and with all your stores of learning,\nstill a servant of Christ, which to me is the wildest, maddest\nincongruity. I grant you that Christ was the holiest man that ever\nlived on earth,--and if I swear a thing in His name I swear an oath\nthat shall not be broken. But in His Divinity, I cannot, I may not, I\ndare not believe!--except in so far that there is divinity in all of\nus. One man, born of woman, destined to regenerate the world!--the\nidea is stupendous,--but impossible to reason!\u201d\n\nHe paced the room impatiently.\n\n\u201cIf I could believe it--I say \u2018if,\u2019\u201d--he continued, \u201cI should still\nthink it a clumsy scheme. For every human creature living should be a\nreformer and regenerator of his race.\u201d\n\n\u201cLike yourself?\u201d queried the monk calmly. \u201cWhat have _you_ done, for\nexample?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi stopped in his walk to and fro.\n\n\u201cWhat have I done?\u201d he repeated--\u201cWhy--nothing! You deem me proud and\nambitious,--but I am humble enough to know how little I know. And as\nto proofs,--well, it is the same story--I have proved--nothing.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo! Then are your labours wasted?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing is wasted,--according to _your_ theories even. Your\ntheories--many of them--are beautiful and soul-satisfying, and this\none of there being no waste in the economy of the universe is, I\nbelieve, true. But I cannot accept all you teach. I broke my\nconnection with you because I could not bend my spirit to the level of\nthe patience you enjoined. It was not rebellion,--no! for I loved and\nhonoured you--and I still revere you more than any man alive, but I\ncannot bow my neck to the yoke you consider so necessary. To begin all\nwork by first admitting one\u2019s weakness!--no!--Power is gained by\nnever-resting ambition, not by a merely laborious humility.\u201d\n\n\u201cOpinions differ on that point\u201d--said the monk quietly--\u201cI never\nsought to check your ambition--I simply said--Take God with you. Do\nnot leave Him out. He IS. Therefore His existence must be included in\neverything, even in the scientific examination of a drop of dew.\nWithout Him you grope in the dark--you lack the key to the mystery. As\nan example of this, you are yourself battering against a shut door,\nand fighting with a Force too strong for you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI must have proofs of God!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi very deliberately--\u201cNature\nproves her existence; let God prove His!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd does He not prove it?\u201d inquired the monk with mingled passion and\nsolemnity--\u201cHave you to go farther than the commonest flower to find\nHim?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi shrugged his shoulders with an air of light disdain.\n\n\u201cNature is Nature,\u201d--he said--\u201cGod--an there be a God--is God. If God\nworks through Nature He arranges things very curiously on a system of\nmutual destruction. You talk of flowers,--they contain both poisonous\nand healing properties,--and the poor human race has to study and toil\nfor years before finding out which is which. Is that just of\nNature--or God? Children never know at all,--and the poor little\nwretches die often through eating poison-berries of whose deadly\nnature they were not aware. That is what I complain of--we are not\naware of evil, and we are not made aware. We have to find it out for\nourselves. And I maintain that it is wanton cruelty on the part of the\nDivine Element to punish us for ignorance which we cannot help. And so\nthe plan of mutual destructiveness goes on, with the most admirable\npersistency; the eater is in turn eaten, and, as far as I can make\nout, this seems to be the one Everlasting Law. Surely it is an odd and\ninconsequential arrangement? As for the business of creation, that is\neasy, if once we grant the existence of certain component parts of\nspace. Look at this, for example\u201d--and he took from a corner a thin\nsteel rod about the size of an ordinary walking cane--\u201cIf I use this\nmagnet, and these few crystals\u201d--and he opened a box on the table,\ncontaining some sparkling powder like diamond dust, a pinch of which\nhe threw up into the air--\u201cand play with them thus, you see what\nhappens!\u201d\n\nAnd with a dexterous steady motion he waved the steel rod rapidly\nround and round in the apparently empty space where he had tossed\naloft the pinch of powder, and gradually there grew into shape out of\nthe seeming nothingness a round large brilliant globe of prismatic\ntints, like an enormously magnified soap-bubble, which followed the\nmovement of the steel magnet rapidly and accurately. The monk lifted\nhimself a little in his chair and watched the operation with interest\nand curiosity--till presently El-R\u00e2mi dropped the steel rod from\nsheer fatigue of arm. But the globe went on revolving steadily by\nitself for a time, and El-R\u00e2mi pointed to it with a smile--\n\n\u201cIf I had the skill to send that bubble-sphere out into space,\nsolidify it, and keep it perpetually rolling,\u201d he said lightly, \u201cit\nwould in time exhale its own atmosphere and produce life, and I should\nbe a very passable imitation of the Creator.\u201d\n\nAt that moment the globe broke, and vanished like a melting snowflake,\nleaving no trace of its existence but a little white dust which fell\nin a round circle on the carpet. After this display, El-R\u00e2mi waited\nfor his guest to speak, but the monk said nothing.\n\n\u201cYou see,\u201d continued El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cit requires a great deal to satisfy\n_me_ with proofs. I must have tangible Fact, not vague Imagining.\u201d\n\nThe monk raised his eyes,--what searching calm eyes they were!--and\nfixed them full on the speaker.\n\n\u201cYour Sphere was a Fact,\u201d--he said quietly--\u201cVisible to the eye, it\nglittered and whirled--but it was not tangible, and it had no life in\nit. It is a fair example of other Facts,--so called. And you could not\nhave created so much as that perishable bubble, had not God placed the\nmaterials in your hands. It is odd you seem to forget that. No one can\nwork without the materials for working,--the question remains, from\nWhence came those materials?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled with a touch of scorn.\n\n\u201cRightly are you called Supreme Master!\u201d he said--\u201cfor your faith is\nmarvellous--your ideas of life both here and hereafter, beautiful. I\nwish I could accept them. But I cannot. Your way does not seem to me\nclear or reasonable,--and I have thought it out in every direction.\nTake the doctrine of original sin for example--what _is_ original sin,\nand why should it exist?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt does not exist--\u201d said the monk quickly--\u201cexcept in so far that\n_we_ have created it. It is we, therefore, who must destroy it.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi paused, thinking. This was the same lesson Lilith had taught.\n\n\u201cIf we created it--\u201d he said at last, \u201cand there is a God who is\nomnipotent, why were we _allowed_ to create it?\u201d\n\nThe monk turned round in his chair with ever so slight a gesture of\nimpatience.\n\n\u201cHow often have I told you, El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos,\u201d he said,--\u201cof the gift\nand responsibility bestowed on every human unit--Free-Will. You, who\nseek for proofs of the Divine, should realise that this is the only\nproof we have in ourselves of our close relation to \u2018the image of\nGod.\u2019 God\u2019s Laws exist,--and it is our first business in life to know\nand understand these--afterwards, our fate is in our own hands,--if we\ntransgress law, or if we fulfil law, we know, or ought to know, the\nresults. If we choose to make evil, it exists till we destroy it--good\nwe cannot _make_, because it is the very breath of the Universe, but\nwe can choose to breathe _in_ it and _with_ it. I have so often gone\nover this ground with you that it seems mere waste of words to go over\nit again,--and if you cannot, will not see that you are creating your\nown destiny and shaping it to your own will, apart from anything that\nhuman or divine experience can teach you, then you are blind indeed.\nBut time wears on apace,--and I must speak of other things;--one\nmessage I have for you that will doubtless cause you pain.\u201d He waited\na moment--then went on slowly and sadly--\u201cYes,--the pain will be\nbitter and the suffering long,--but the fiat has gone forth, and ere\nlong you will be called upon to render up the Soul of Lilith.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi started violently,--flushed a deep red, and then grew deadly\npale.\n\n\u201cYou speak in enigmas--\u201d he said huskily and with an effort--\u201cWhat do\nyou know--how have you heard----\u201d\n\nHe broke off,--his voice failed him, and the monk looked at him\ncompassionately.\n\n\u201cJudge not the power of God, El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos!\u201d he said\nsolemnly--\u201cfor it seems you cannot even measure the power of man.\nWhat!--did you think your secret experiment safely hid from all\nknowledge save your own?--nay! you mistake. I have watched your\nprogress step by step--your proud march onward through such mysteries\nas never mortal mind dared penetrate before,--but even these wonders\nhave their limits--and those limits are, for you, nearly reached. You\nmust set your captive free!\u201d\n\n\u201cNever!\u201d exclaimed El-R\u00e2mi passionately. \u201cNever, while I live! I defy\nthe heavens to rob me of her!--by every law in nature, she is mine!\u201d\n\n\u201cPeace!\u201d said the monk sternly--\u201cNothing is yours,--except the fate\nyou have made for yourself. _That_ is yours; and that must and will be\nfulfilled. That, in its own appointed time, will deprive you of\nLilith.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s eyes flashed wrath and pain.\n\n\u201cWhat have you to do with my fate?\u201d he demanded--\u201cHow should you know\nwhat is in store for me? You are judged to have a marvellous insight\ninto spiritual things, but it is not insight after all so much as\nimagination and instinct. These may lead you wrong,--you have gained\nthem, as you yourself admit, through nothing but inward, concentration\nand prayer--_my_ discoveries are the result of scientific\nexploration,--there is no science in prayer!\u201d\n\n\u201cIs there not?\u201d--and the monk, rising from his chair, confronted\nEl-R\u00e2mi with the reproachful majesty of a king who faces some\nrecreant vassal--\u201cThen with all your wisdom you are\nignorant,--ignorant of the commonest laws of simple Sound. Do you not\nyet know--have you not yet learned that Sound vibrates in a million\nmillion tones through every nook and corner of the Universe? Not a\nwhisper, not a cry from human lips is lost--not even the trill of a\nbird or the rustle of a leaf. All is heard--all is kept,--all is\nreproduced at will for ever and ever. What is the use of your modern\ntoys, the phonograph and the telephone, if they do not teach you the\nfundamental and eternal law by which these adjuncts to civilisation\nare governed? God--the great, patient, loving God--hears the huge\nsounding-board of space re-echo again and yet again with rough curses\non His Name,--with groans and wailings; shouts, tears, and laughter\nsend shuddering discord through His Everlasting Vastness, but amid it\nall there is a steady strain of music,--full, sweet, and pure--the\nmusic of perpetual prayer. No science in prayer! Such science there\nis, that by its power the very ether parts asunder as by a lightning\nstroke--the highest golden gateways are unbarred,--and the\nconnecting-link \u2019twixt God and Man stretches itself through Space,\nbetween and round all worlds, defying any force to break the current\nof its messages.\u201d\n\nHe spoke with fervour and passion,--El-R\u00e2mi listened silent and\nunconvinced.\n\n\u201cI waste my words, I know--\u201d continued the monk--\u201cFor you, Yourself\nsuffices. What your brain dares devise,--what your hand dares attempt,\nthat you will do, unadvisedly, sure of your success without the help\nof God or man. Nevertheless--you may not keep the Soul of Lilith.\u201d\n\nHis voice was very solemn yet sweet; El-R\u00e2mi, lifting his head,\nlooked full at him, wonderingly, earnestly, and as one in doubt. Then\nhis mind seemed to grasp more completely his visitor\u2019s splendid\npresence,--the noble face, the soft commanding eyes,--and\ninstinctively he bent his proud head with a sudden reverence.\n\n\u201cTruly you are a god-like man--\u201d he said slowly--\u201cGod-like in\nstrength, and pure-hearted as a child. I would trust you in many\nthings, if not in all. Therefore,--as by some strange means you have\npossessed yourself of my secret,--come with me,--and I will show you\nthe chiefest marvel of my science--the life I claim--the spirit I\ndominate. Your warning I cannot accept, because you warn me of what is\nimpossible. Impossible--I say, impossible!--for the human Lilith,\nGod\u2019s Lilith, _died_--according to God\u2019s will; _my_ Lilith lives,\naccording to My will. Come and see,--then perhaps you will understand\nhow it is that I--I, and not God any longer,--claim and possess the\nSoul I saved!\u201d\n\nWith these words, uttered in a thrilling tone of pride and passion, he\nopened the study door and, with a mute inviting gesture, led the way\nout. In silence and with a pensive step, the monk slowly followed.\n\n\n\n\n XX.\n\nInto the beautiful room, glowing with its regal hues of gold and\npurple, where the spell-bound Lilith lay, El-R\u00e2mi led his thoughtful\nand seemingly reluctant guest. Zaroba met them on the threshold and\nwas about to speak,--but at an imperative sign from her master she\nrefrained, and contented herself merely with a searching and\ninquisitive glance at the stately monk, the like of whom she had never\nseen before. She had good cause to be surprised,--for, in all the time\nshe had known him, El-R\u00e2mi had never permitted any visitor to enter\nthe shrine of Lilith\u2019s rest. Now he had made a new departure,--and in\nthe eagerness of her desire to know why this stranger was thus freely\nadmitted into the usually forbidden precincts she went her way\ndownstairs to seek F\u00e9raz, and learn from him the explanation of what\nseemed so mysterious. But it was now past ten o\u2019clock at night, and\nF\u00e9raz was asleep,--fast locked in such a slumber that, though Zaroba\nshook him and called him several times, she could not rouse him from\nhis deep and almost death-like torpor. Baffled in her attempt, she\ngave it up at last, and descended to the kitchen to prepare her own\nfrugal supper,--resolving, however, that as soon as she heard F\u00e9raz\nstirring she would put him through such a catechism that she would\nfind out, in spite of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s haughty reticence, the name of the\nunknown visitor and the nature of his errand.\n\nMeanwhile, El-R\u00e2mi himself and his grave companion stood by the couch\nof Lilith, and looked upon her in all her peaceful beauty for some\nminutes in silence. Presently El-R\u00e2mi grew impatient at the absolute\nimpassiveness of the monk\u2019s attitude and the strange look in his\neyes--a look which expressed nothing but solemn compassion and\nreverence.\n\n\u201cWell!\u201d he exclaimed almost brusquely--\u201cNow you see Lilith, as she\nis.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot so!\u201d said the monk quietly--\u201cI do not see her as she is. But I\n_have_ seen her,--whereas, ... you have not!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi turned upon him somewhat angrily.\n\n\u201cWhy will you always speak in riddles?\u201d he said--\u201cIn plain language,\nwhat do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn plain language I mean what I say\u201d--returned the monk\ncomposedly--\u201cAnd I tell you I have seen Lilith. The Soul of Lilith\n_is_ Lilith;--not this brittle casket made of earthly materials which\nwe now look upon, and which is preserved from decomposition by an\nelectric fluid. But--beautiful as it is--it is a corpse--and nothing\nmore.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi regarded him with an expression of haughty amazement.\n\n\u201cCan a corpse breathe?\u201d he inquired--\u201cCan a corpse have colour and\nmovement? This Body was the body of a child when first I began my\nexperiment,--now it is a woman\u2019s form full grown and perfect--and you\ntell me it is a corpse!\u201d\n\n\u201cI tell you no more than you told F\u00e9raz,\u201d said the monk coldly--\u201cWhen\nthe boy transgressed your command and yielded to the suggestion of\nyour servant Zaroba, did you not assure him that Lilith was _dead_?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi started;--these words certainly gave him a violent shock of\namazement.\n\n\u201cGod!\u201d he exclaimed--\u201cHow can you know all this? Where did you hear\nit? Does the very air convey messages to you from a distance?--Does\nthe light copy scenes for you, or what is it that gives you such a\nsuperhuman faculty for knowing everything you choose to know?\u201d\n\nThe monk smiled gravely.\n\n\u201cI have only one method of work, El-R\u00e2mi\u201d--he said--\u201cAnd that method\nyou are perfectly aware of, though you would not adopt it when I would\nhave led you into its mystery. \u2018No man cometh to the Father, but by\nMe.\u2019 You know that old well-worn text--read so often, heard so often,\nthat its true meaning is utterly lost sight of and forgotten. \u2018Coming\nto the Father\u2019 means the attainment of a superhuman intuition--a\nsuperhuman knowledge,--but, as you do not believe in these things, let\nthem pass. But you were perfectly right when you told F\u00e9raz that this\nLilith is dead;--of course she is dead,--dead as a plant that is dried\nbut has its colour preserved, and is made to move its leaves by\nartificial means. This body\u2019s breath is artificial,--the liquid in its\nveins is not blood, but a careful compound of the electric fluid that\ngenerates all life,--and it might be possible to preserve it thus for\never. Whether its growth would continue is a scientific question; it\nmight and it might not,--probably it would cease if the Soul held no\nmore communication with it. For its growth, which you consider so\nremarkable, is simply the result of a movement of the brain;--when you\nforce back the Spirit to converse through its medium, the brain\nreceives an impetus, which it communicates to the spine and\nnerves,--the growth and extension of the muscles is bound to follow.\nNevertheless, it is really a chemically animated corpse; it is not\nLilith. Lilith herself I know.\u201d\n\n\u201cLilith herself you know!\u201d echoed El-R\u00e2mi, stupefied, \u201cYou know ...!\nWhat is it that you would imply?\u201d\n\n\u201cI know Lilith\u201d--said the monk steadily, \u201cas you have never known her.\nI have seen her as you have never seen her. She is a lonely\ncreature,--a wandering angel, for ever waiting,--for ever hoping.\nUnloved, save by the Highest Love, she wends her flight from star to\nstar, from world to world,--a spirit beautiful, but incomplete as a\nflower without its stem,--a bird without its mate. But her destiny is\nchanging,--she will not be alone for long,--the hours ripen to their\nbest fulfilment,--and Love, the crown and completion of her being,\nwill unbind her chains and send her soaring to the Highest Joy in the\nglorious liberty of the free!\u201d\n\nWhile he spoke thus, softly, yet with eloquence and passion, a dark\nflush crept over El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s face,--his eyes glittered and his hand\ntrembled--he seemed to be making some fierce inward resolve. He\ncontrolled himself, however, and asked with a studied indifference--\n\n\u201cIs this your prophecy?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is not a prophecy; it is a truth;\u201d replied the monk gently--\u201cIf\nyou doubt me, why not ask Her? She is here.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere?\u201d El-R\u00e2mi looked about vaguely, first at the speaker, then at\nthe couch where the so-called \u201ccorpse\u201d lay breathing\ntranquilly--\u201cHere, did you say? Naturally,--of course she is here.\u201d\n\nAnd his glance reverted again to Lilith\u2019s slumbering form.\n\n\u201cNo--not _here_--\u201d said the monk with a gesture towards the\ncouch--\u201cbut--_there_!\u201d\n\nAnd he pointed to the centre of the room where the lamp shed a mellow\ngolden lustre on the pansy-embroidered carpet, and where, from the\ntall crystal vase of Venice ware, a fresh branching cluster of pale\nroses exhaled their delicious perfume. El-R\u00e2mi stared, but could see\nnothing,--nothing save the lamp-light and the nodding flowers.\n\n\u201cThere?\u201d he repeated bewildered--\u201cWhere?\u201d\n\n\u201cAlas for you, that you cannot see her!\u201d said the monk\ncompassionately. \u201cThis blindness of your sight proves that for you the\nveil has not yet been withdrawn. Lilith is there, I tell you;--she\nstands close to those roses,--her white form radiates like\nlightning--her hair is like the glory of the sunshine on amber,--her\neyes are bent upon the flowers, which are fully conscious of her\nshining presence. For flowers are aware of angels\u2019 visits, when men\nsee nothing! Round her and above her are the trailing films of light\ncaught from the farthest stars,--she is alone as usual,--her looks are\nwistful and appealing,--will you not speak to her?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s surprise, vexation, and fear were beyond all words as he\nheard this description,--then he became scornful and incredulous.\n\n\u201cSpeak to her!\u201d he repeated--\u201cNay--if you see her as plainly as you\nsay--let _her_ speak!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will not understand her speech--\u201d said the monk--\u201cNot unless it\nbe conveyed to you in earthly words through that earthly medium\nthere--\u201d and he pointed to the fair form on the couch--\u201cBut, otherwise\nyou will not know what she is saying. Nevertheless--if you wish\nit,--she shall speak.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wish nothing--\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi quickly and haughtily--\u201cIf you\nimagine you see her,--and if you can command this creature of your\nimagination to speak, why, do so; but Lilith, as _I_ know her, speaks\nto none save me.\u201d\n\nThe monk lifted his hands with a solemn movement as of prayer--\n\n\u201cSoul of Lilith!\u201d he said entreatingly--\u201cAngel-wanderer in the spheres\nbeloved of God--if, by the Master\u2019s grace, I have seen the vision\nclearly--speak!\u201d\n\nSilence followed. El-R\u00e2mi fixed his eyes on Lilith\u2019s visible\nrecumbent form; no voice could make reply, he thought, save that which\nmust issue from those lovely lips curved close in placid slumber,--but\nthe monk\u2019s gaze was fastened in quite an opposite direction. All at\nonce a strain of music, soft as a song played on the water by\nmoonlight, rippled through the room. With mellow richness the cadence\nrose and fell,--it had a marvellous sweet sound, rhythmical and\nsuggestive of words,--unimaginable words, fairies\u2019 language,--anything\nthat was removed from mortal speech, but that was all the same capable\nof utterance. El-R\u00e2mi listened perplexed;--he had never heard\nanything so convincingly, almost painfully sweet,--till suddenly it\nceased as it had begun, abruptly, and the monk looked round at him.\n\n\u201cYou heard her?\u201d he inquired--\u201cDid you understand?\u201d\n\n\u201cUnderstand what?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi impatiently--\u201cI heard music--nothing\nmore.\u201d\n\nThe monk\u2019s eyes rested upon him in grave compassion.\n\n\u201cYour spiritual perception does not go far, El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos--\u201d he\nsaid gently--\u201cLilith spoke;--her voice was the music.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi trembled;--for once his strong nerves were somewhat shaken.\nThe man beside him was one whom he knew to be absolutely truthful,\nunselfishly wise,--one who scorned \u201ctrickery\u201d and who had no motive\nfor deceiving him,--one also who was known to possess a strange and\nmarvellous familiarity with \u201cthings unproved and unseen.\u201d In spite of\nhis sceptical nature, all he dared assume against his guest was that\nhe was endowed with a perfervid imagination which persuaded him of the\nexistence of what were really only the \u201cairy nothings\u201d of his brain.\nThe irreproachable grandeur, purity, and simplicity of the monk\u2019s life\nas known among his brethren were of an ideal perfection never before\nattempted or attained by man,--and as he met the steady, piercing\n_faithful_ look of his companion\u2019s eyes,--clear fine eyes such as,\nreverently speaking, one might have imagined the Christ to have had\nwhen in the guise of humanity He looked love on all the\nworld,--El-R\u00e2mi was fairly at a loss for words. Presently he\nrecovered himself sufficiently to speak, though his accents were\nhoarse and tremulous.\n\n\u201cI will not doubt you;--\u201d he said slowly--\u201cBut if the Soul of Lilith\nis here present as you say,--and if it spoke, surely I may know the\npurport of its language!\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely you may!\u201d replied the monk--\u201cAsk her in your own way to repeat\nwhat she said just now. There--\u201d and he smiled gravely as he pointed\nto the couch--\u201cthere is your human phonograph!\u201d\n\nPerplexed, but willing to solve the mystery, El-R\u00e2mi bent above the\nslumbering girl, and, taking her hands in his own, called her by name\nin his usual manner. The reply came soon--though somewhat faintly.\n\n\u201cI am here!\u201d\n\n\u201cHow long have you been here?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cSince my friend came.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is that friend, Lilith?\u201d\n\n\u201cOne that is near you now--\u201d was the response.\n\n\u201cDid you speak to this friend a while ago?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes!\u201d\n\nThe answer was more like a sigh than an assent.\n\n\u201cCan you repeat what you said?\u201d\n\nLilith stretched her fair arms out with a gesture of weariness.\n\n\u201cI said I was tired--\u201d she murmured--\u201cTired of the search through\nInfinity for things that are not. A wayward will bids me look for\nevil--I search, but cannot find it;--for Hell, a place of pain and\ntorment,--up and down, around and around the everlasting circles I\nwend my way, and can discover no such abode of misery. Then I bring\nback the messages of truth,--but they are rejected, and I am\nsorrowful. All the realms of God are bright with beauty save this one\ndark prison of Man\u2019s fantastic Dream. Why am I bound here? I long to\nreach the light!--I am tired of the darkness!\u201d She paused--then\nadded--\u201cThis is what I said to one who is my friend.\u201d\n\nVaguely pained, and stricken with a sudden remorse, El-R\u00e2mi asked:\n\n\u201cAm not I your friend, Lilith?\u201d\n\nA shudder ran through her delicate limbs. Then the answer came\ndistinctly, yet reluctantly:\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi dropped her hands as though he had been stung;--his face was\nvery pale. The monk touched him on the shoulder.\n\n\u201cWhy are you so moved?\u201d he asked--\u201cA spirit cannot lie;--an angel\ncannot flatter. How should she call you friend?--you, who detain her\nhere solely for your own interested purposes?--To you she is a\n\u2018subject\u2019 merely,--no more than the butterfly dissected by the\nnaturalist. The butterfly has hopes, ambitions, loves, delights,\ninnocent wishes, nay, even a religion,--what are all these to the grim\nspectacled scientist who breaks its delicate wings? The Soul of\nLilith, like a climbing flower, strains instinctively upward,--but you\n(for a certain time only)--according to the natural magnetic laws\nwhich compel the stronger to subdue the weaker, have been able to keep\nthis, her ethereal essence, a partial captive under your tyrannical\ndominance. Yes--I say \u2018tyrannical,\u2019--great wisdom should inspire\nlove,--but in you it only inspires despotism. Yet with all your skill\nand calculation you have strangely overlooked one inevitable result of\nyour great experiment.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked up inquiringly, but said nothing.\n\n\u201cHow it is that you have not foreseen this thing I cannot\nimagine\u201d--continued the monk--\u201cThe body of Lilith has grown under your\nvery eyes from the child to the woman by the merest material\nmeans,--the chemicals which Nature gives us, and the forces which\nNature allows us to employ. How then should you deem it possible for\nthe Soul to remain stationary? With every fresh experience its form\nexpands--its desires increase,--its knowledge widens,--and the\neverlasting necessity of Love compels its life to Love\u2019s primeval\nsource. The Soul of Lilith is awakening to its fullest immortal\nconsciousness,--she realises her connection with the great angelic\nworlds--her kindredship with those worlds\u2019 inhabitants, and, as she\ngains this glorious knowledge more certainly, so she gains strength.\nAnd this is the result I warn you of--her force will soon baffle\nyours, and you will have no more influence over her than you have over\nthe highest Archangel in the realms of the Supreme Creator.\u201d\n\n\u201cA woman\u2019s Soul!--only a woman\u2019s soul, remember that!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi\ndreamily--\u201cHow should it baffle mine? Of slighter character--of more\nsensitive balance--and always prone to yield,--how should it prove so\nstrong? Though, of course, you will tell me that Souls, like Angels,\nare sexless.\u201d\n\n\u201cI will tell you nothing of the sort\u201d--said the monk quietly. \u201cBecause\nit would not be true. All created things have sex, even the angels.\n\u2018Male and Female created He them\u2019--recollect that,--when it is said\nGod made Man in \u2018His Own Image.\u2019\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s eyes opened wide in astonishment.\n\n\u201cWhat! Is it possible you would endow God Himself with the Feminine\nattributes as well as the Masculine?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere are two governing forces of the Universe,\u201d replied the monk\ndeliberately--\u201cOne, the masculine, is Love,--the other, feminine, is\nBeauty. These Two, reigning together, are GOD;--just as man and wife\nare One. From Love and Beauty proceed Law and Order. You cannot away\nwith it--it is so. Love and Beauty produce and reproduce a million\nforms with more than a million variations--and when God made Man in\nHis Own Image it was as Male and Female. From the very first growths\nof life in all worlds,--from the small, almost imperceptible beginning\nof that marvellous evolution which resulted in Humanity,--evolution\nwhich to us is calculated to have taken thousands of years, whereas in\nthe eternal countings it has occupied but a few moments, Sex was\nproclaimed in the lowliest sea-plants, of which the only remains we\nhave are in the Silurian formations,--and was equally maintained in\nthe humblest _lingula_ inhabiting its simple bivalve shell. Sex is\nproclaimed throughout the Universe with an absolute and unswerving\nregularity through all grades of nature. Nay, there are even male and\nfemale Atmospheres which when combined produce forms of life.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou go far,--I should say much too far in your supposed law!\u201d said\nEl-R\u00e2mi wonderingly and a little derisively.\n\n\u201cAnd you, my good friend, stop short,--and oppose yourself against all\nlaw, when it threatens to interfere with your work\u201d--retorted the\nmonk--\u201cThe proof is, that you are convinced you can keep the Soul of\nLilith to wait upon your will at pleasure like another Ariel. Whereas\nthe law is, that at the destined moment she shall be free. Wise\nShakespeare can teach you this,--Prospero had to give his \u2018fine\nspirit\u2019 liberty in the end. If you could shut Lilith up in her mortal\nframe again, to live a mortal life, the case might be different; but\nthat you cannot do, since the mortal frame is too dead to be capable\nof retaining such a Fire-Essence as hers is now.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou think that?\u201d queried El-R\u00e2mi,--he spoke mechanically,--his\nthoughts were travelling elsewhere in a sudden new direction of their\nown.\n\nThe monk regarded him with friendly but always compassionate eyes.\n\n\u201cI not only think it--I know it!\u201d he replied.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi met his gaze fixedly.\n\n\u201cYou would seem to know most things,\u201d--he observed--\u201cNow in this\nmatter I consider that I am more humble-minded than yourself. For I\ncannot say I \u2018know\u2019 anything,--the whole solar system appears to me to\nbe in a gradually changing condition,--and each day one set of facts\nis followed by another entirely new set which replace the first and\nrender them useless----\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is nothing useless,\u201d interposed the monk--\u201cnot even a so-called\n\u2018fact\u2019 disproved. Error leads to the discovery of Truth. And Truth\nalways discloses the one great unalterable fact,--GOD.\u201d\n\n\u201cAs I told you, I must have proofs of God\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi with a chill\nsmile--\u201cProofs that satisfy _me_, personally speaking. At present I\nbelieve in Force only.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd how is Force generated?\u201d inquired the monk.\n\n\u201cThat we shall discover in time. And not only the How, but also the\nWhy. In the meantime we must prove and test all possibilities, both\nmaterial and spiritual. And as far as such proving goes I think you\ncan scarcely deny that this experiment of mine on the girl Lilith is a\nwonderful one?\u201d\n\n\u201cI cannot grant you that;\u201d--returned the monk gravely--\u201cMost Eastern\nmagnetists can do what you have done, provided they have the necessary\nWill. To detach the Soul from the body, and yet keep the body alive,\nis an operation that has been performed by others and will be\nperformed again,--but to keep Body and Soul struggling against each\nother in unnatural conflict requires cruelty as well as Will. It is,\nas I before observed, the vivisection of a butterfly. The scientist\ndoes not think himself barbarous--but his barbarity outweighs his\nscience all the same.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean to say there is nothing surprising in my work?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should there be?\u201d said the monk curtly--\u201cBarbarism is not\nwonderful! What is truly a matter for marvel is Yourself. You are the\nmost astonishing example of self-inflicted blindness I have ever\nknown!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi breathed quickly,--he was deeply angered, but he had\nself-possession enough not to betray it. As he stood, sullenly silent,\nhis guest\u2019s hand fell gently on his shoulder--his guest\u2019s eyes looked\nearnest love and pity into his own.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos,\u201d he said softly--\u201cYou know me. You know I would\nnot lie to you. Hear then my words;--As I see a bird on the point of\nflight, or a flower just ready to break into bloom, even so I see the\nSoul of Lilith. She is on the verge of the Eternal Light--its rippling\nwave,--the great sweet wave that lifts us upward,--has already touched\nher delicate consciousness,--her aerial organism. You--with your\nbrilliant brain, your astonishing grasp and power over material\nforces--you are on the verge of darkness,--such a gulf of it as cannot\nbe measured--such a depth as cannot be sounded. Why will you fall? Why\ndo you choose Darkness rather than Light?\u201d\n\n\u201cBecause my \u2018deeds are evil,\u2019 I suppose,\u201d retorted El-R\u00e2mi\nbitterly--\u201cYou should finish the text while you are about it. I think\nyou misjudge me,--however, you have not heard all. You consider my\nlabour as vain, and my experiment futile,--but I have some strange\nresults yet to show you in writing. And what I have written I desire\nto place in your hands that you may take all to the monastery, and\nkeep my discoveries,--if they _are_ discoveries, among the archives.\nWhat may seem the wildest notions to the scientists of to-day may\nprove of practical utility hereafter.\u201d\n\nHe paused, and, bending over Lilith, took her hand and called her by\nname. The reply came rather more quickly than usual.\n\n\u201cI am here!\u201d\n\n\u201cBe here no longer, Lilith\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi, speaking with unusual\ngentleness,--\u201cGo home to that fair garden you love, on the high hills\nof the bright world called Alcyone. There rest, and be happy till I\nsummon you to earth again.\u201d\n\nHe released her hand,--it fell limply in its usual position on her\nbreast,--and her face became white and rigid as sculptured marble. He\nwatched her lying so for a minute or two, then turning to the monk,\nobserved--\n\n\u201cShe has left us at once, as you see. Surely you will own that I do\nnot grudge her her liberty?\u201d\n\n\u201cHer liberty is not complete\u201d--said the monk quietly--\u201cHer happiness\ntherefore is only temporary.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi shrugged his shoulders indifferently.\n\n\u201cWhat does that matter if, as you declare, her time of captivity is\nsoon to end? According to your prognostications she will ere long set\nherself free.\u201d\n\nThe monk\u2019s fine eyes flashed forth a calm and holy triumph.\n\n\u201cMost assuredly she will!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him and seemed about to make some angry retort,\nbut, checking himself, he bowed with a kind of mingled submissiveness\nand irony, saying--\n\n\u201cI will not be so discourteous as to doubt your word! But--I would\nonly remind you that nothing in this world is certain----\u201d\n\n\u201cExcept the Law of God!\u201d interrupted the monk with passionate\nemphasis--\u201cThat is immutable,--and against that, El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos,\nyou contend in vain! Opposed to that, your strength and power must\ncome to naught,--and all they who wonder at your skill and wisdom\nshall by and by ask one another the old question--\u2018_What went ye out\nfor to see?_\u2019 And the answer shall describe your fate--\u2018_A reed shaken\nby the wind!_\u2019\u201d\n\nHe turned away as he spoke and, without another look at the beautiful\nLilith, he left the room. El-R\u00e2mi stood irresolute for a moment,\nthinking deeply,--then, touching the bell which would summon Zaroba\nback to her usual duty of watching the tranced girl, he swiftly\nfollowed his mysterious guest.\n\n\n\n\n XXI.\n\nHe found him quietly seated in the study, close beside the window,\nwhich he had thrown open for air. The rain had ceased,--a few stars\nshone out in the misty sky, and there was a fresh smell of earth and\ngrass and flowers, as though all were suddenly growing together by\nsome new impetus.\n\n\u201c\u2018The winter is past,--the rain is over and gone!--Arise, my love, my\nfair one, and come away!\u2019\u201d quoted the monk softly, half to himself and\nhalf to El-R\u00e2mi as he saw the latter enter the room--\u201cEven in this\ngreat and densely-peopled city of London, Nature sends her messengers\nof spring--see here!\u201d\n\nAnd he held out on his hand a delicate insect with shining iridescent\nwings that glistened like jewels.\n\n\u201cThis creature flew in as I opened the window,\u201d he continued,\nsurveying it tenderly. \u201cWhat quaint and charming stories of\nFlower-land it could tell us if we could but understand its language!\nOf the poppy-palaces, and rose-leaf saloons coloured through by the\nkindly sun,--of the loves of the ladybirds and the political\ncontroversies of the bees! How dare we make a boast of wisdom!--this\ntiny denizen of air baffles us--it knows more than we do.\u201d\n\n\u201cWith regard to the things of its own sphere it knows more,\ndoubtless,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cbut concerning _our_ part of creation it\nknows less. These things are equally balanced. You seem to me to be\nmore of a poet than either a devotee or a scientist.\u201d\n\n\u201cPerhaps I am!\u201d and the monk smiled, as he carefully wafted the pretty\ninsect out into the darkness of the night again--\u201cYet poets are often\nthe best scientists, because they never _know_ they are scientists.\nThey arrive by a sudden intuition at the facts which it takes several\nProfessors Dry-as-Dust years to discover. When once you feel you are a\nscientist, it is all over with you. You are a clever biped who has got\nhold of a crumb out of the universal loaf, and for all your days\nafterwards you are turning that crumb over and over under your\nanalytical lens. But a poet takes up the whole loaf unconsciously, and\nhands portions of it about at haphazard and with the abstracted\nbehaviour of one in a dream,--a wild and extravagant process,--but\nthen, what would you?--his nature could not do with a crumb. No--I\ndare not call myself \u2018poet\u2019; if I gave myself any title at all, I\nwould say, with all humbleness, that I am a sympathiser.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou do not sympathise with _me_,\u201d observed El-R\u00e2mi gloomily.\n\n\u201cMy friend, at the immediate moment, you do not need my sympathy. You\nare sufficient for yourself. But, should you ever make a claim upon\nme, be sure I shall not fail.\u201d\n\nHe spoke earnestly and cheerily, and smiled,--but El-R\u00e2mi did not\nreturn the smile. He was bending over a deep drawer in his\nwriting-table, and after a little search he took out two bulky rolls\nof manuscript tied and sealed.\n\n\u201cLook there!\u201d he said, indicating the titles with an air of triumph.\n\nThe monk obeyed and read aloud:\n\n\u201c\u2018The Inhabitants of Sirius. Their Laws, Customs and Progress.\u2019 Well?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell!\u201d echoed El-R\u00e2mi.--\u201cIs such information, gained from Lilith in\nher wanderings, of _no_ value?\u201d\n\nThe monk made no direct reply, but read the title of the second MS.\n\n\u201c\u2018The World of Neptune. How it is composed of One Thousand Distinct\nNations, united under one reigning Emperor, known at the present era\nas Ustalvian the Tenth.\u2019 And again I say--well? What of all this,\nexcept to hazard the remark that Ustalvian is a great creature, and\nsupports his responsibilities admirably?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi gave a gesture of irritation and impatience.\n\n\u201cSurely it must interest you?\u201d he said.--\u201cSurely you cannot have known\nthese things positively----\u201d\n\n\u201cStop, stop, my friend!\u201d interposed the monk--\u201cDo _you_ know them\n_positively_? Do you accept any of Lilith\u2019s news as _positive_?\nCome,--you are honest--confess you do not! You cannot believe her,\nthough you are puzzled to make out as to where she obtains information\nwhich has certainly nothing to do with this world, or any external\nimpression. And that is why she is really a sphinx to you still, in\nspite of your power over her. As for being interested, of course I am\ninterested. It is impossible not to be interested in everything, even\nin the development of a grub. But you have not made any discovery that\nis specially new--to _me_. I have my own messenger!\u201d He raised his\neyes one moment with a brief devout glance--then resumed\nquietly--\u201cThere are other \u2018detached\u2019 spirits, besides that of your\nLilith, who have found their way to some of the planets, and have\nreturned to tell the tale. In one of our monasteries we have a very\nexact description of Mars obtained in this same way--its landscapes,\nits cities, its people, its various nations--all very concisely given.\nThese are but the beginnings of discoveries--the feeling for the\nclue,--the clue itself will be found one day.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe clue to what?\u201d demanded El-R\u00e2mi. \u201cTo the stellar mysteries, or\nto Life\u2019s mystery?\u201d\n\n\u201cTo everything!\u201d replied the monk firmly. \u201cTo everything that seems\nunclear and perplexing now. It will all be unravelled for us in such a\nsimple way that we shall wonder why we did not discover it before. As\nI told you, my friend, I am, above all things, a _sympathiser_. I\nsympathise--God knows how deeply and passionately,--with what I may\ncall the unexplained woe of the world. The other day I visited a poor\nfellow who had lost his only child. He told me he could believe in\nnothing,--he said that what people call the goodness of God was only\ncruelty. \u2018Why take this boy?\u2019 he cried, rocking the pretty little\ncorpse to and fro on his breast--\u2018Why rob me of the chief thing I had\nto live for? Oh, if I only _knew_--as positively as I know day is day,\nand night is night--that I should see my living child again, and\npossess his love in another world than this, should I repine as I do?\nNo,--I should believe in God\u2019s wisdom,--and I should try to be a good\nman instead of a bad. But it is because I do not know, that I am\nbroken-hearted. If there is a God, surely He might have given us some\nlittle _certain_ clue by way of help and comfort!\u2019 Thus he\nwailed,--and my heart ached for him. Nevertheless, the clue is to be\nhad,--and I believe it will be found suddenly in some little,\ndeeply-hidden unguessed law,--we are on the track of it, and I fancy\nwe shall soon find it.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!--and what of the millions of creatures who, in the bygone eras,\nhaving no clue, have passed away without any sort of comfort?\u201d asked\nEl-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cNature takes time to manifest her laws,\u201d replied the monk.--\u201cAnd it\nmust be remembered that what _we_ call \u2018time\u2019 is not Nature\u2019s counting\nat all. The method Nature has of counting time may be faintly guessed\nby proven scientific fact,--as, for instance, take the comet which\nappeared in 1744. Strict mathematicians calculated that this brilliant\nworld (for it is a world) needs 122,683 years to perform one single\ncircuit! And yet the circuit of a comet is surely not so much time to\nallow for God and Nature to declare a meaning!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi shuddered slightly.\n\n\u201cAll the same, it is horrible to think of,\u201d he said.--\u201cAll those\nenormous periods,--those eternal vastnesses! For, during the 122,683\nyears we die, and pass into the silence.\u201d\n\n\u201cInto the silence or the explanation?\u201d queried the monk softly.--\u201cFor\nthere _is_ an Explanation,--and we are all bound to know it at some\ntime or other, else Creation would be but a poor and bungling\nbusiness.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf _we_ are bound to know,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, \u201cthen every living\ncreature is bound to know, since every living creature suffers\ncruelly, in wretched ignorance of the cause of its suffering. To every\natom, no matter how infinitely minute, must be given this\n\u2018explanation,\u2019--to dogs and birds as well as men--nay, even to flowers\nmust be declared the meaning of the mystery.\u201d\n\n\u201cUnless the flowers know already!\u201d suggested the monk with a\nsmile.--\u201cWhich is quite possible!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, everything is \u2018possible\u2019 according to your way of thinking,\u201d said\nEl-R\u00e2mi somewhat impatiently. \u201cIf one is a visionary, one would\nscarcely be surprised to see the legended \u2018Jacob\u2019s ladder\u2019 leaning\nagainst that dark midnight sky and the angels descending and ascending\nupon it. And so--\u201d here he touched the two rolls of manuscript lying\non the table, \u201cyou find no use in these?\u201d\n\n\u201cI personally have no use for them,\u201d responded his guest, \u201cbut, as you\ndesire it, I will take charge of them and place them in safe keeping\nat the monastery. Every little link helps to forge the chain of\ndiscovery, of course. By the way, while on this subject, I must not\nforget to speak to you about poor old Kremlin. I had a letter from him\nabout two months ago. I very much fear that famous disc of his will be\nhis ruin.\u201d\n\n\u201cSuch an intimation will console him vastly!\u201d observed El-R\u00e2mi\nsarcastically.\n\n\u201cConsolation has nothing to do with the matter. If a man rushes\nwilfully into danger, danger will not move itself out of the way for\nhim. I always told Kremlin that his proposed design was an unsafe one,\neven before he went out to Africa fifteen years ago in search of the\nmagnetic spar--a crystalline formation whose extraordinary\nreflection-power he learned from me. However, it must be admitted that\nhe has come marvellously close to the unravelling of the enigma at\nwhich he works. And when you see him next you may tell him from me\nthat if he can--mind, it is a very big \u2018if\u2019--if he can follow the\nmovements of the Third Ray on his disc he will be following the\nsignals from Mars. To make out the meaning of those signals is quite\nanother matter--but he can safely classify them as the\nlight-vibrations from that particular planet.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow is he to tell which is the Third Ray that falls, among a fleeting\nthousand?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi dubiously.\n\n\u201cIt will be difficult of course, but he can try,\u201d returned the\nmonk.--\u201cLet him first cover the disc with thick, dark drapery, and\nthen, when it is face to face with the stars in the zenith, uncover it\nquickly, keeping his eyes fixed on its surface. In one minute there\nwill be three distinct flashes--the third is from Mars. Let him\nendeavour to follow that third ray in its course on the disc, and\nprobably he will arrive at something worth remark. This suggestion I\noffer by way of assisting him, for his patient labour is both\nwonderful and pathetic,--but,--it would be far better and wiser were\nhe to resign his task altogether. Yet--who knows!--the ordained end\nmay be the best!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you know this \u2018ordained end\u2019?\u201d questioned El-R\u00e2mi.\n\nThe monk met his incredulous gaze calmly.\n\n\u201cI know it as I know yours,\u201d he replied. \u201cAs I know my own, and the\nend (or beginning) of all those who are, or who have been, in any way\nconnected with my life and labours.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow _can_ you know!\u201d exclaimed El-R\u00e2mi brusquely.--\u201cWho is there to\ntell you these things that are surely hidden in the future?\u201d\n\n\u201cEven as a picture already hangs in an artist\u2019s brain before it is\npainted,\u201d said the monk,--\u201cso does every scene of each human unit\u2019s\nlife hang, embryo-like, in air and space, in light and colour.\nExplanations of these things are well-nigh impossible--it is not given\nto mortal speech to tell them. One must _see_,--and to see clearly,\none must not become wilfully blind.\u201d He paused,--then added--\u201cFor\ninstance, El-R\u00e2mi, I would that you could see this room as I see it.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked about half carelessly, half wonderingly.\n\n\u201cAnd do I not?\u201d he asked.\n\nThe monk stretched out his hand.\n\n\u201cTell me first,--is there anything visible between this my extended\narm and you?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi shook his head.\n\n\u201cNothing.\u201d\n\nWhereupon the monk raised his eyes, and in a low thrilling voice said\nsolemnly--\n\n\u201cO God with whom Thought is Creation and Creation Thought, for one\nbrief moment be pleased to lift material darkness from the sight of\nthis man Thy subject-creature, and by Thy sovereign-power permit him\nto behold with mortal eyes, in mortal life, Thy deathless Messenger!\u201d\n\nScarcely had these words been pronounced than El-R\u00e2mi was conscious\nof a blinding flash of fire as though sudden lightning had struck the\nroom from end to end. Confused and dazzled, he instinctively covered\nhis eyes with his hand, then removing it, looked up, stupefied,\nspeechless, and utterly overwhelmed at what he saw. Clear before him\nstood a wondrous Shape, seemingly human, yet unlike humanity,--a\ncreature apparently composed of radiant colour, from whose\ntranscendent form great shafts of gold and rose and purple spread\nupward and around in glowing lines of glory. This marvellous Being\nstood, or rather was poised in a steadfast attitude, between him,\nEl-R\u00e2mi, and the monk,--its luminous hands were stretched out on\neither side as though to keep those twain asunder--its starry eyes\nexpressed an earnest watchfulness--its majestic patience never seemed\nto tire. A thing of royal stateliness and power, it stayed there\nimmovable, parting with its radiant intangible Presence the two men\nwho gazed upon it, one with fearless, reverent, yet accustomed\neyes--the other with a dazzled and bewildered stare. Another moment\nand El-R\u00e2mi at all risks would have spoken,--but that the Shining\nFigure lifted its light-crowned head and gazed at him. The wondrous\nlook appalled him,--unnerved him,--the straight, pure brilliancy and\nlimpid lustre of those unearthly orbs sent shudders through him,--he\ngasped for breath--thrust out his hands, and fell on his knees in a\nblind, unconscious, swooning act of adoration, mingled with a sense of\nawe and something like despair,--when a dense chill darkness as of\ndeath closed over him, and he remembered nothing more.\n\n\n\n\n XXII.\n\nWhen he came to himself, it was full daylight. His head was resting\non some one\u2019s knee,--some one was sprinkling cold water on his face\nand talking to him in an incoherent mingling of Arabic and\nEnglish,--who was that some one? F\u00e9raz? Yes!--surely it was F\u00e9raz!\nOpening his eyes languidly, he stared about him and attempted to rise.\n\n\u201cWhat is the matter?\u201d he asked faintly. \u201cWhat are you doing to me? I\nam quite well, am I not?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, yes!\u201d cried F\u00e9raz eagerly, delighted to hear him speak.--\u201cYou\nare well,--it was a swoon that seized you--nothing more! But I was\nanxious,--I found you here insensible----\u201d\n\nWith an effort El-R\u00e2mi rose to his feet, steadying himself on his\nbrother\u2019s arm.\n\n\u201cInsensible!\u201d he repeated vaguely.--\u201cInsensible!--that is strange!--I\nmust have been very weak and tired--and overpowered. But,--where is\nHe?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you mean the Master,\u201d said F\u00e9raz, lowering his voice to an almost\nawe-stricken whisper--\u201cHe has gone, and left no trace,--save that\nsealed paper there upon your table.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi shook himself free of his brother\u2019s hold and hurried forward\nto possess himself of the indicated missive,--seizing it, he tore it\nquickly open,--it contained but one line--\u201c_Beware the end! With\nLilith\u2019s love comes Lilith\u2019s freedom._\u201d\n\nThat was all. He read it again and again--then deliberately striking a\nmatch, he set fire to it and burnt it to ashes. A rapid glance round\nshowed him that the manuscripts concerning Neptune and Sirius were\ngone,--the mysterious monk had evidently taken them with him as\ndesired. Then he turned again to his brother.\n\n\u201cWhen could he have gone?\u201d he demanded.--\u201cDid you not hear the\nstreet-door open and shut?--no sound at all of his departure?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz shook his head.\n\n\u201cI slept heavily,\u201d he said apologetically. \u201cBut in my dreams it seemed\nas though a hand touched me, and I awoke. The sun was shining\nbrilliantly--some one called \u2018F\u00e9raz! F\u00e9raz!\u2019--I thought it was your\nvoice, and I hurried into the room to find you, as I thought,\ndead,--oh! the horror of that moment of suspense!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him kindly, and smiled.\n\n\u201cWhy feel horror, my dear boy?\u201d he inquired.--\u201cDeath--or what we call\ndeath,--is the best possible fortune for everybody. Even if there were\nno afterwards, it would still be an end--an end of trouble and tedium\nand infinite uncertainty. Could anything be happier?--I doubt it!\u201d\n\nAnd, sighing, he threw himself into his chair with an air of\nexhaustion. F\u00e9raz stood a little apart, gazing at him somewhat\nwistfully--then he spoke--\n\n\u201cI too have thought that, El-R\u00e2mi,\u201d he said softly.--\u201cAs to whether\nthis end, which the world and all men dread, might not be the best\nthing? And yet my own personal sensations tell me that life means\nsomething good for me if I only learn how best to live it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYouth, my dear fellow!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi lightly. \u201cDelicious\nyouth,--which you share in common with the scampering colt who\nimagines all the meadows of the world were made for him to race upon.\nThis is the potent charm which persuades you that life is agreeable.\nBut unfortunately it will pass,--this rosy morning-glory. And the\nolder you grow the wiser and the sadder you will be,--I, your brother,\nam an excellent example of the truth of this platitude.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are not old,\u201d replied F\u00e9raz quickly. \u201cBut certainly you are\noften sad. You overwork your brain. For example, last night of course\nyou did not sleep--will you sleep now?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo--I will breakfast,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, rousing himself to seem\ncheerful.--\u201cA good cup of coffee is one of the boons of existence--and\nno one can make it as you do. It will put the finishing touch to my\ncomplete recovery.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz took this hint, and hastened off to prepare the desired\nbeverage,--while El-R\u00e2mi, left alone, sat for a few moments wrapped\nin a deep reverie. His thoughts reverted to and dwelt upon the strange\nand glorious Figure he had seen standing in that very room between him\nand the monk,--he wondered doubtfully if such a celestial visitant\nwere anywhere near him now? Shaking off the fantastic impression, he\ngot up and walked to and fro.\n\n\u201cWhat a fool I am!\u201d he exclaimed half aloud--\u201cAs if _my_ eyes could\nnot be as much deluded for once in a way as the eyes of any one else!\nIt was a strange shape,--a marvellously divine-looking\napparition;--but _he_ evolved it--he is as great a master in the art\nof creating phantasma as Moses himself, and could, if he chose, make\nthunder echo at his will on another Mount Sinai. Upon my word, the\nthings that men _can_ do are as wonderful as the things that they\nwould fain attempt; and the only miraculous part of this particular\nman\u2019s force is that he should have overpowered Me, seeing I am so\nstrong. And then one other marvel--(if it be true),--he could _see_\nthe Soul of Lilith.\u201d\n\nHere he came to a full stop in his walk, and with his eyes fixed on\nvacancy he repeated musingly--\n\n\u201cHe could _see_ the Soul of Lilith. If that is so--if that is\npossible, then I will see it too, if I die in the attempt. To _see_\nthe Soul--to look upon it and know its form--to discern the manner of\nits organisation, would surely be to prove it. Sight can be deceived,\nwe know--we look upon a star (or think we look upon it), that may have\ndisappeared some thirty thousand years ago, as it takes thirty\nthousand years for its reflex to reach us--all that is true--but there\nare ways of guarding against deception.\u201d\n\nHe had now struck upon a new line of thought,--ideas more daring than\nhe had ever yet conceived began to flit through his brain,--and when\nF\u00e9raz came in with the breakfast he partook of that meal with avidity\nand relish, his excellent appetite entirely reassuring his brother\nwith regard to his health.\n\n\u201cYou are right, F\u00e9raz,\u201d he said, as he sipped his coffee.--\u201cLife can\nbe made enjoyable after a fashion, no doubt. But the best way to get\nenjoyment out of it is to be always at work--always putting a brick in\nto help the universal architecture.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz was silent. El-R\u00e2mi looked at him inquisitively.\n\n\u201cDon\u2019t you agree with me?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cNo--not entirely\u201d--and F\u00e9raz pushed the clustering hair off his brow\nwith a slightly troubled gesture.--\u201cWork may become as monotonous and\nwearisome as anything else if we have too much of it. If we are always\nworking--that is, if we are always obtruding ourselves into affairs\nand thinking they cannot get on without us, we make an obstruction in\nthe way, I think--we are not a help. Besides, we leave ourselves no\ntime to absorb suggestions, and I fancy a great deal is learned by\nsimply keeping the brain quiet and absorbing light.\u201d\n\n\u201c\u2018Absorbing light\u2019?\u201d queried his brother perplexedly--\u201cWhat do you\nmean?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it is difficult to explain my meaning,\u201d said F\u00e9raz with\nhesitation--\u201cbut yet I feel there is truth in what I try to express.\nYou see, everything absorbs something, and you will assuredly admit\nthat the brain absorbs certain impressions?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course,--but impressions are not \u2018light\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cAre they not? Not even the effects of light? Then what is the art of\nphotography? However, I do not speak of the impressions received from\nour merely external surroundings. If you can relieve the brain from\n_conscious_ thought,--if you have the power to shake off outward\nsuggestions and be willing to think of nothing personal, your brain\nwill receive impressions which are to some extent new, and with which\nyou actually have very little connection. It is strange,--but it is\nso;--you become obediently receptive, and perhaps wonder where your\nideas come from. I say they are the result of light. Light can use up\nimmense periods of time in travelling from a far distant star into our\narea of vision, and yet at last we see it,--shall not God\u2019s\ninspiration travel at a far swifter pace than star-beams, and reach\nthe human brain as surely? This thought has often startled me,--it has\nfilled me with an almost apprehensive awe,--the capabilities it opens\nup are so immense and wonderful. Even a man can suggest ideas to his\nfellow-man and cause them to germinate in the mind and blossom into\naction,--how can we deny to God the power to do the same? And\nso,--imagine it!--the first strain of the glorious _Tannh\u00e4user_ may\nhave been played on the harps of Heaven, and rolling sweetly through\ninfinite space may have touched in fine far echoes the brain of the\nmusician who afterwards gave it form and utterance--ah yes!--I would\nlove to think it were so!--I would love to think that\nnothing,--nothing is truly ours; but that all the marvels of poetry,\nof song, of art, of colour, of beauty, were only the echoes and\ndistant impressions of that eternal grandeur which comes hereafter!\u201d\n\nHis eyes flashed with all a poet\u2019s enthusiasm,--he rose from the table\nand paced the room excitedly, while his brother, sitting silent,\nwatched him meditatively.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi, you have no idea,\u201d he continued--\u201cof the wonders and\ndelights of the land I call my Star! You think it is a dream--an\nunexplained portion of a splendid trance,--and I am now fully aware of\nwhat I owe to your magnetic influence,--your forceful spell that rests\nupon my life;--but see you!--when I am alone--quite, quite alone, when\nyou are absent from me, when you are not influencing me, it is then I\nsee the landscapes best,--it is then I hear my people sing! I let my\nbrain rest;--as far as it is possible, I think of nothing,--then\nsuddenly upon me falls the ravishment and ecstasy,--this world rolls\nup as it were in a whirling cloud and vanishes, and lo! I find myself\nat home. There is a stretch of forest-land in this Star of mine,--a\nplace all dusky green with shadows, and musical with the fall of\nsilvery waters,--that is my favourite haunt when I am there, for it\nleads me on and on through grasses and tangles of wild flowers to what\nI know and feel must be my own abode, where I should rest and sleep if\nsleep were needful; but this abode I never reach; I am debarred from\nentering in, and I do not know the reason why. The other day, when\nwandering there, I met two maidens bearing flowers,--they stopped,\nregarding me with pleased yet doubting eyes, and one said--\u2018Look you,\nour lord is now returned!\u2019 And the other sighed and answered--\u2018Nay! he\nis still an exile and may not stay with us.\u2019 Whereupon they bent their\nheads, and, shrinking past me, disappeared. When I would have called\nthem back I woke!--to find that this dull earth was once again my\nhouse of bondage.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi heard him with patient interest.\n\n\u201cI do not deny, F\u00e9raz,\u201d he said slowly, \u201cthat your impressions are\nvery strange----\u201d\n\n\u201cVery strange? Yes!\u201d cried F\u00e9raz. \u201cBut very true!\u201d\n\nHe paused--then on a sudden impulse came close up to his brother, and\nlaid a hand on his shoulder.\n\n\u201cAnd do you mean to tell me,\u201d he asked, \u201cthat you who have studied so\nmuch, and have mastered so much, yet receive _no_ such impressions as\nthose I speak of?\u201d\n\nA faint flush coloured El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s olive skin.\n\n\u201cCertain impressions come to me at times, of course,\u201d he answered\nslowly.--\u201cAnd there have been certain seasons in my life when I have\nhad visions of the impossible. But I have a coldly-tempered\norganisation, F\u00e9raz,--I am able to reason these things away.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you can reason the whole world away if you choose,\u201d said\nF\u00e9raz.--\u201cFor it is nothing after all but a pinch of star-dust.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you can reason a thing away it does not exist,\u201d observed El-R\u00e2mi\ndrily.--\u201cReduce the world, as you say, to a pinch of star-dust, still\nthe pinch of star-dust is _there_--it Exists.\u201d\n\n\u201cSome people doubt even that!\u201d said F\u00e9raz, smiling.\n\n\u201cWell, everything can be over-done,\u201d replied his brother,--\u201ceven the\nprocess of reasoning. We can, if we choose, \u2018reason\u2019 ourselves into\nmadness. There is a boundary-line to every science which the human\nintellect dare not overstep.\u201d\n\n\u201cI wonder what and where is _your_ boundary-line?\u201d questioned F\u00e9raz\nlightly.--\u201cHave you laid one down for yourself at all? Surely\nnot!--for you are too ambitious.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi made no answer to this observation, but betook himself to his\nbooks and papers. F\u00e9raz meanwhile set the room in order and cleared\naway the breakfast,--and, these duties done, he quietly withdrew. Left\nto himself, El-R\u00e2mi took from the centre drawer of his writing-table\na medium-sized manuscript book which was locked, and which he opened\nby means of a small key that was attached to his watch-chain, and\nbending over the title-page he critically examined it. Its heading ran\nthus--\n\n                           The New Religion\n _A Reasonable Theory of Worship conformable to the Eternal and\n Unalterable Laws of Nature._\n\n\u201cThe title does not cover all the ground,\u201d he murmured as he\nread.--\u201cAnd yet how am I to designate it? It is a vast subject, and\npresents different branches of treatment, and, after all said and\ndone, I may have wasted my time in planning it. Most likely I\nhave,--but there is no scientist living who would refuse to accept it.\nThe question is, shall I ever finish it?--shall I ever know positively\nthat there IS, without doubt, a conscious, personal Something or Some\none after death who enters at once upon another existence? My new\nexperiment will decide all--if I _see_ the Soul of Lilith, all\nhesitation will be at an end--I shall be sure of everything which now\nseems uncertain. And then the triumph!--then the victory!\u201d\n\nHis eyes sparkled, and, dipping his pen in the ink, he prepared to\nwrite, but ere he did so the message which the monk had left for him\nto read recurred with a chill warning to his memory,--\n\n\u201cBeware the end! With Lilith\u2019s love comes Lilith\u2019s freedom.\u201d\n\nHe considered the words for a moment apprehensively,--and then a proud\nsmile played round his mouth.\n\n\u201cFor a Master who has attained to some degree of wisdom, his intuition\nis strangely erroneous this time,\u201d he muttered. \u201cFor if there be any\ndream of love in Lilith, that dream, that love is mine! And being\nmine, who shall dispute possession,--who shall take her from me? No\none,--not even God,--for He does not break through the laws of Nature.\nAnd by those laws I have kept Lilith--and even so I will keep her\nstill.\u201d\n\nSatisfied with his own conclusions, he began to write, taking up the\nthread of his theory of religion where he had left it on the previous\nday. He had a brilliant and convincing style, and was soon deep in an\nelaborate and eloquent disquisition on the superior scientific\nreasoning contained in the ancient Eastern faiths, as compared with\nthe modern scheme of Christianity, which limits God\u2019s power to this\nworld only, and takes no consideration of the fate of other visible\nand far more splendid spheres.\n\n\n\n\n XXIII.\n\nThe few days immediately following the visit of the mysterious monk\nfrom Cyprus were quiet and uneventful enough. El-R\u00e2mi led the life of\na student and recluse; F\u00e9raz, too, occupied himself with books and\nmusic, thinking much, but saying little. He had solemnly sworn never\nagain to make allusion to the forbidden subject of his brother\u2019s great\nexperiment, and he meant to keep his vow. For, though he had in very\ntruth absolutely forgotten the name \u201cLilith,\u201d he had not forgotten the\nface of her whose beauty had surprised his senses and dazzled his\nbrain. She had become to him a nameless Wonder,--and from the sweet\nremembrance of her loveliness he gained a certain consolation and\npleasure which he jealously and religiously kept to himself. He\nthought of her as a poet may think of an ideal goddess seen in a\nmystic dream,--but he never ventured to ask a question concerning her.\nAnd even if he had wished to do so,--even if he had indulged the idea\nof encouraging Zaroba to follow up the work she had begun by telling\nhim all she could concerning the beautiful tranced girl, that course\nwas now impossible. For Zaroba seemed stricken dumb as well as\ndeaf,--what had chanced to her he could not tell,--but a mysterious\nsilence possessed her; and, though her large black eyes were\nsorrowfully eloquent, she never uttered a word. She came and went on\nvarious household errands, always silently and with bent head,--she\nlooked older, feebler, wearier and sadder, but not so much as a\ngesture escaped her that could be construed into a complaint. Once\nF\u00e9raz made signs to her of inquiry after her health and\nwell-being--she smiled mournfully, but gave no other response, and,\nturning away, left him hurriedly. He mused long and deeply upon all\nthis,--and, though he felt sure that Zaroba\u2019s strange but resolute\nspeechlessness was his brother\u2019s work, he dared not speculate too far\nor inquire too deeply. For he fully recognised El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s power,--a\npower so scientifically balanced, and used with such terrible and\nunerring precision, that there could be no opposition possible unless\none were of equal strength and knowledge. F\u00e9raz knew he could no more\ncompete with such a force than a mouse can wield a thunderbolt,--he\ntherefore deemed it best to resign himself to his destiny and wait the\ncourse of events.\n\n\u201cFor,\u201d he said within himself, \u201cit is not likely one man should be\npermitted to use such strange authority over natural forces long,--it\nmay be that God is trying him,--putting him to the proof, as it were,\nto find out how far he will dare to go,--and then--ah then!--_what_\nthen? If his heart were dedicated to the service of God I should not\nfear,--but--as it is, I dread the end!\u201d\n\nHis instinct was correct in this,--for in spite of his poetic and\nfanciful temperament he had plenty of quick perception and he saw\nplainly what El-R\u00e2mi himself was not very willing to\nrecognise,--namely, that in all the labour of his life, so far as it\nhad gone, he, El-R\u00e2mi, had rather opposed himself to the unseen\ndivine, than striven to incorporate himself with it. He preferred to\nbelieve in natural Force only; his inclination was to deny the\npossibility of anything behind that. He accepted the idea of\nImmortality to a certain extent, because natural Force was for ever\ngiving him proofs of the perpetual regeneration of life--but that\nthere was a primal source of this generating influence,--One, great\nand eternal, who would demand an account of all lives, and an accurate\nsumming-up of all words and actions,--in this, though he might assume\nthe virtue of faith, F\u00e9raz very well knew he had it not. Like the\ngreater majority of scientists and natural philosophers generally,\nwhat Self could comprehend, he accepted,--but all that extended beyond\nSelf,--all that made of Self but a grain of dust in a vast\ninfinitude,--all that forced the creature to prostrate himself humbly\nbefore the Creator and cry out \u201cLord, be merciful to me a sinner!\u201d\nthis he tacitly and proudly rejected. For which reasons the gentle,\ndreamy F\u00e9raz had good cause to fear,--and a foreboding voice for ever\nwhispered in his mind that man without God was as a world without\nlight,--a black chaos of blank unfruitfulness.\n\nWith the ensuing week the grand \u201creception\u201d to which El-R\u00e2mi and his\nbrother had been invited by Lord Melthorpe came off with great\n_\u00e9clat_. Lady Melthorpe\u2019s \u201ccrushes\u201d were among the most brilliant of\nthe season, and this one was particularly so, as it was a special\nfunction held for the entertainment of the distinguished Crown Prince\nof a great nation. True, the distinguished Crown Prince was only\n\u201ctimed\u201d to look in a little after midnight for about ten minutes, but\nthe exceeding brevity of his stay was immaterial to the fashionable\nthrong. All that was needed was just the piquant flavour,--the\n\u201cpassing\u201d of a Royal Presence,--to make the gathering socially\ncomplete. The rooms were crowded--so much so indeed that it was\ndifficult to take note of any one person in particular, yet, in spite\nof this fact, there was a very general movement of interest and\nadmiration when El-R\u00e2mi entered with his young and handsome brother\nbeside him. Both had a look and manner too distinctly striking to\nescape observation:--their olive complexions, black melancholy eyes,\nand slim yet stately figures, were set off to perfection by the\nrichness of the Oriental dresses they wore; and the grave composure\nand perfect dignity of their bearing offered a pleasing contrast to\nthe excited pushing, waddling, and scrambling indulged in by the\ngreater part of the aristocratic assemblage. Lady Melthorpe herself, a\nrather pretty woman attired in a very \u00e6sthetic gown, and wearing her\nbrown hair all towzled and arranged _\u00e0 la Grecque_, in diamond\nbandeaux, caught sight of them at once, and was delighted. Such\npicturesque-looking creatures were really ornaments to a room, she\nthought with much interior satisfaction; and, wreathing her face with\nsmiles, she glided up to them.\n\n\u201cI am so charmed, my dear El-R\u00e2mi!\u201d she said, holding out her\njewelled hand.--\u201cSo charmed to see _you_--you so very seldom will come\nto me! _And_ your brother! So glad! Why did you never tell me you had\na brother? Naughty man! What is your brother\u2019s name? F\u00e9raz?\nDelightful!--it makes one think of Hafiz and Sadi and all those very\ncharming Eastern people. I must find some one interesting to introduce\nto you. Will you wait here a minute--the crowd is so thick in the\ncentre of the room that really I\u2019m afraid you will not be able to get\nthrough it--_do_ wait here, and I\u2019ll bring the Baroness to you--don\u2019t\nyou know the Baroness? Oh, she\u2019s such a delightful creature--so clever\nat palmistry! Yes--just stay where you are,--I\u2019ll come back directly!\u201d\n\nAnd with sundry good-humoured nods her ladyship swept away, while\nF\u00e9raz glanced at his brother with an expression of amused inquiry.\n\n\u201cThat is Lady Melthorpe?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cThat is Lady Melthorpe,\u201d returned El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cour hostess, and Lord\nMelthorpe\u2019s wife; his, \u2018to have and to hold, for better for worse, for\nricher for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honour, and\ncherish till death do them part,\u2019\u201d and he smiled somewhat\nsatirically.--\u201cIt seems odd, doesn\u2019t it?--I mean, such solemn words\nsound out of place sometimes. Do you like her?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz made a slight sign in the negative.\n\n\u201cShe does not speak sincerely,\u201d he said in a low tone.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi laughed.\n\n\u201cMy dear boy, you mustn\u2019t expect any one to be \u2018sincere\u2019 in society.\nYou said you wanted to \u2018see life\u2019--very well, but it will never do to\nbegin by viewing it in that way. An outburst of actual sincerity in\nthis human _m\u00eal\u00e9e_\u201d--and he glanced comprehensively over the\nbrilliant throng--\u201cwould be like a match to a gunpowder magazine--the\nwhole thing would blow up into fragments and be dispersed to the four\nwinds of heaven, leaving nothing behind but an evil odour.\u201d\n\n\u201cBetter so,\u201d said F\u00e9raz dreamily, \u201cthan that false hearts should be\nmistaken for true.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him wistfully;--what a beautiful youth he really\nwas, with all that glow of thought and feeling in his dark eyes! How\ndifferent was his aspect from that of the jaded, cynical, vice-worn\nyoung men of fashion, some of whom were pushing their way past at that\nmoment,--men in the twenties who had the air of being well on in the\nforties, and badly preserved at that--wretched, pallid, languid,\nexhausted creatures who had thrown away the splendid jewel of their\nyouth in a couple of years\u2019 stupid dissipation and folly. At that\nmoment Lord Melthorpe, smiling and cordial, came up to them and shook\nhands warmly, and then introduced with a few pleasant words a\ngentleman who had accompanied him as,--\u201cRoy Ainsworth, the famous\nartist, you know!\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, not at all!\u201d drawled the individual thus described, with a\nsearching glance at the two brothers from under his drowsy\neyelids.--\u201cNot famous by any means--not yet. Only trying to be. You\u2019ve\ngot to paint something startling and shocking nowadays before you are\nconsidered \u2018famous\u2019;--and even then, when you\u2019ve outraged all the\nproprieties, you must give a banquet, or take a big house and hold\nreceptions, or have an electrically-lit-up skeleton in your studio, or\nsomething of that sort, to keep the public attention fixed upon you.\nIt\u2019s such a restless age.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled gravely.\n\n\u201cThe feverish outburst of an unnatural vitality immediately preceding\ndissolution,\u201d he observed.\n\n\u201cAh!--you think that? Well--it may be,--I\u2019m sure I hope it is. I,\npersonally, should be charmed to believe in the rapidly-approaching\nend of the world. We really need a change of planet as much as certain\ninvalids require a change of air. Your brother, however\u201d--and here he\nflashed a keen glance at F\u00e9raz--\u201cseems already to belong to quite a\ndifferent sphere.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz looked up with a pleased yet startled expression.\n\n\u201cYes,--but how did you know it?\u201d he asked.\n\nIt was now the artist\u2019s turn to be embarrassed. He had used the words\n\u201cdifferent sphere\u201d merely as a figure of speech, whereas this\nintelligent-looking young fellow evidently took the phrase in a\nliteral sense. It was very odd!--and he hesitated what to answer, so\nEl-R\u00e2mi came to the rescue.\n\n\u201cMr. Ainsworth only means that you do not look quite like other\npeople, F\u00e9raz, that\u2019s all. Poets and musicians often carry their own\ndistinctive mark.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs he a poet?\u201d inquired Lord Melthorpe with interest.--\u201cAnd has he\npublished anything?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi laughed good-humouredly.\n\n\u201cNot he! My dear Lord Melthorpe, we are not all called upon to give\nthe world our blood and brain and nerve and spirit. Some few reserve\ntheir strength for higher latitudes. To give greedy humanity\neverything of one\u2019s self is rather too prodigal an expenditure.\u201d\n\n\u201cI agree with you,\u201d said a chill yet sweet voice close to them.--\u201cIt\nwas Christ\u2019s way of work,--and quite too unwise an example for any of\nus to follow.\u201d\n\nLord Melthorpe and Mr. Ainsworth turned quickly to make way for the\nspeaker,--a slight fair woman, with a delicate thoughtful face full of\nlight, languor, and scorn, who, clad in snowy draperies adorned here\nand there with the cold sparkle of diamonds, drew near them at the\nmoment. El-R\u00e2mi and his brother both noted her with interest,--she\nwas so different from the other women present.\n\n\u201cI am delighted to see you!\u201d said Lord Melthorpe as he held out his\nhand in greeting.--\u201cIt is so seldom we have the honour! Mr. Ainsworth\nyou already know,--let me introduce my Oriental friends\nhere,--El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos and his brother F\u00e9raz Zar\u00e2nos,--Madame\nIrene Vassilius--you must have heard of her very often.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi had indeed heard of her,--she was an authoress of high\nrepute, noted for her brilliant satirical pen, her contempt of press\ncriticism, and her influence over, and utter indifference to, all men.\nTherefore he regarded her now with a certain pardonable curiosity as\nhe made her his profoundest salutation, while she returned his look\nwith equal interest.\n\n\u201cIt is you who said that we must not give ourselves wholly away to the\nneeds of humanity, is it not?\u201d she said, letting her calm eyes dwell\nupon him with a dreamy yet searching scrutiny.\n\n\u201cI certainly did say so, Madame,\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi.--\u201cIt is a waste of\nlife,--and humanity is always ungrateful.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou have proved it? But perhaps you have not tried to deserve its\ngratitude.\u201d\n\nThis was rather a home-thrust, and El-R\u00e2mi was surprised and vaguely\nannoyed at its truth. Irene Vassilius still stood quietly observing\nhim,--then she turned to Roy Ainsworth.\n\n\u201cThere is the type you want for your picture,\u201d she said, indicating\nF\u00e9raz by a slight gesture.--\u201cThat boy, depicted in the clutches of\nyour Phryne, would make angels weep.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf I could make _you_ weep I should have achieved something like\nsuccess,\u201d replied the painter, his sleepy eyes dilating with a passion\nhe could not wholly conceal.--\u201cBut icebergs neither smile nor shed\ntears,--and intellectual women are impervious to emotion.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is a mistaken idea,--one of the narrow notions common to men,\u201d\nshe answered, waving her fan idly to and fro.--\u201cYou remind me of the\nquerulous Edward Fitzgerald, who wrote that he was glad Mrs. Barrett\nBrowning was dead, because there would be no more _Aurora Leighs_. He\ncondescended to say she was a \u2018woman of Genius,\u2019 but what was the use\nof it? \u2018She and her Sex,\u2019 he said, \u2018would be better minding the\nKitchen and their Children.\u2019 He and _his_ Sex always consider the\nterrible possibilities to themselves of a badly-cooked dinner and a\nbaby\u2019s screams. His notion about the limitation of woman\u2019s sphere is\nman\u2019s notion generally.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is not mine,\u201d said Lord Melthorpe.--\u201cI think women are cleverer\nthan men.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, you are not a reviewer!\u201d laughed Madame Vassilius--\u201cso you can\nafford to be generous. But as a rule men detest clever women, simply\nbecause they are jealous of them.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey have cause to be jealous of _you_,\u201d said Roy Ainsworth.--\u201cYou\nsucceed in everything you touch.\u201d\n\n\u201cSuccess is easy,\u201d she replied indifferently,--\u201cResolve upon it, and\ncarry out that resolve--and the thing is done.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at her with new interest.\n\n\u201cMadame, you have a strong will!\u201d he observed.--\u201cBut permit me to say\nthat all your sex are not like yourself, beautiful, gifted, and\nresolute at one and the same time. The majority of women are\ndeplorably unintelligent and uninteresting.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat is precisely how I find the majority of men!\u201d declared Irene\nVassilius, with that little soft laugh of hers which was so sweet, yet\nso full of irony.--\u201cYou see, we view things from different\nstandpoints. Moreover, the deplorably unintelligent and uninteresting\nwomen are the very ones you men elect to marry, and make the mothers\nof the nation. It is the way of masculine wisdom,--so full of careful\nforethought and admirable calculation!\u201d She laughed again, and\ncontinued--\u201cLord Melthorpe tells me you are a seer,--an Eastern\nprophet arisen in these dull modern days--now will you solve me a\nriddle that I am unable to guess,--myself?--and tell me if you can,\nwho am I and what am I?\u201d\n\n\u201cMadame,\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi bowing profoundly, \u201cI cannot in one moment\nunravel so complex an enigma.\u201d\n\nShe smiled, not ill pleased, and met his dark, fiery, penetrating\nglance unreservedly,--then, drawing off her long loose glove, she held\nout her small beautifully-shaped white hand.\n\n\u201cTry me,\u201d she said lightly, \u201cfor if there is any truth in\n\u2018brain-waves\u2019 or reflexes of the mind the touch of my fingers ought to\nsend electric meanings through you. I am generally judged as of a\nfrivolous disposition because I am small in stature, slight in build,\nand have curly hair--all proofs positive, according to the majority,\nof latent foolishness. Colossal women, however, are always\nastonishingly stupid, and fat women lethargic--but a mountain of good\nflesh is always more attractive to man than any amount of intellectual\nperception. Oh, I am not posing as one of the \u2018misunderstood\u2019; not at\nall--I simply wish you to look well at me first and take in my\n\u2018frivolous\u2019 appearance thoroughly, before being misled by the messages\nof my hand.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi obeyed her in so far that he fixed his eyes upon her more\nsearchingly than before,--a little knot of fashionable loungers had\nstopped to listen, and now watched her face with equal curiosity. No\nrush of embarrassed colour tinged the cool fairness of her cheeks--her\nexpression was one of quiet, half-smiling indifference--her attitude\nfull of perfect self-possession.\n\n\u201cNo one who looks at your eyes can call you frivolous Madame,\u201d said\nEl-R\u00e2mi at last.--\u201cAnd no one who observes the lines of your mouth\nand chin could suspect you of latent foolishness. Your physiognomy\nmust have been judged by the merest surface-observers. As for stature,\nwe are aware that goes for naught,--most of the heroes and heroines of\nhistory have been small and slight in build. I will now, if you permit\nme, take your hand.\u201d\n\nShe laid it at once in his extended palm,--and he slowly closed his\nown fingers tightly over it. In a couple of minutes, his face\nexpressed nothing but astonishment.\n\n\u201cIs it possible?\u201d he muttered--\u201ccan I believe----\u201d he broke off\nhurriedly, interrupted by a chorus of voices exclaiming--\u201cOh, what is\nit?--_do_ tell us!\u201d and so forth.\n\n\u201cMay I speak, Madame?\u201d he inquired, bending towards Irene, with\nsomething of reverence.\n\nShe smiled assent.\n\n\u201cIf I am surprised,\u201d he then said slowly, \u201cit is scarcely to be\nwondered at, for it is the first time I have ever chanced across the\npath of a woman whose life was so perfectly ideal. Madame, to you I\nmust address the words of Hamlet--\u2018pure as ice, chaste as snow, thou\nshalt not escape calumny.\u2019 Such an existence as yours, stainless,\nlofty, active, hopeful, patient, and independent, is a reproach to\nmen, and few will love you for being so superior. Those who do love\nyou, will probably love in vain,--for the completion of your existence\nis not here--but elsewhere.\u201d\n\nHer soft eyes dilated wonderingly,--the people immediately around her\nstared vaguely at El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s dark impenetrable face.\n\n\u201cThen shall I be alone all my life as I am now?\u201d she asked, as he\nreleased her hand.\n\n\u201cAre you sure you are alone?\u201d he said with a grave smile.--\u201cAre there\nnot more companions in the poet\u2019s so-called solitude than in the\ncrowded haunts of men?\u201d\n\nShe met his earnest glance, and her own face grew radiant with a\ncertain sweet animation that made it very lovely.\n\n\u201cYou are right,\u201d she replied simply--\u201cI see you understand.\u201d\n\nThen, with a graceful salutation, she prepared to move away--Roy\nAinsworth pressed up close to her.\n\n\u201cAre you satisfied with your fortune, Madame Vassilius?\u201d he asked\nrather querulously.\n\n\u201cIndeed I am,\u201d she answered. \u201cWhy should I not be?\u201d\n\n\u201cIf loneliness is a part of it,\u201d he said audaciously, \u201cI suppose you\nwill never marry?\u201d\n\n\u201cI suppose not,\u201d she said with a ripple of laughter in her voice.--\u201cI\nfear I should never be able to acknowledge a man my superior!\u201d\n\nShe left him then, and he stood for a moment looking after her with a\nvexed air,--then he turned anew towards El-R\u00e2mi, who was just\nexchanging greetings with Sir Frederick Vaughan. This latter young man\nappeared highly embarrassed and nervous, and seemed anxious to\nunburden himself of something which apparently was difficult to utter.\nHe stared at F\u00e9raz, pulled the ends of his long moustache, and made\nscrappy remarks on nothing in particular, while El-R\u00e2mi observed him\nwith amused intentness.\n\n\u201cI say, do you remember the night we saw the new Hamlet?\u201d he blurted\nout at last.--\u201cYou know--I haven\u2019t seen you since----\u201d\n\n\u201cI remember most perfectly,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi composedly--\u201c\u2018To be or not\nto be\u2019 was the question then with you, as well as with Hamlet--but I\nsuppose it is all happily decided now as \u2018to be.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is decided?\u201d stammered Sir Frederick--\u201cI mean, how do you know\neverything is decided, eh?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhen is your marriage to take place?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi.\n\nVaughan almost jumped.\n\n\u201cBy Jove!--you are an uncanny fellow!\u201d he exclaimed.--\u201cHowever, as it\nhappens, you are right. I\u2019m engaged to Miss Chester.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is no surprise to me, but pray allow me to congratulate you!\u201d and\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled.--\u201cYou have lost no time about it, I must say! It is\nonly a fortnight since you first saw the lady at the theatre.\nWell!--confess me a true prophet!\u201d\n\nSir Frederick looked uncomfortable, and was about to enter into an\nargument concerning the _pros_ and _cons_ of prophetic insight, when\nLady Melthorpe suddenly emerged from the circling whirlpool of her\nfashionable guests and sailed towards them with a swan-like grace and\nlanguor.\n\n\u201cI cannot find the dear Baroness,\u201d she said plaintively. \u201cShe is so\nmuch in demand! Do you know, my dear El-R\u00e2mi, she is really almost as\nwonderful as you are! Not quite--oh, not quite, but nearly! She can\ntell you all your past and future by the lines of your hand, in the\nmost astonishing manner! Can you do that also?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi laughed.\n\n\u201cIt is a gipsy\u2019s trick,\u201d he said,--\u201cand the _bon\u00e2-fide_ gipsies who\npractise it in country lanes for the satisfaction of servant girls get\narrested by the police for \u2018fortune-telling.\u2019 The gipsies of the\nLondon drawing-rooms escape scot-free.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, you are severe!\u201d said Lady Melthorpe, shaking her finger at him\nwith an attempt at archness--\u201cYou are really very severe! You must not\nbe hard on our little amusements,--you know, in this age, we are all\nso very much interested in the supernatural!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi grew paler, and a slight shudder shook his frame. The\nsupernatural! How lightly people talked of that awful Something, that\nlike a formless Shadow waits behind the portals of the grave!--that\nSomething that evinced itself, suggested itself, nay, almost declared\nitself, in spite of his own doubts, in the momentary contact of a hand\nwith his own, as in the case of Irene Vassilius. For in that contact\nhe had received a faint, yet decided thrill through his nerves--a\npeculiar sensation which he recognised as a warning of something\nspiritually above himself,--and this had compelled him to speak of an\n\u201celsewhere\u201d for her, though for himself he persisted in nourishing the\ndoubt that an \u201celsewhere\u201d existed. Roy Ainsworth, the artist,\nobserving him closely, noted how stern and almost melancholy was the\nexpression of his handsome dark face,--then glancing from him to his\nbrother, was surprised at the marked difference between the two. The\nfrank, open, beautiful features of F\u00e9raz seemed to invite confidence,\nand, acting on the suggestion made to him by Madame Vassilius, he\nspoke abruptly.\n\n\u201cI wish you would sit to me,\u201d he said.\n\n\u201cSit to you? For a picture, do you mean?\u201d and F\u00e9raz looked delighted\nyet amazed.\n\n\u201cYes. You have just the face I want. Are you in town?--can you spare\nthe time?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am always with my brother\u201d--began F\u00e9raz hesitatingly.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi heard him, and smiled rather sadly.\n\n\u201cF\u00e9raz is his own master,\u201d he said gently, \u201cand his time is quite at\nhis own disposal.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen come and let us talk it over,\u201d said Ainsworth, taking F\u00e9raz by\nthe arm. \u201cI\u2019ll pilot you through this crowd, and we\u2019ll make for some\nquiet corner where we can sit down. Come along!\u201d\n\nOut of old habit F\u00e9raz glanced at his brother for permission, but\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s head was turned away; he was talking to Lord Melthorpe. So\nthrough the brilliant throng of fashionable men and women, many of\nwhom turned to stare at him as he passed, F\u00e9raz went, half eager,\nhalf reluctant, his large fawn-like eyes flashing an innocent\nwonderment on the scene around him,--a scene different from everything\nto which he had been accustomed. He was uncomfortably conscious that\nthere was something false and even deadly beneath all this glitter and\nshow,--but his senses were dazzled for the moment, though the\npoet-soul of him instinctively recoiled from the noise and glare and\nrestless movement of the crowd. It was his first entry into so-called\n\u201csociety\u201d;--and, though attracted and interested, he was also somewhat\nstartled and abashed--for he felt instinctively that he was thrown\nupon his own resources,--that, for the present at any rate, his\nbrother\u2019s will no longer influenced him, and with the sudden sense of\nliberty came the sudden sense of fear.\n\n\n\n\n XXIV.\n\nTowards midnight the expected Royal Personage came and went;\nfatigued but always amiable, he shed the sunshine of his stereotyped\nsmile on Lady Melthorpe\u2019s \u201ccrush\u201d--shook hands with his host and\nhostess, nodded blandly to a few stray acquaintances, and went through\nall the dreary duties of social boredom heroically, though he was\npining for his bed more wearily than any work-worn digger of the soil.\nHe made his way out more quickly than he came in, and with his\ndeparture a great many of the more \u201csnobbish\u201d among the fashionable\nset disappeared also, leaving the rooms freer and cooler for their\nabsence. People talked less loudly and assertively,--little groups\nbegan to gather in corners and exchange friendly chit-chat,--men who\nhad been standing all the evening found space to sit down beside their\nfavoured fair ones, and indulge themselves in talking a little\npleasant nonsense,--even the hostess herself was at last permitted to\noccupy an arm-chair and take a few moments\u2019 rest. Some of the guests\nhad wandered into the music-saloon, a quaintly-decorated oak-panelled\napartment which opened out from the largest drawing-room. A string\nband had played there till Royalty had come and gone, but now \u201csweet\nharmony\u201d no longer \u201cwagged her silver tongue,\u201d for the musicians were\nat supper. The grand piano was open, and Madame Vassilius stood near\nit, idly touching the ivory keys now and then with her small white,\nsensitive-looking fingers. Close beside her, comfortably ensconced in\na round deep chair, sat a very stout old lady with a curiously large\nhairy face and a beaming expression of eye, who appeared to have got\ninto her pink silk gown by some cruelly unnatural means, so tightly\nwas she laced, and so much did she seem in danger of bursting. She\nperspired profusely and smiled perpetually, and frequently stroked the\nend of her very pronounced moustache with quite a mannish air. This\nwas the individual for whom Lady Melthorpe had been searching,--the\nBaroness von Denkwald, noted for her skill in palmistry.\n\n\u201cAch! it is warm!\u201d she said in her strong German accent, giving an\nobservant and approving glance at Irene\u2019s white-draped form.--\u201cYou are\nze one womans zat is goot to look at. A peach mit ice-cream,--dot is\nyourself.\u201d\n\nIrene smiled pensively, but made no answer.\n\nThe Baroness looked at her again, and fanned herself rapidly.\n\n\u201cIt is sometings bad mit you?\u201d she asked at last.--\u201cYou look\nsorrowful? Zat Eastern mans--he say tings disagreeable? You should\npelieve _me_,--I have told you of your hand--ach! what a\nfortune!--splendid!--fame,--money, title,--a grand marriage----\u201d\n\nIrene lifted her little hand from the keyboard of the piano, and\nlooked curiously at the lines in her pretty palm.\n\n\u201cDear Baroness, there must be some mistake,\u201d she said slowly.--\u201cI was\na lonely child,--and some people say that as you begin, so will you\nend. I shall never marry--I am a lonely woman, and it will always be\nso.\u201d\n\n\u201cAlways, always--not at all!\u201d and the Baroness shook her large head\nobstinately. \u201cYou will marry; and Gott in Himmel save you from a\nhusband such as mine! He is dead--oh yes--a goot ting;--he is petter\noff--and so am I. Moch petter!\u201d\n\nAnd she laughed, the rise and fall of her ample neck causing quite a\ncracking sound in the silk of her bodice.\n\nMadame Vassilius smiled again,--and then again grew serious. She was\nthinking of the \u201celsewhere\u201d that El-R\u00e2mi had spoken of,--she had\nnoticed that all he said had seemed to be uttered involuntarily,--and\nthat he had hesitated strangely before using the word \u201celsewhere.\u201d She\nlonged to ask him one or two more questions,--and scarcely had the\nwish formed itself in her mind, than she saw him advancing from the\ndrawing-room, in company with Lord Melthorpe, Sir Frederick Vaughan,\nand the pretty frivolous Idina Chester, who, regardless of all that\npoets write concerning the unadorned simplicity of youth, had decked\nherself, American fashion, with diamonds enough for a dowager.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s too lovely!\u201d the young lady was saying as she entered.--\u201cI\nthink, Mr. El-R\u00e2mi, you have made me out a most charming creature!\n\u201cUnemotional, harmless, and innocently worldly\u201d--that was it, wasn\u2019t\nit? Well now, I think that\u2019s splendid! I had an idea you were going to\nfind out something horrid about me;--I\u2019m so glad I\u2019m harmless! You\u2019re\nsure I\u2019m harmless?\u201d\n\n\u201cQuite sure!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi with a slight smile. \u201cAnd there you\npossess a great superiority over most women.\u201d\n\nAnd he stepped forward in obedience to Lady Melthorpe\u2019s signal, to be\nintroduced to the \u201cdear\u201d Baroness, whose shrewd little eyes dwelt upon\nhim curiously.\n\n\u201cDo you believe in palmistry?\u201d she asked him, after the ordinary\ngreetings were exchanged.\n\n\u201cI\u2019m afraid not,\u201d he answered politely--\u201cthough I am acquainted with\nthe rules of the art as practised in the East, and I know that many\nodd coincidences do occur. But,--as an example--take _my_ hand--I am\nsure you can make nothing of it.\u201d\n\nHe held out his open palm for her inspection--she bent over it, and\nuttered an exclamation of surprise. There were none of the usual\ninnumerable little criss-cross lines upon it--nothing, in fact, but\ntwo deep dents from left to right, and one well-marked line running\nfrom the wrist to the centre.\n\n\u201cIt is unnatural!\u201d cried the Baroness in amazement.--\u201cIt is a\nmalformation! There is no hand like it!\u201d\n\n\u201cI believe not,\u201d answered El-R\u00e2mi composedly.--\u201cAs I told you, you\ncan learn nothing from it--and yet my life has not been without its\nadventures. This hand of mine is my excuse for not accepting palmistry\nas an absolutely proved science.\u201d\n\n\u201cMust everything be \u2018proved\u2019 for you?\u201d asked Irene Vassilius suddenly.\n\n\u201cAssuredly, Madame!\u201d\n\n\u201cThen have you \u2018proved\u2019 the elsewhere of which you spoke to me?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi flushed a little,--then paled again.\n\n\u201cMadame, the message of your inner spirit, as conveyed first through\nthe electric medium of your brain, and then through the magnetism of\nyour touch, told me of an \u2018elsewhere.\u2019 I may not personally or\npositively know of any \u2018elsewhere,\u2019 than this present state of\nbeing,--but your interior Self expects an \u2018elsewhere,\u2019--apparently\nknows of it better than I do, and conveys that impression and\nknowledge to me, apart from any consideration as to whether I may be\nfitted to understand or receive it.\u201d\n\nThese words were heard with evident astonishment by the little group\nof people who stood by, listening.\n\n\u201cDear me! How _ve--ry_ curious!\u201d murmured Lady Melthorpe.--\u201cAnd we\nhave always looked upon dear Madame Vassilius as quite a\nfree-thinker,\u201d--here she smiled apologetically, as Irene lifted her\nserious eyes and looked at her steadily--\u201cI mean, as regards the next\nworld and all those interesting subjects. In some of her books, for\ninstance, she is terribly severe on the clergy.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot more so than many of them deserve, I am sure,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi with\nsudden heat and asperity.--\u201cIt was not Christ\u2019s intention, I believe,\nthat the preachers of His Gospel should drink and hunt, and make love\nto their neighbours\u2019 wives _ad libitum_, which is what a great many of\nthem do. The lives of the clergy nowadays offer very few worthy\nexamples to the laity.\u201d\n\nLady Melthorpe coughed delicately and warningly. She did not like\nplain speaking,--she had a \u201cpet clergyman\u201d of her own,--moreover, she\nhad been bred up in the provinces among \u201ccounty\u201d folk, some of whom\nstill believe that at one period of the world\u2019s history \u201cGod\u201d was\nalways wanting the blood of bulls and goats to smell \u201cas a sweet\nsavour in His nostrils.\u201d She herself preferred to believe in the\npossibility of the Deity\u2019s having \u201cnostrils,\u201d rather than take the\ntrouble to consider the effect of His majestic Thought as evinced in\nthe supremely perfect order of the planets and solar systems.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi, however, went on regardlessly.\n\n\u201cFree-thinkers,\u201d he said, \u201care for the most part truth-seekers. If\neverybody gave way to the foolish credulity attained to by the\nbelievers in the \u2018Mahatmas\u2019 for instance, what an idiotic condition\nthe world would be in! We want free-thinkers,--as many as we can\nget,--to help us to distinguish between the false and the true. We\nwant to separate the Actual from the Seeming in our lives,--and there\nis so much Seeming and so little Actual that the process is\ndifficult.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy, dat is nonsense!\u201d said the Baroness von Denkwald. \u201cMit a Fact,\nzere is no mistake--you prove him. See!\u201d and she took up a silver\npenholder from the table near her.--\u201cHere is a pen,--mit ink it is\nused to write--zere is what you call ze Actual.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled.\n\n\u201cBelieve me, my dear Madame, it is only a pen so long as you elect to\nview it in that light. Allow me!\u201d--and he took it from her hand,\nfixing his eyes upon her the while. \u201cWill you place the tips of your\nfingers--the fingers of the left hand--yes--so! on my wrist? Thank\nyou!\u201d--this, as she obeyed with a rather vague smile on her big fat\nface.--\u201cNow you will let me have the satisfaction of offering you this\nspray of lilies--the first of the season,\u201d and he gravely extended the\nsilver penholder.--\u201cIs not the odour delicious?\u201d\n\n\u201cAch! it is heavenly!\u201d and the Baroness smelt at the penholder with an\ninimitable expression of delight. Everybody began to laugh--El-R\u00e2mi\nsilenced them by a look.\n\n\u201cMadame you are under some delusion,\u201d he said quietly.--\u201cYou have no\nlilies in your hand, only a penholder.\u201d\n\nShe laughed.\n\n\u201cYou are very funny!\u201d she said--\u201cbut I shall not be deceived. I shall\nwear my lilies.\u201d\n\nAnd she endeavoured to fasten the penholder in the front of her\nbodice,--when suddenly El-R\u00e2mi drew his hand away from hers. A\nstartled expression passed over her face, but in a minute or two she\nrecovered her equanimity and twirled the penholder placidly between\nher fingers.\n\n\u201cZere is what you call ze Actual,\u201d she said, taking up the\nconversation where it had previously been interrupted.--\u201cA penholder\nis always a penholder--you can make nothing more of it.\u201d\n\nBut here she was surrounded by the excited onlookers--a flood of\nexplanations poured upon her, as to how she had taken that same\npenholder for a spray of lilies, and so forth, till the old lady grew\nquite hot and angry.\n\n\u201cI shall not pelieve you!\u201d she said indignantly.--\u201cIt is impossible.\nYou haf a joke--but I do not see it. Irene\u201d--and she looked\nappealingly to Madame Vassilius, who had witnessed the whole\nscene--\u201cit is not true, is it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, dear Baroness, it is true,\u201d said Irene soothingly.--\u201cBut it is a\nnothing after all. Your eyes were deceived for the moment--and Mr.\nEl-R\u00e2mi has shown us very cleverly, by scientific exposition, how the\nhuman sight can be deluded--he conveyed an impression of lilies to\nyour brain, and you saw lilies accordingly. I quite understand,--it is\nonly through the brain that we receive any sense of sight. The thing\nis easy of comprehension, though it seems wonderful.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is devilry!\u201d said the Baroness solemnly, getting up and shaking\nout her voluminous pink train with a wrathful gesture.\n\n\u201cNo, Madame,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi earnestly, with a glance at her which\nsomehow had the effect of quieting her ruffled feelings. \u201cIt is merely\nscience. Science was looked upon as \u2018devilry\u2019 in ancient times,--but\nwe in our generation are more liberal-minded.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut what shall it lead to, all zis science?\u201d demanded the Baroness,\nstill with some irritation.--\u201cI see not any use in it. If one deceive\nze eye so quickly, it is only to make peoples angry to find demselves\nsuch fools!\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, my dear lady, if we could all know to what extent exactly we\ncould be fooled,--not only as regards our sight, but our other senses\nand passions, we should be wiser and more capable of self-government\nthan we are. Every step that helps us to the attainment of such\nknowledge is worth the taking.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you have taken so many of those steps,\u201d said Irene Vassilius,\n\u201cthat I suppose it would be difficult to deceive _you_?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am only human, Madame,\u201d returned El-R\u00e2mi, with a faint touch of\nbitterness in his tone, \u201cand therefore I am capable of being led\nastray by my own emotions as others are.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre we not getting too analytical?\u201d asked Lord Melthorpe cheerily.\n\u201cHere is Miss Chester wanting to know where your brother F\u00e9raz is.\nShe only caught a glimpse of him in the distance,--and she would like\nto make his closer acquaintance.\u201d\n\n\u201cHe went with Mr. Ainsworth,\u201d began El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cYes--I saw them together in the conservatory,\u201d said Lady Melthorpe.\n\u201cThey were deep in conversation--but it is time they gave us a little\nof their company--I\u2019ll go and fetch them here.\u201d\n\nShe went, but almost immediately returned, followed by the two\nindividuals in question. F\u00e9raz looked a little flushed and\nexcited,--Roy Ainsworth calm and nonchalant as usual.\n\n\u201cI\u2019ve asked your brother to come and sit to me to-morrow,\u201d the latter\nsaid, addressing himself at once to El-R\u00e2mi. \u201cHe is quite willing to\noblige me,--and I presume you have no objection?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot the least in the world!\u201d responded El-R\u00e2mi with apparent\nreadiness, though the keen observer might have detected a slight ring\nof satirical coldness in his tone.\n\n\u201cHe is a curious fellow,\u201d continued Roy, looking at F\u00e9raz where he\nstood, going through the formality of an introduction to Miss Chester,\nwhose bold bright eyes rested upon him in frank and undisguised\nadmiration. \u201cHe seems to know nothing of life.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you call \u2018life\u2019?\u201d demanded El-R\u00e2mi, with harsh abruptness.\n\n\u201cWhy, life as we men live it, of course,\u201d answered Roy, complacently.\n\n\u201c\u2018Life, as we men live it!\u2019\u201d echoed El-R\u00e2mi. \u201cBy Heaven, there is\nnothing viler under the sun than life lived so! The very beasts have a\nmore decent and self-respecting mode of behaviour,--and the everyday\nexistence of an ordinary \u2018man about town\u2019 is low and contemptible as\ncompared with that of an honest-hearted dog!\u201d\n\nAinsworth lifted his languid eyes with a stare of amazement;--Irene\nVassilius smiled.\n\n\u201cI agree with you!\u201d she said softly.\n\n\u201cOh, of course!\u201d murmured Roy sarcastically--\u201cMadame Vassilius agrees\nwith everything that points to, or suggests, the utter worthlessness\nof Man!\u201d\n\nHer eyes flashed.\n\n\u201cBelieve me,\u201d she said, with some passion, \u201cI would give worlds to be\nable to honour and revere men,--and there are some whom I sincerely\nrespect and admire,--but I frankly admit that the majority of them\nawaken nothing in me but the sentiment of contempt. I regret it, but I\ncannot help it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou want men to be gods,\u201d said Ainsworth, regarding her with an\nindulgent smile; \u201cand when they can\u2019t succeed, poor wretches, you are\nhard on them. You are a born goddess, and to you it comes quite\nnaturally to occupy a throne on Mount Olympus, and gaze with placid\nindifference on all below,--but to others the process is difficult.\nFor example, I am a groveller. I grovel round the base of the mountain\nand rather like it. A valley is warmer than a summit, always.\u201d\n\nA faint sea-shell pink flush crept over Irene\u2019s cheeks, but she made\nno reply. She was watching F\u00e9raz, round whom a bevy of pretty women\nwere congregated, like nineteenth-century nymphs round a new Eastern\nApollo. He looked a little embarrassed, yet his very diffidence had an\nindefinable grace and attraction about it which was quite novel and\ncharming to the jaded fashionable fair ones who for the moment made\nhim their chief object of attention. They were pressing him to give\nthem some music, and he hesitated, not out of any shyness to perform,\nbut simply from a sense of wonder as to how such a spiritual,\nimpersonal, and divine thing as Music could be made to assert itself\nin the midst of so much evident frivolity. He looked appealingly at\nhis brother,--but El-R\u00e2mi regarded him not. He understood this mute\navoidance of his eyes,--he was thrown upon himself to do exactly as he\nchose,--and his sense of pride stimulated him to action. Breaking from\nthe ring of his fair admirers, he advanced towards the piano.\n\n\u201cI will play a simple prelude,\u201d he said, \u201cand, if you like it, you\nshall hear more.\u201d\n\nThere was an immediate silence. Irene Vassilius moved a little apart\nand sat on a low divan, her hands clasped idly in her lap;--near her\nstood Lord Melthorpe, Roy Ainsworth, and El-R\u00e2mi;--Sir Frederick\nVaughan and his _fianc\u00e9e_, Idina Chester, occupied what is known as a\n\u201cflirtation chair\u201d together; several guests flocked in from the\ndrawing-rooms, so that the _salon_ was comparatively well filled.\nF\u00e9raz poised his delicate and supple hands on the keyboard,--and\nthen--why, what then? Nothing!--only music!--music divinely pure and\nsweet as a lark\u2019s song,--music that spoke of things as yet undeclared\nin mortal language,--of the mystery of an angel\u2019s tears--of the joy of\na rose in bloom,--of the midsummer dreams of a lily enfolded within\nits green leaf-pavilion,--of the love-messages carried by silver beams\nfrom bridegroom-stars to bride-satellites,--of a hundred delicate and\nwordless marvels the music talked eloquently in rounded and mystic\ntone. And gradually, but invincibly, upon all those who listened,\nthere fell the dreamy nameless spell of perfect harmony,--they did not\nunderstand, they could not grasp the far-off heavenly meanings which\nthe sounds conveyed, but they knew and felt such music was not\nearthly. The quest of gold, or thirst of fame, had nothing to do with\nsuch composition--it was above and beyond all that. When the delicious\nmelody ceased, it seemed to leave an emptiness in the air,--an aching\nregret in the minds of the audience; it had fallen like dew on arid\nsoil, and there were tears in many eyes, and passionate emotions\nstirring many hearts, as F\u00e9raz pressed his finger-tips with a\nvelvet-like softness on the closing chord. Then came a burst of\nexcited applause which rather startled him from his dreams. He looked\nround with a faint smile of wonderment, and this time chanced to meet\nhis brother\u2019s gaze earnestly fixed upon him. Then an idea seemed to\noccur to him, and, playing a few soft notes by way of introduction, he\nsaid aloud, almost as though he were talking to himself--\n\n\u201cThere are in the world\u2019s history a few old legends and stories,\nwhich, whether they are related in prose or rhyme, seem to set\nthemselves involuntarily to music. I will tell you one now, if you\ncare to hear it,--the Story of the Priest Philemon.\u201d\n\nThere was a murmur of delight and expectation, followed by profound\nsilence as before.\n\nF\u00e9raz lifted his eyes,--bright stag-like eyes, now flashing with\nwarmth and inspiration,--and, pressing the piano pedals, he played a\nfew slow solemn chords like the opening bars of a church chant; then,\nin a soft, rich, perfectly modulated voice, he began.\n\n\n\n\n XXV.\n\n\u201cLong, long ago, in a far-away province of the Eastern world, there\nwas once a priest named Philemon. Early and late he toiled to acquire\nwisdom--early and late he prayed and meditated on things divine and\nunattainable. To the Great Unknown his aspirations turned; with all\nthe ardour of his soul he sought to penetrate behind the mystic veil\nof the supreme centre of creation; and the joys and sorrows, hopes and\nlabours of mortal existence seemed to him but worthless and\ncontemptible trifles when compared with the eternal marvels of the\nincomprehensible Hereafter, on which, in solitude, he loved to dream\nand ponder.\u201d\n\nHere F\u00e9raz paused,--and, touching the keys of the piano with a\ncaressing lightness, played a soft minor melody, which, like a silver\nthread of sound, accompanied his next words.\n\n\u201cAnd so, by gradual and almost imperceptible degrees, the wise priest\nPhilemon forgot the world;--forgot men, and women, and little\nchildren,--forgot the blueness of the skies, the verdure of the\nfields,--forgot the grace of daisies growing in the grass,--forgot the\nmusic of sweet birds singing in the boughs,--forgot indeed everything,\nexcept--himself!--and his prayers, and his wisdom, and his burning\ndesire to approach more closely every hour to that wondrous goal of\nthe Divine from whence all life doth come, and to which all life must,\nin due time, return.\u201d\n\nHere the musical accompaniment changed to a plaintive tenderness.\n\n\u201cBut, by and by, news of the wise priest Philemon began to spread in\nthe town near where he had his habitation,--and people spoke of his\nfastings and his watchings with awe and wonder, with hope and\nfear,--until at last there came a day when a great crowd of the sick\nand sorrowful and oppressed surrounded his abode, and called upon him\nto pray for them, and give them comfort.\n\n\u201c\u2018Bestow upon _us_ some of the Divine consolation!\u2019 they cried,\nkneeling in the dust and weeping as they spoke--\u2018for we are weary and\nworn with labour,--we suffer with harsh wounds of the heart and\nspirit,--many of us have lost all that makes life dear. Pity us, O\nthou wise servant of the Supreme--and tell us out of thy stores of\nheavenly wisdom whether we shall ever regain the loves that we have\nlost!\u2019\n\n\u201cThen the priest Philemon rose up in haste and wrath, and going out\nbefore them said--\n\n\u201c\u2018Depart from me, ye accursed crew of wicked worldlings! Why have ye\nsought me out, and what have I to do with your petty miseries? Lo, ye\nhave brought the evils of which ye complain upon yourselves, and\njustice demands that ye should suffer. Ask not from me one word of\npity--seek not from me any sympathy for sin. I have severed myself\nfrom ye all, to escape pollution,--my life belongs to God, not to\nHumanity!\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd the people hearing him were wroth, and went their way homewards,\nsore at heart, and all uncomforted. And Philemon the priest, fearing\nlest they might seek him out again, departed from that place for ever,\nand made for himself a hut in the deep thickness of the forest where\nnever a human foot was found to wander save his own. Here in the\nsilence and deep solitude he resolved to work and pray, keeping his\nheart and spirit sanctified from every soiling touch of nature that\ncould separate his thoughts from the Divine.\u201d\n\nAgain the music changed, this time to a dulcet rippling passage of\nnotes like the flowing of a mountain stream,--and F\u00e9raz continued,--\n\n\u201cOne morning, as, lost in a rapture of holy meditation, he prayed his\ndaily prayer, a small bird perched upon his window-sill, and began to\nsing. Not a loud song, but a sweet song--full of the utmost tenderness\nand playful warbling,--a song born out of the leaves and grasses and\ngentle winds of heaven,--as delicate a tune as ever small bird sang.\nThe priest Philemon listened, and his mind wandered. The bird\u2019s\nsinging was sweet; oh, so sweet, that it recalled to him many things\nhe had imagined long ago forgotten,--almost he heard his mother\u2019s\nvoice again,--and the blithe and gracious days of his early youth\nsuggested themselves to his memory like the lovely fragments of a poem\nonce familiar, but now scarce remembered. Presently the bird flew\naway, and the priest Philemon awoke as from a dream,--his prayer had\nbeen interrupted; his thoughts had been drawn down to earth from\nheaven, all through the twittering of a foolish feathered thing not\nworth a farthing! Angry with himself, he spent the day in\npenitence,--and on the following morning betook himself to his\ndevotions with more than his usual ardour. Stretched on his prayer-mat\nhe lay entranced; when suddenly a low sweet trill of sound broke\ngently through the silence,--the innocent twittering voice of the\nlittle bird once more aroused him,--first to a sense of wonder, then\nof wrath. Starting up impatiently he looked about him, and saw the\nbird quite close, within his reach,--it had flown inside his hut, and\nnow hopped lightly over the floor towards him, its bright eyes full of\nfearless confidence, its pretty wings still quivering with the fervour\nof its song. Then the priest Philemon seized a heavy oaken staff, and\nslew it where it stood with one remorseless blow, and flung the little\nheap of ruffled feathers out into the woodland, saying fiercely--\n\n\u201c\u2018Thou, at least, shalt never more disturb my prayers!\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd, even as he thus spoke, a great light shone forth suddenly, more\ndazzling than the brightness of the day, and lo! an Angel stood within\nthe hut, just where the dead bird\u2019s blood had stained the floor. And\nthe priest Philemon fell upon his face and trembled greatly, for the\nVision was more glorious than the grandest of his dreams. And a Voice\ncalled aloud, saying--\n\n\u201c\u2018Philemon, why hast thou slain My messenger?\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd Philemon looked up in fear and wonderment, answering--\n\n\u201c\u2018Dread Lord, what messenger? I have slain nothing but a bird.\u2019\n\n\u201cAnd the voice spake again, saying--\n\n\u201c\u2018O thou remorseless priest!--Knowest thou not that every bird in the\nforest is Mine,--every leaf on the trees is Mine,--every blade of\ngrass and every flower is Mine, and is a part of Me! The song of that\nslain bird was sweeter than thy many prayers;--and when thou didst\nlisten to its voice thou wert nearer Heaven than thou hast ever been!\nThou hast rebelled against My law;--in rejecting Love, thou hast\nrejected Me,--and when thou didst turn the poor and needy from thy\ndoors, refusing them all comfort, even so did I turn My Face from thee\nand refuse thy petitions. Wherefore hear now thy punishment. For the\nspace of a thousand years thou shalt live within this forest;--no\nhuman eye shall ever find thee,--no human foot shall ever track\nthee--no human voice shall ever sound upon thy ears. No companions\nshalt thou have but birds and beasts and flowers,--from these shalt\nthou learn wisdom, and through thy love of these alone shalt thou make\nthy peace with Heaven! Pray no more,--fast no more,--for such things\ncount but little in the eternal reckonings,--but _love_!--and learn to\nmake thyself beloved, even by the least and lowest, and by this shalt\nthou penetrate at last the mystery of the Divine!\u2019\n\n\u201cThe voice ceased--the glory vanished, and when the priest Philemon\nraised his eyes he was alone.\u201d\n\nHere, altering by a few delicate modulations the dreamy character of\nthe music he had been improvising, F\u00e9raz reverted again to the\nquaint, simple, and solemn chords with which he had opened the\nrecitation.\n\n\u201cHumbled in spirit, stricken at heart, conscious of the justice of his\ndoom, yet working as one not without hope, Philemon began his\nheaven-appointed task. And to this day travellers\u2019 legends tell of a\nvast impenetrable solitude, a forest of giant trees, where never a\nhuman step has trod, but where, it is said, strange colonies of birds\nand beasts do congregate,--where rare and marvellous plants and\nflowers flourish in their fairest hues,--where golden bees and\ndazzling butterflies gather by thousands,--where all the songsters of\nthe air make the woods musical,--where birds of passage, outward or\nhomeward bound, rest on their way, sure of a pleasant haven,--and\nwhere all the beautiful, wild, and timid inhabitants of field, forest,\nand mountain are at peace together, mutually content in an Eden of\ntheir own. There is a guardian of the place,--so say the country\npeople,--a Spirit, thin and white, and silver-haired, who understands\nthe language of the birds, and knows the secrets of the flowers, and\nin whom all the creatures of the woods confide--a mystic being whose\nstrange life has lasted nearly a thousand years. Generations have\npassed--cities and empires have crumbled to decay,--and none remember\nhim who was once called Philemon,--the \u2018wise\u2019 priest, grown wise\nindeed at last, with the only wisdom God ever sanctifies--the Wisdom\nof Love.\u201d\n\nWith a soft impressive chord the music ceased,--the story was\nended,--and F\u00e9raz rose from the piano to be surrounded at once by a\ncrowd of admirers, all vying with each other in flattering expressions\nof applause and delight; but, though he received these compliments\nwith unaffected and courteous grace enough, his eyes perpetually\nwandered to his brother\u2019s face,--that dark, absorbed beloved\nface,--yes, beloved!--for, rebel as he might against El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s\ninflexible will and despotic power, F\u00e9raz knew he could never wrench\nfrom out his heart the deep affection and reverence for him which were\nthe natural result of years of tender and sympathetic intercourse. If\nhis brother had commanded him, he had also loved him,--there could be\nno doubt of that. Was he displeased or unhappy now, that he looked so\nsad and absorbed in gloomy and perplexed thought? A strange pained\nemotion stirred F\u00e9raz\u2019s sensitive soul,--some intangible vague sense\nof separation seemed to have arisen between himself and El-R\u00e2mi, and\nhe grew impatient with this brilliant assembly of well-dressed\nchattering folk, whose presence prevented him from giving vent to the\nfull expression of his feelings. Lady Melthorpe talked to him in\ndulcet languid tones, fanning herself the while, and telling him\nsweetly what a \u201cwonderful touch\u201d he had,--what an \u201cexquisite speaking\nvoice\u201d--and so forth, all which elegantly turned phrases he heard as\nin a dream. As soon as he could escape from her and those of her\nfriends who were immediately round him, he made his way to El-R\u00e2mi\nand touched his arm.\n\n\u201cLet me stay beside you!\u201d he said in a low tone in which there was a\nslight accent of entreaty.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi turned, and looked at him kindly.\n\n\u201cDear boy, you had better make new friends while you can, lest the old\nbe taken from you.\u201d\n\n\u201cFriends!\u201d echoed F\u00e9raz--\u201cFriends--_here_?\u201d He gave a gesture more\neloquent than speech, of doubt and disdain,--then continued, \u201cMight we\nnot go now? Is it not time to return home and sleep?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled.\n\n\u201cNay, are we not seeing life? Here we are among pretty women,\nwell-bred men--the rooms are elegant,--and the conversation is as\ndelightfully vague and nearly as noisy as the chattering of\nmonkeys--yet, with all these advantages, you talk of sleep!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz laughed a little.\n\n\u201cYes, I am tired,\u201d he said. \u201cIt does not seem to me real, all\nthis--there is something shadowy and unsubstantial about it. I think\nsleep is better.\u201d\n\nAt that moment Irene Vassilius came up to them.\n\n\u201cI am just going,\u201d she said, letting her soft serious eyes dwell on\nF\u00e9raz with interest, \u201cbut I feel I must thank you for your story of\nthe \u2018Priest Philemon.\u2019 Is it your own idea?--or does such a legend\nexist?\u201d\n\n\u201cNothing is really new,\u201d replied F\u00e9raz--\u201cbut, such as it is, it is my\nown invention.\u201d\n\n\u201cThen you are a poet and musician at one and the same time,\u201d said\nIrene. \u201cIt seems a natural combination of gifts, yet the two do not\nalways go together. I hope\u201d--she now addressed herself to El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cI\nhope very much you will come and see me, though I\u2019m afraid I\u2019m not a\nvery popular person. My friends are few, so I cannot promise you much\nentertainment. Indeed, as a rule, people do not like me.\u201d\n\n\u201c_I_ like you!\u201d said F\u00e9raz, quickly and impulsively.\n\nShe smiled.\n\n\u201cYes? That is good of you. And I believe you, for you are too\nunworldly to deal in flatteries. But I assure you that, generally\nspeaking, literary women are never social favourites.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot even when they are lovely like you?\u201d questioned F\u00e9raz, with\nsimple frankness.\n\nShe coloured at the evident sincerity of his admiration and the boyish\nopenness with which it was thus expressed. Then she laughed a little.\n\n\u201cLoveliness is not acknowledged as at all existent in literary\nfemales,\u201d she replied lightly, yet with a touch of scorn,--\u201ceven if\nthey do possess any personal charm, it only serves as a peg for the\nmalicious to hang a slander on. And, of the two sexes, men are most\ncruel to a woman who dares to think for herself.\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you sure of that, Madame?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi gently. \u201cMay not this\nbe an error of your judgment?\u201d\n\n\u201cI would that it were!\u201d she said with intense expression--\u201cHeaven\nknows how sincerely I should rejoice to be proved wrong! But I am not\nwrong. Men always judge women as their inferiors, not only physically\n(which they are) but mentally (which they are not), and always deny\nthem an independent soul and independent emotions,--the majority of\nmen, indeed, treat them pretty much as a sort of superior\ncattle;--but, nevertheless, there is a something in what the French\ncall \u2018L\u2019\u00c9ternel F\u00e9minin.\u2019 Women are distinctly the greatest\nsufferers in all suffering creation,--and I have often thought that\nfor so much pain and so much misjudgment, endured often with such\nheroic silence and uncomplaining fortitude, the compensation will be\nsweeter and more glorious than we, half drowned in our own tears, can\nas yet hope for, or imagine!\u201d\n\nShe paused--her eyes were dark with thought and full of a dreamy\nsorrow,--then, smiling gently, she held out her hand.\n\n\u201cI talk too much, you will say--women always do! Come and see me if\nyou feel disposed--not otherwise; I will send you my card through Lady\nMelthorpe--meantime, good-night!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi took her hand, and, as he pressed it in his own, felt again\nthat curious thrill which had before communicated itself to his nerves\nthrough the same contact.\n\n\u201cSurely you must be a visionary, Madame!\u201d he said, abruptly and with a\nvague sense of surprise--\u201cand you see things not at all of this\nworld!\u201d\n\nHer faint roseate colour deepened, giving singular beauty to her face.\n\n\u201cWhat a tell-tale hand mine is!\u201d she replied, withdrawing it slowly\nfrom his clasp. \u201cYes--you are right,--if I could not see things higher\nthan this world, I could not endure my existence for an hour. It is\nbecause I feel the future so close about me that I have courage for,\nand indifference to, the present.\u201d\n\nWith that, she left them, and both El-R\u00e2mi and F\u00e9raz followed her\ngraceful movements with interested eyes, as she glided through the\nrooms in her snowy trailing robes, with the frosty flash of diamonds\nin her hair, till she had altogether disappeared; then the languid\nvoice of Lady Melthorpe addressed them.\n\n\u201cIsn\u2019t she an odd creature, that Irene Vassilius? So quaint and\npeculiar in her ideas! People detest her, you know--she is so\ndreadfully clever!\u201d\n\n\u201cThere could not be a better reason for hatred!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cYou see, she says such unpleasant things,\u201d went on Lady Melthorpe,\ncomplacently fanning herself,--\u201cshe has such decided opinions, and\nwill not accommodate herself to people\u2019s ways. I must confess I always\nfind her _de trop_ myself.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe was your guest to-night,\u201d said F\u00e9raz suddenly, and with such a\nsternness in his accent as caused her ladyship to look at him in blank\nsurprise.\n\n\u201cCertainly! One must always ask a celebrity.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf one must always ask, then one is bound always to respect,\u201d said\nF\u00e9raz coldly. \u201cIn our _code d\u2019honneur_, we never speak ill of those\nwho have partaken of our hospitality.\u201d\n\nSo saying, he turned on his heel and walked away with so much\nhaughtiness of demeanour that Lady Melthorpe stood as though rooted to\nthe spot, staring speechlessly after him. Then rousing herself, she\nlooked at El-R\u00e2mi and shrugged her shoulders.\n\n\u201cReally,\u201d she began,--\u201creally, Mr. El-R\u00e2mi, your brother\u2019s manner is\nvery strange----\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is,\u201d returned El-R\u00e2mi quickly--\u201cI admit it. His behaviour is\naltogether unpolished--and he is quite unaccustomed to society. I told\nLord Melthorpe so,--and I was against his being invited here. He says\nexactly what he thinks, without fear or favour, and in this regard is\nreally a mere barbarian. Allow me to apologise for him!\u201d\n\nLady Melthorpe bowed stiffly,--she saw, or fancied she saw, a faint\nironical smile playing on El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s lips beneath his dark moustache.\nShe was much annoyed,--the idea of a \u201cboy,\u201d like F\u00e9raz, presuming to\ntalk to her, a leader of London fashion, about a _code d\u2019honneur_! The\nthing was monstrous,--absurd! And as for Irene Vassilius, why should\nnot she be talked about?--she was a public person; a writer of books\nwhich Mrs. Grundy in her church-going moods had voted as \u201cdangerous.\u201d\nTruly Lady Melthorpe considered she had just cause to be ruffled, and\nshe began to regret having invited these \u201cEastern men,\u201d as she termed\nthem, to her house at all. El-R\u00e2mi perceived her irritation, but he\nmade no further remark; and, as soon as he could conveniently do so,\nhe took his formal leave of her. Quickly threading his way through the\nnow rapidly thinning throng, he sought out F\u00e9raz, whom he found in\nthe hall talking to Roy Ainsworth and making final arrangements for\nthe sitting he was to give the artist next day.\n\n\u201cI should like to make a study of your head too,\u201d said Roy, with a\nkeen glance at El-R\u00e2mi as he approached--\u201cbut I suppose you have no\ntime.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo time--and still less inclination!\u201d responded El-R\u00e2mi laughingly;\n\u201cfor I have sworn that no \u2018counterfeit presentment\u2019 of my bodily form\nshall ever exist. It would always be a false picture--it would never\nbe me, because it would only represent the perishable, whilst I am the\nimperishable.\u201d\n\n\u201cSingular man!\u201d said Roy Ainsworth. \u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat should I mean,\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi quickly, \u201csave what all your\nreligions and churches mean, if in truth they have any meaning. Is\nthere not something else besides this fleshly covering? If you can\npaint the imagined Soul of a man looking out of his eyes, you are a\ngreat artist,--but if you could paint the Soul itself, stripped of its\nmortal disguise, radiant, ethereal, brilliant as lightning, beautiful\nas dawn, you would be greater still. And the soul is the Me,--these\nfeatures of mine, this Appearance, is mere covering,--we want a\nPortrait, not a Costume.\u201d\n\n\u201cYour argument applies to your brother as well as yourself,\u201d said\nAinsworth, wondering at the eloquent wildness of this strange\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s language, and fascinated by it in spite of himself.\n\n\u201cJust so! Only the earth-garment of F\u00e9raz is charming and\nbecoming--mine is not. It is a case of \u2018my hair is white but not with\nyears\u2019--the \u2018Prisoner of Chillon\u2019 sort of thing. Good-night!\u201d\n\n\u201cGood-night!\u201d and the artist shook hands warmly with both brothers,\nsaying to F\u00e9raz as he parted from him--\u201cI may expect you then\nto-morrow? You will not fail?\u201d\n\n\u201cYou may rely upon me!\u201d and F\u00e9raz nodded lightly in adieu, and\nfollowed El-R\u00e2mi out of the house into the street, where they began\nto walk homeward together at a rapid rate. As they went, by some\nmutual involuntary instinct they lifted their eyes to the dense blue\nheavens, where multitudes of stars were brilliantly visible. F\u00e9raz\ndrew a long deep breath.\n\n\u201cThere,\u201d he said, \u201cis the Infinite and Real,--what we have seen of\nlife to-night is finite and unreal.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi made no reply.\n\n\u201cDo you not think so?\u201d persisted F\u00e9raz earnestly.\n\n\u201cI cannot say definitely what is Real and what is Unreal,\u201d said\nEl-R\u00e2mi slowly--\u201cboth are so near akin. F\u00e9raz, are you aware you\noffended Lady Melthorpe to-night?\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should she be offended? I only said just what I thought.\u201d\n\n\u201cGood heavens, my dear boy, if you always go about saying just what\nyou think, you will find the world too hot to hold you. To say the\nleast of it, you will never be fit for society.\u201d\n\n\u201cI don\u2019t want to be fit for it,\u201d said F\u00e9raz disdainfully, \u201cif Lady\nMelthorpe\u2019s \u2018at home\u2019 is a picture of it. I want to forget it,--the\nmost of it, I mean. I shall remember Madame Vassilius because she is\nsympathetic and interesting. But for the rest!--my dearest brother, I\nam far happier with you.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi took his arm gently.\n\n\u201cYet you leave me to-morrow to gratify an artist\u2019s whim!\u201d he said.\n\u201cHave you thought of that?\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, but that is nothing--only an hour or two\u2019s sitting. He was so\nvery anxious that I could not refuse. Does it displease you?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear F\u00e9raz, I am displeased at nothing. You complained of my\nauthority over you once--and I have determined you shall not complain\nagain. Consider yourself free.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not want my liberty,\u201d said F\u00e9raz almost petulantly.\n\n\u201cTry it!\u201d responded El-R\u00e2mi with a smile and half a sigh. \u201cLiberty is\nsweet,--but, like other things, it brings its own responsibilities.\u201d\n\nThey walked on till they had almost reached their own door.\n\n\u201cYour story of the priest Philemon was very quaint and pretty,\u201d said\nEl-R\u00e2mi then abruptly. \u201cYou meant it as a sort of allegory for me,\ndid you not?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz looked wistfully at him, but hesitated to reply.\n\n\u201cIt does not quite fit me,\u201d went on El-R\u00e2mi gently. \u201cI am not\nimpervious to love--for I love _you_. Perhaps the angels will take\nthat fact into consideration when they are settling my thousand or\nmillion years\u2019 punishment.\u201d\n\nThere was a touch of quiet pathos in his voice which moved F\u00e9raz\ngreatly, and he could not trust himself to speak. When they entered\ntheir own abode, El-R\u00e2mi said the usual \u201cGood-night\u201d in his usual\nkindly manner,--but F\u00e9raz reverently stooped and kissed the hand\nextended to him,--the potent hand that had enriched his life with\npoesy and dowered it with dreams.\n\n\n\n\n XXVI.\n\nAll the next day El-R\u00e2mi was alone. F\u00e9raz went out early to fulfil\nthe appointment made with Roy Ainsworth; no visitors called,--and not\neven old Zaroba came near the study, where, shut up with his books and\npapers, her master worked assiduously hour after hour, writing as\nrapidly as hand and pen would allow, and satisfying his appetite\nsolely with a few biscuits dipped in wine. Just as the shadows of\nevening were beginning to fall, his long solitude was disturbed by the\nsharp knock of a telegraph-messenger, who handed him a missive which\nran briefly thus--\n\n \u201cYour brother stays to dine with me.--Ainsworth.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi crushed the paper in his hand, then, flinging it aside, stood\nfor a moment, lost in meditation, with a sorrowful expression in his\ndark eyes.\n\n\u201cAy me! the emptiness of the world!\u201d he murmured at last--\u201cI shall be\nleft alone, I suppose, as my betters are left, according to the rule\nof this curiously designed and singularly unsatisfactory system of\nhuman life. What do the young care for the solitude of their elders\nwho have tended and loved them? New thoughts, new scenes, new\naspirations beckon them, and off they go like birds on the\nwing,--never to return to the old nest or the old ways. I despise the\nmajority of women myself,--and yet I pity from my soul all those who\nare mothers,--the miserable dignity and pathos of maternity are, in my\nopinion, grotesquely painful. To think of the anguish the poor\ndelicate wretches endure in bringing children at all into the\nworld,--then, the tenderness and watchful devotion expended on their\nearly years,--and then--why then, these same children grow up for the\nmost part into indifferent (when not entirely callous) men and women,\nwho make their own lives as it seems best to themselves, and almost\nforget to whom they owe their very existence. It is hard--bitterly\nhard. There ought to be some reason for such a wild waste of love and\naffliction. At present, however, I can see none.\u201d\n\nHe sighed deeply, and stared moodily into the deepening shadows.\n\n\u201cLoneliness is horrible!\u201d he said aloud, as though addressing some\ninvisible auditor. \u201cIt is the chief terror of death,--for one must\nalways die alone. No matter how many friends and relatives stand\nweeping round the bed, one is absolutely _alone_ at the hour of death,\nfor the stunned soul wanders blindly\n\n          \u201c_out of sight,_\n _Far off in a place where it is not heard._\u201d\n\nThat solitary pause and shudder on the brink of the Unseen is\nfearful,--it unnerves us all to think of it. If Love could help\nus,--but even Love grows faint and feeble then.\u201d\n\nAs he mused thus, a strange vague longing came over him,--an impulse\narising out of he knew not what suggestion; and, acting on his\nthought, he went suddenly and swiftly upstairs, and straight into the\nchamber of Lilith. Zaroba was there, and rose from her accustomed\ncorner silently, and moved with a somewhat feeble step into the\nante-room while El-R\u00e2mi bent over the sleeping girl. Lovelier than\never she seemed that evening,--and, as he stooped above her, she\nstretched out her fair white arms and smiled. His heart beat\nquickly,--he had, for the moment, ceased to analyse his own\nfeelings,--and he permitted himself to gaze upon her beauty and absorb\nit, without, as usual, taking any thought of the scientific aspect of\nher condition.\n\n \u201cTresses twisted by fairy fingers,\n In which the light of the morning lingers!\u201d\n\nhe murmured, as he touched a rippling strand of the lovely hair that\nlay spread like a fleece of gold floss silk on the pillow near\nhim,--\u201cPoor Lilith!--Sweet Lilith!\u201d\n\nAs if responsive to his words, she turned slightly towards him, and\nfelt the air blindly with one wandering white hand. Gently he caught\nit and imprisoned it within his own,--then, on a strange impulse,\nkissed it. To his utter amazement she answered that touch as though it\nhad been a call.\n\n\u201cI am here, ... my Belov\u00ebd!\u201d\n\nHe started, and an icy thrill ran through his veins;--that word\n\u201cBelov\u00ebd\u201d was a sort of electric shock to his system, and sent a\ndizzying rush of blood to his brain. What did she mean,--what could\nshe mean? The last time she had addressed him she had declared that he\nwas not even her friend--now she called him her \u201cbeloved\u201d--as much to\nhis amazement as his fear. Presently, however, he considered that here\nperhaps was some new development of his experiment;--the soul of\nLilith might possibly be in closer communion with him than he had yet\nimagined. But, in spite of his attempt to reason away his emotions, he\nwas nervous, and stood by the couch silently, afraid to speak, and\nequally afraid to move. Lilith was silent too. A long pause ensued, in\nwhich the usually subdued tickings of the clock seemed to become\npainfully audible. El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s breath came and went quickly,--he was\nsingularly excited,--some subtle warmth from the little hand he held\npermeated his veins, and a sense of such utter powerlessness possessed\nhim as he had never experienced before. What ailed him? He could not\ntell. Where was the iron force of his despotic will? He seemed unable\nto exert it,--unable even to _think_ coherently while Lilith\u2019s hand\nthus rested in his. Had she grown stronger than himself? A tingling\ntremor ran through him, as the strange words of the monk\u2019s written\nwarning suddenly recurred to his memory.\n\n\u201cBeware the end! With Lilith\u2019s love comes Lilith\u2019s freedom.\u201d\n\nBut Lilith smiled with placid sweetness, and still left her hand\nconfidingly in his; he held that hand, so warm and soft and white, and\nwas loath to let it go,--he studied the rapt expression of the\nbeautiful face, the lovely curve of the sweet shut lips, the\ndelicately-veined lids of the closed eyes,--and was dimly conscious of\na sense of vague happiness curiously intermingled with terror. By and\nby he began to collect his ideas which had been so suddenly scattered\nby the one word \u201cBelov\u00ebd,\u201d--and he resolved to break the mystic\nsilence that oppressed and daunted him.\n\n\u201cDreaming or waking, is she?\u201d he queried aloud, a little tremulously,\nand as though he were talking to himself. \u201cShe must be dreaming!\u201d\n\n\u201cDreaming of joy!\u201d said Lilith softly, and with quick\nresponsiveness--\u201conly that Joy is no dream! I hear your voice,--I am\nconscious of your touch,--almost I see you! The cloud hangs there\nbetween us still--but God is good,--He will remove that cloud.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi listened, perplexed and wondering.\n\n\u201cLilith,\u201d he said in a voice that strove in vain to assume its wonted\nfirmness and authority--\u201cWhat say you of clouds,--you who are in the\nfull radiance of a light that is quenchless? Have you not told me of a\nglory that out-dazzles the sun, in which you move and have your\nbeing,--then what do you know of Shadow?\u201d\n\n\u201cYours is the Shadow,\u201d replied Lilith--\u201cnot mine! I would that I could\nlift it from your eyes, that you might see the wonder and the beauty.\nOh, cruel Shadow, that lies between my love and me!\u201d\n\n\u201cLilith! Lilith!\u201d exclaimed El-R\u00e2mi in strange agitation, \u201cWhy will\nyou talk of love!\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you not think of love?\u201d said Lilith--\u201cand must I not respond to\nyour innermost thought?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot always do you so respond, Lilith!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi quickly,\nrecovering himself a little, and glad of an opportunity to bring back\nhis mind to a more scientific level. \u201cOften you speak of things I know\nnot,--things that perhaps I shall never know----\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, you _must_ know,\u201d said Lilith, with soft persistence. \u201cEvery\nunit of life in every planet is bound to know its Cause and Final\nIntention. All is clear to me, and will be so to you, hereafter. You\nask me of these things--I tell you,--but you do not believe me;--you\nwill never believe me till--the end.\u201d\n\n\u201cBeware the end!\u201d The words echoed themselves so distinctly in\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s mind that he could almost have fancied they were spoken\naloud in the room. \u201cWhat end?\u201d he asked eagerly.\n\nBut to this Lilith answered nothing.\n\nHe looked at the small sensitive hand he held, and, stroking it\ngently, was about to lay it back on her bosom, when all at once she\npressed her fingers closely over his palm, and sat upright, her\ndelicate face expressive of the most intense emotion, notwithstanding\nher closed eyes.\n\n\u201cWrite!\u201d she said in a clear penetrating voice that sent silvery\nechoes through the room--\u201cwrite these truths to the world you live in.\nTell the people they all work for Evil, and therefore Evil shall be\nupon them. What they sow, even that shall they reap,--with the measure\nthey have used, it shall be measured to them again. O wild world!--sad\nworld!--world wherein the pride of wealth, the joy of sin, the cruelty\nof avarice, the curse of selfishness, outweigh all pity, all sympathy,\nall love! For this God\u2019s law of Compensation makes but one\nreturn--Destruction. Wars shall prevail; plague and famine shall\nravage the nations;--young children shall murder the parents who bore\nthem; theft and rapine shall devastate the land. For your world is\nstriving to live without God,--and a world without God is a disease\nthat must die. Like a burnt-out star this Earth shall fall from its\nsphere and vanish utterly--and its sister-planets shall know it no\nmore. For when it is born again, it will be new.\u201d\n\nThe words came from her lips with a sort of fervid eloquence which\nseemed to exhaust her, for she grew paler and paler, and her head\nbegan to sink backward on the pillow. El-R\u00e2mi gently put his arm\nround her to support her, and, as he did so, a kind of supernatural\nlight irradiated her features.\n\n\u201cBelieve me, O my belov\u00ebd, believe the words of Lilith!\u201d she\nmurmured. \u201cThere is but one law leading to all Wisdom. Evil generates\nEvil, and contains within itself its own retribution. Good generates\nGood, and holds within itself the germ of eternal reproduction. Love\nbegets Love, and from Love is born Immortality!\u201d\n\nHer voice grew fainter,--she sank entirely back on her pillow; yet\nonce again her lips moved and the word \u201cImmortality!\u201d floated\nwhisperingly like a sigh. El-R\u00e2mi drew his arm away from her, and at\nthe same instant disengaged his hand from her clasp. She seemed\nbewildered at this, and for a minute or two felt in the air as though\nsearching for some missing treasure,--then her arms fell passively on\neach side of her, seemingly inert and lifeless. El-R\u00e2mi bent over her\nhalf curiously, half anxiously,--his eyes dwelt on the ruby-like jewel\nthat heaved gently up and down on her softly rounded bosom,--he\nwatched the red play of light around it, and on the white satiny skin\nbeneath,--and then,--all at once his sight grew dazzled and his brain\nbegan to swim. How lovely she was!--how much more than lovely! And how\nutterly she was his!--his, body and soul, and in his power! He was\nstartled at the tenor of his own unbidden thoughts,--whence, in God\u2019s\nname, came these new impulses, these wild desires that fired his\nblood? ... Furious with himself for what he deemed the weakness of his\nown emotions, he strove to regain the mastery over his nerves,--to\nsettle his mind once more in its usual attitude of cold inflexibility\nand indifferent composure,--but all in vain. Some subtle chord in his\nmental composition had been touched mysteriously, he knew not how, and\nhad set all the other chords a-quivering,--and he felt himself all\nsuddenly to be as subdued and powerless as when his mysterious\nvisitor, the monk from Cyprus, had summoned up (to daunt him, as he\nthought) the strange vision of an Angel in his room.\n\nAgain he looked at Lilith;--again he resisted the temptation that\nassailed him to clasp her in his arms, to shower a lover\u2019s kisses on\nher lips, and thus waken her to the full bitter-sweet consciousness of\nearthly life,--till in the sharp extremity of his struggle, and\nloathing himself for his own folly, he suddenly dropped on his knees\nby the side of the couch and gazed with a vague wild entreaty at the\ntranquil loveliness that lay there so royally enshrined.\n\n\u201cHave mercy, Lilith!\u201d he prayed half aloud, and scarcely conscious of\nhis words. \u201cIf you are stronger in your weakness than I in my\nstrength, have mercy! Repel me,--distrust me, disobey me--but do not\nlove me! Make me not as one of the foolish for whom a woman\u2019s smile, a\nwoman\u2019s touch, are more than life, and more than wisdom. O let me not\nwaste the labour of my days on a freak of passion!--let me not lose\neverything I have gained by long study and research, for the mere wild\njoy of an hour! Lilith, Lilith! Child, woman, angel!--whatever you\nare, have pity upon me! I dare not love you! ... I dare not!\u201d\n\nSo murmuring incoherently, he rose, and, walking dizzily like a man\nabruptly startled from deep sleep, he went straight out of the room,\nnever looking back once, else he might have seen how divinely, how\nvictoriously Lilith smiled!\n\n\n\n\n XXVII.\n\nReaching his study, he shut himself in and locked the door,--and,\nthen sitting down, buried his head in his hands and fell to thinking.\nSuch odd thoughts too!--they came unbidden, and chased one another in\nand out of his brain like will-o\u2019-the-wisps in a wilderness. It was\ngrowing late, and F\u00e9raz had not yet returned,--but he heeded not the\nhour, or his brother\u2019s continued absence,--he was occupied in such a\nmental battle with his own inward forces as made him utterly\nindifferent to external things. The question he chiefly asked himself\nwas this:--Of what use was all the science he had discovered and\nmastered, if he was not exempt,--utterly exempt from the emotions\ncommon to the most ignorant of men? His pride had been that he was\n\u201cabove\u201d human nature,--that he was able to look down upon its trivial\njoys and sorrows with a supreme and satiric scorn,--that he knew its\nways so well as to be able to calculate its various hesitating moves\nin all directions, social and political, with very nearly exact\naccuracy. Why then was he shaken to the very centre of his being\nto-night, by the haunting vision of an angelic face and the echo of a\nsweet faint voice softly breathing the words--\u201cMy belov\u00ebd!\u201d He could\ndominate others; why could he not dominate himself?\n\n\u201cThis will never do!\u201d he said aloud at last, starting up from his\nbrooding attitude--\u201cI must read--I must work,--I must, at all costs,\nget out of this absurd frame of mind into which I have unwittingly\nfallen. Besides, how often have I not assured myself that for all\npractical earthly considerations Lilith is dead--positively dead!\u201d\n\nAnd to reinstate himself in this idea he unlocked his desk and took\nfrom it a small parchment volume in which he had carefully chronicled\nthe whole account of his experiment on Lilith from the beginning. One\npage was written in the form of a journal--the opposite leaf being\nreserved for \u201cqueries,\u201d and the book bore the curious superscription\n\u201cIn Search of the Soul of Lilith\u201d on its cover. The statement began at\nonce without preamble, thus:\n\n \u201c_August_ 8, 18--. 9 P.M.--Lilith, an Arab girl, aged twelve, dies in\n my arms. Cause of death, fever and inanition. Heart ceased to beat at\n ten minutes past eight this evening. While the blood is still warm in\n the corpse I inject the \u2018Electro-flamma\u2019 under the veins, close\n beneath the heart. No immediate effect visible.\n\n \u201c11 P.M.--Arab women lay out Lilith\u2019s corpse for burial. Questioned\n the people as to her origin. An orphan child, of poor parentage, no\n education, and unquiet disposition. Not instructed in religious\n matters, but following the religious customs of others by instinct and\n imitation. Distinctive features of the girl when in\n health--restlessness, temper, animalism, and dislike of restraint.\n Troublesome to manage, and not a thinking child by any means.\n\n \u201c_August_ 9. 5 A.M.--The caravan has just started on its way, leaving\n the corpse of Lilith with me. The woman Zaroba remains behind. F\u00e9raz\n I sent away last night in haste. I tell Zaroba part of my intention;\n she is superstitious and afraid of me, but willing to serve me. Lilith\n remains inanimate. I again use the \u2018Electro-flamma,\u2019 this time close\n to all the chief arteries. No sign of life.\n\n \u201c_August_ 10. Noon.--I begin rather to despair. As a last resource I\n have injected carefully a few drops of \u2018Flamma\u2019 close to the brain; it\n is the mainspring of the whole machine, and if it can be set in\n motion----\n\n \u201cMidnight.--Victory! The brain has commenced to pulsate feebly, and\n the heart with it. Breathing has begun, but slowly and with\n difficulty. A faint colour has come into the hitherto waxen face.\n Success is possible now.\n\n \u201c_August_ 15.--During these last five days Lilith has breathed, and,\n to a certain extent, lived. She does not open her eyes, nor move a\n muscle of her body, and at times still appears dead. She is kept alive\n (if it _is_ life) by the vital fluid, and by that only. I must give\n her more time.\n\n \u201c_August_ 20.--I have called her by name, and she has answered--but\n how strangely! Where does she learn the things she speaks of? She sees\n the Earth, she tells me, like a round ball circling redly in a cloud\n of vapours, and she hears music everywhere, and perceives a \u2018light\n beyond.\u2019 _Where and how does she perceive anything?_\u201d\n\nHere on the opposite side of the page was written the \u201cquery,\u201d which\nin this case was headed\n\n                                \u201cProblem.\u201d\n\n \u201cGiven, a child\u2019s brain, not wholly developed in its intellectual\n capacity, with no impressions save those which are purely material,\n and place that brain in a state of perpetual trance, _how does it come\n to imagine or comprehend things which science cannot prove?_ Is it the\n Soul which conveys these impressions, and, if so, _what_ is the Soul,\n and _where_ is it?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi read the passage over and over again, then, sighing\nimpatiently, closed the book and put it by.\n\n\u201cSince I wrote that, what has she not said--what has she not told me!\u201d\nhe muttered; \u201cand the \u2018child\u2019s brain\u2019 is a child\u2019s brain no longer,\nbut a woman\u2019s, while she has obtained absolutely no knowledge of any\nsort by external means. Yet she--she who was described by those who\nknew her in her former life as \u2018not a thinking child, troublesome and\ndifficult to manage,\u2019 she it is who describes to me the scenery and\ncivilisation of Mars, the inhabitants of Sirius, the wonders of a\nmyriad of worlds; she it is who talks of the ravishing beauty of\nthings Divine and immortal, of the glory of the heavens, of the\ndestined fate of the world. God knows it is very strange!--and the\nproblem I wrote out six years ago is hardly nearer solving than it was\nthen. If I could _believe_--but then I cannot--I must always doubt,\nand shall not doubt lead to discovery?\u201d\n\nThus arguing with himself, and scoffing interiorly at the suggestion\nwhich just then came unbidden to his mind--\u201c_Blessed are they which\nhave not seen and yet believed_\u201d--he turned over some more papers and\nsorted them, with the intention and hope of detaching his thoughts\nentirely from what had suddenly become the too-enthralling subject of\nLilith\u2019s beauteous personality. Presently he came upon a memorandum,\nover which he nodded and smiled with a sort of grim satirical content,\nentitled, \u201cThe Passions of the Human Animal as Nature made Him;\u201d it\nwas only a scrap--a hint of some idea which he had intended to make\nuse of in literary work, but he read it over now with a good deal of\ncurious satisfaction. It ran thus:\n\n \u201cMan, as a purely natural creature, fairly educated, but wholly\n unspiritualised, is a mental composition of: Hunger, Curiosity,\n Self-Esteem, Avarice, Cowardice, Lust, Cruelty, Personal Ambition; and\n on these vile qualities alone our \u2018society\u2019 hangs together; the\n virtues have no place anywhere, and do not count at all, save as\n conveniently pious metaphors.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true!\u201d he said aloud--\u201cas true as the very light of the skies!\nNow am I, or have I ever been, guilty of these common vices of\nordinary nature? No, no; I have examined my own conscience too often\nand too carefully. I have been accused of personal ambition, but even\nthat is a false accusation, for I do not seek vulgar rewards, or the\nnoise of notoriety ringing about my name. All that I am seeking to\ndiscover is meant for the benefit of the world; that Humanity,--poor,\nwretched, vicious Humanity--may know positively and finally that there\n_is_ a Future. For till they _do_ know it, beyond all manner of doubt,\nwhy should they strive to be better? Why should they seek to quell\ntheir animalism? Why should they need to be any better than they are?\nAnd why, above all things, should they be exhorted by their preachers\nand teachers to fasten their faith to a Myth, and anchor their hopes\non a Dream?\u201d\n\nAt that moment a loud and prolonged rat-tat-tatting at the street door\nstartled him,--he hastily thrust all his loose manuscripts into a\ndrawer, and went to answer the summons, glancing at the clock as he\npassed it with an air of complete bewilderment,--for it was close upon\ntwo A.M., and he could not imagine how the time had flown. He had\nscarcely set foot across the hall before another furious knocking\nbegan, and he stopped abruptly to listen to the imperative clatter\nwith a curious wondering expression on his dark handsome face. When\nthe noise ceased again, he began slowly to undo the door.\n\n\u201cPatience, my dear boy,\u201d he said as he flung it open--\u201cis a virtue, as\nyou must have seen it set forth in copy-books. I provided you with a\nlatch-key--where is it?--there could not be a more timely hour for its\nusage.\u201d\n\nBut while he spoke, F\u00e9raz, for it was he, had sprung in swiftly like\nsome wild animal pursued by hunters, and he now stood in the hall,\nnearly breathless, staring confusedly at his brother with big,\nfeverishly-bright bewildered eyes.\n\n\u201cThen I have escaped!\u201d he said in a half-whisper--\u201cI am at\nhome,--really at home again!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him steadily,--then, turning away quietly,\ncarefully shut and bolted the door.\n\n\u201cHave you spent a happy day, F\u00e9raz?\u201d he gently inquired.\n\n\u201cHappy!\u201d echoed F\u00e9raz--\u201cHappy? Yes. No! Good God!--what do you mean\nby happiness?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him again, and, making no reply to this adjuration,\nsimply turned about and went into his study. F\u00e9raz followed.\n\n\u201cI know what you think,\u201d he said in pained accents--\u201cYou think I\u2019ve\nbeen drinking--so I have. But I\u2019m not drunk, for all that. They gave\nme wine--bad burgundy--detestable champagne--the sun never shone on\nthe grapes that made it,--and I took very little of it. It is not that\nwhich has filled me with a terror too real to deserve your scorn,--it\nis not that which has driven me home here to you for help and\nshelter----\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is somewhat late to be \u2018driven\u2019 home,\u201d remarked El-R\u00e2mi with a\nslightly sarcastic smile--\u201cTwo in the morning, and--bad champagne or\ngood,--you are talking, my dear F\u00e9raz, to say the least of it, rather\nwildly.\u201d\n\n\u201cFor God\u2019s sake do not sneer at me!\u201d cried F\u00e9raz passionately--\u201cI\nshall go mad if you do! Is it as late as you say?--I never knew it. I\nfled from them at midnight;--I have wandered about alone under the\nstars since then.\u201d\n\nAt these words, El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s expression changed from satire to\ncompassion. His fine eyes softened, and their lustrous light grew\ndeeper and more tender.\n\n\u201cAlone--and under the stars?\u201d he repeated softly--\u201cAre not the two\nthings incompatible--to _you_? Have you not made the stars your\ncompanions--almost your friends?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d said F\u00e9raz, with a swift gesture of utter hopelessness.\n\u201cNot now--not now! for all is changed. I see life as it is--hideous,\nfoul, corruptible, cruel! and the once bright planets look pitiless;\nthe heavens I thought so gloriously designed are but an impenetrable\nvault arched over an ever-filling grave. There is no light, no hope\nanywhere; how can there be in the face of so much sin? El-R\u00e2mi, why\ndid you not tell me? why did you not warn me of the accursed evil of\nthis pulsating movement men call Life? For it seems _I_ have not\nlived, I have only dreamed!\u201d\n\nAnd with a heavy sigh, that seemed wrung from his very heart, he threw\nhimself wearily into a chair, and buried his head between his hands in\nan attitude of utter dejection.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him as he sat thus, with a certain shadow of\nmelancholy on his own fine features, then he spoke gently:\n\n\u201cWho told you, F\u00e9raz, that you have not lived?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cZaroba did, first of all,\u201d returned F\u00e9raz reluctantly; \u201cand now he,\nthe artist Ainsworth, says the same thing. It seems that to men of the\nworld I look a fool. I know nothing; I am as ignorant as a\nbarbarian----\u201d\n\n\u201cOf what?\u201d queried his brother. \u201cOf wine, loose women, the race-course\nand the gaming-table? Yes, I grant you, you are ignorant of these, and\nyou may thank God for your ignorance. And these wise \u2018men of the\nworld\u2019 who are so superior to you--in what does their wisdom consist?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz sat silent, wrapt in meditation. Presently he looked up; his\nlashes were wet, and his lips trembled.\n\n\u201cI wish,\u201d he murmured, \u201cI wish I had never gone there,--I wish I had\nbeen content to stay with you.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi laughed a little, but it was to hide a very different\nemotion.\n\n\u201cMy dear fellow,\u201d he said lightly, \u201cI am not an old woman that I\nshould wish you to be tied to my apron-strings. Come, make a clean\nbreast of it; if not the champagne, what is it that has so seriously\ndisagreed with you?\u201d\n\n\u201cEverything!\u201d replied F\u00e9raz emphatically. \u201cThe whole day has been one\nof discord--what wonder then that I myself am out of tune! When I\nfirst started off from the house this morning, I was full of curious\nanticipation--I looked upon this invitation to an artist\u2019s studio as a\nsort of break in what I chose to call the even monotony of my\nexistence,--I fancied I should imbibe new ideas, and be able to\nunderstand something of the artistic world of London if I spent the\nday with a man truly distinguished in his profession. When I arrived\nat the studio, Mr. Ainsworth was already at work--he was painting--a\nwoman.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell?\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, seeing that F\u00e9raz paused, and stammered\nhesitatingly.\n\n\u201cShe was nude,--this woman,\u201d he went on in a low shamed voice, a hot\nflush creeping over his delicate boyish face,--\u201cA creature without any\nmodesty or self-respect. A model, Mr. Ainsworth called her,--and it\nseems that she took his money for showing herself thus. Her body was\nbeautiful; like a statue flushed with life,--but she was a devil,\nEl-R\u00e2mi!--the foulness of her spirit was reflected in her bold\neyes--the coarseness of her mind found echo in her voice,--and I--I\nsickened at the sight of her; I had never believed in the existence of\nfiends,--but _she_ was one!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi was silent, and F\u00e9raz resumed--\n\n\u201cAs I tell you, Ainsworth was painting her, and he asked me to sit\nbeside him and watch his work. His request surprised me,--I said to\nhim in a whisper, \u2018Surely she will resent the presence of a stranger?\u2019\nHe stared at me. \u2018She? Whom do you mean?\u2019 he inquired. \u2018The woman\nthere,\u2019 I answered. He burst out laughing, called me \u2018an innocent,\u2019\nand said she was perfectly accustomed to \u2018pose\u2019 before twenty men at a\ntime, so that I need have no scruples on that score. So I sat down as\nhe bade me, and watched in silence, and thought----\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, what did you think?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cI thought evil things,\u201d answered F\u00e9raz deliberately. \u201cAnd, while\nthinking them, I knew they were evil. And I put my own nature under a\nsort of analysis, and came to the conclusion that, when a man does\nwrong, he is perfectly aware that it _is_ wrong, and that, therefore,\ndoing wrong deliberately and consciously, he has no right to seek\nforgiveness, either through Christ or any other intermediary. He\nshould be willing to bear the brunt of it, and his prayers should be\nfor punishment, not for pardon.\u201d\n\n\u201cA severe doctrine,\u201d observed El-R\u00e2mi. \u201cStrangely so, for a young man\nwho has not \u2018lived,\u2019 but only \u2018dreamed.\u2019\u201d\n\n\u201cIn my dreams I see nothing evil,\u201d said F\u00e9raz, \u201cand I think nothing\nevil. All is harmonious; all works in sweet accordance with a Divine\nand Infinite plan, of whose ultimate perfection I am sure. I would\nrather dream so, than live as I have lived to-day.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi forbore to press him with any questions, and, after a little\npause, he went on:\n\n\u201cWhen that woman--the model--went away from the studio, I was as\nthankful as one might be for the removal of a plague. She dropped a\ncurtain over her bare limbs and disappeared like some vanishing evil\nspirit. Then Ainsworth asked me to sit to him. I obeyed willingly. He\nplaced me in a half-sitting, half-recumbent attitude, and began to\nsketch. Suddenly, after about half an hour, it occurred to me that he\nperhaps wanted to put me in the same picture with that fiend who had\ngone, and I asked him the question point-blank. \u2018Why, certainly!\u2019 he\nsaid. \u2018You will appear as the infatuated lover of that lady, in my\ngreat Academy work.\u2019 Then, El-R\u00e2mi, some suppressed rage in me broke\nloose. I sprang up and confronted him angrily. \u2018Never!\u2019 I cried. \u2018You\nshall never picture me thus! If you dared to do it, I would rip your\ncanvas to shreds on the very walls of the Academy itself! I am no\n\u201cmodel,\u201d to sell my personality to you for gold!\u2019 He laughed in that\nlazy, unmirthful way of his. \u2018No,\u2019 he said, \u2018you are certainly not a\nmodel, you are a tiger--a young tiger--quite furious and untamed. I\nwish you _would_ go and rip up my picture on the Academy walls, as you\nsay; it would make my fortune; I should have so many orders for\nduplicates. My dear fellow, if you won\u2019t let me put you into my\ncanvas, you are no use to me. I want your meditative face for the face\nof a poet destroyed by a passion for Phryne. I really think you might\noblige me.\u2019 \u2018Never!\u2019 I said; \u2018the thing would be a libel and a lie. My\nface is not the face you want. You want a weak face, a round foolish\nbrow, and a receding chin. Why, as God made me, and as I am, every one\nof my features would falsify your picture\u2019s story! The man who\nvoluntarily sacrifices his genius and his hopes of heaven to vulgar\nvice and passion must have weakness in him somewhere, and as a true\nartist you are bound to show that weakness in the features you\nportray.\u2019 \u2018And have you no weakness, you young savage?\u2019 he asked. \u2018Not\nthat weakness!\u2019 I said. \u2018The wretched incapacity of will that brings\nthe whole soul down to a grovelling depth of materialism--that is not\nin me!\u2019 I spoke angrily, El-R\u00e2mi, perhaps violently; but I could not\nhelp myself. He stared at me curiously, and began drawing lines on his\npalette with his brush dipped in colour. \u2018You are a very singular\nyoung fellow,\u2019 he said at last. \u2018But I must tell you that it was the\nfair Irene Vassilius who suggested to me that your face would be\nsuitable for that of the poet in my picture. I wanted to please\nher----\u2019 \u2018You will please her more by telling her what I say,\u2019 I\ninterrupted him abruptly. \u2018Tell her----\u2019 \u2018That you are a new\nParsifal,\u2019 he said mockingly. \u2018Ah, she will never believe it! All men\nin her opinion are either brutes or cowards.\u2019 Then he took up a fresh\nsquare of canvas, and added: \u2018Well, I promise you I will not put you\nin my picture, as you have such a rooted objection to figuring in\npublic as a slave of Phryne, though, I assure you, most young fellows\nwould be proud of such a distinction; for one is hardly considered a\n\u201cman\u201d nowadays unless one professes to be \u201cin love\u201d--God save the\nmark!--with some female beast of the stage or the music-hall. Such is\nlife, my boy! There! now sit still with that look of supreme scorn on\nyour countenance, and that will do excellently.\u2019 \u2018On your word of\nhonour, you will not place me in your picture?\u2019 I said. \u2018On my word of\nhonour,\u2019 he replied. So, of course, I could not doubt him. And he drew\nmy features on his canvas quickly, and with much more than ordinary\nskill; and, when he had finished his sketch, he took me out to lunch\nwith him at a noisy, crowded place, called the \u2018Criterion.\u2019 There were\nnumbers of men and women there, eating and drinking, all of a low\ntype, I thought, and some of them of a most vulgar and insolent\nbearing, more like dressed-up monkeys than human beings, I told\nAinsworth; but he laughed, and said they were very fair specimens of\ncivilised society. Then, after lunch, we went to a club, where several\nmen were smoking and throwing cards about. They asked me to play, and\nI told them I knew nothing of the game. Whereupon they explained it;\nand I said it seemed to me to be quite an imbecile method of losing\nmoney. Then they laughed uproariously. One said I was \u2018very fresh,\u2019\nwhatever that might mean. Another asked Ainsworth what he had brought\nme there for, and Ainsworth answered: \u2018To show you one of the greatest\nwonders of the century--a really _young_ man in his youth,\u2019 and then\nthey laughed again. Later on he took me into the Park. There I saw\nMadame Vassilius in her carriage. She looked fair and cold, and proud\nand weary all at once. Her horses came to a standstill under the\ntrees, and Ainsworth went up and spoke to her. She looked at me very\nearnestly as she gave me her hand, and only said one thing: \u2018What a\npity you are not with your brother!\u2019 I longed to ask her why, but she\nseemed unwilling to converse, and soon gave the signal to her coachman\nto drive on--in fact, she went at once out of the Park. Then Ainsworth\ngot angry and sullen, and said: \u2018I hate intellectual women! That\npretty scribbler has made so much money that she is perfectly\nindependent of man\u2019s help--and, being independent, she is insolent.\u2019 I\nwas surprised at his tone. I said I could not see where he perceived\nthe insolence. \u2018Can you not?\u2019 he asked. \u2018She studies men instead of\nloving them; that is where she is insolent--and--insufferable!\u2019 He was\nso irritated that I did not pursue the subject, and he then pressed me\nto stay and dine with him. I accepted--and I am sorry I did.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi in purposely indifferent tones. \u201cAt present, so\nfar as you have told me, your day seems to have passed in a very\nharmless manner. A peep at a model, a lunch at the Criterion, a glance\nat a gaming-club, a stroll in the Park--what could be more ordinary?\nThere is no tragedy in it, such as you seem inclined to imagine; it is\nall the merest bathos.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz looked up indignantly, his eyes sparkling.\n\n\u201cIs there nothing tragic in the horrible, stifling, strangling\nconsciousness of evil surrounding one like a plague?\u201d he demanded\npassionately. \u201cTo know and to feel that God is far off, instead of\nnear; that one is shut up in a prison of one\u2019s own making, where sweet\nair and pure light cannot penetrate; to be perfectly conscious that\none is moving and speaking with difficulty and agitation in a thick,\nchoking atmosphere of lies--lies--all lies! Is that not tragic? Is\nthat all bathos?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear fellow, it is life!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi sedately. \u201cIt is what you\nwanted to see, to know, and to understand.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is _not_ life!\u201d declared F\u00e9raz hotly. \u201cThe people who accept it\nas such are fools, and delude themselves. Life, as God gave it to us,\nis beautiful and noble--grandly suggestive of the Future beyond; but\nyou will not tell me there is anything beautiful or noble or\nsuggestive in the life led by such men and women as I saw to-day. With\nthe exception of Madame Vassilius--and she, I am told, is considered\neccentric and a \u2018visionary\u2019--I have seen no one who would be worth\ntalking to for an hour. At Ainsworth\u2019s dinner, for instance, there\nwere some men who called themselves artists, and they talked, not of\nart, but of money; how much they could get, and how much they _would_\nget from certain patrons of theirs whom they called \u2018full-pursed\nfools.\u2019 Well, and that woman--that model I told you of--actually came\nto dine at Ainsworth\u2019s table, and other coarse women like her. Surely,\nEl-R\u00e2mi, you can imagine what their conversation was like? And as the\ntime went on things became worse. There was no restraint, and at last\nI could stand it no longer. I rose up from the table, and left the\nroom without a word. Ainsworth followed me; he was flushed with wine,\nand he looked foolish. \u2018Where are you going?\u2019 he asked. \u2018Mamie\nDillon,\u2019 that was the name of his model, \u2018wants to talk to you.\u2019 I\nmade him no answer. \u2018Where are you going?\u2019 he repeated angrily. \u2018Home,\nof course,\u2019 I replied, \u2018I have stayed here too long as it is. Let me\npass.\u2019 He was excited; he had taken too much wine, I know, and he\nscarcely knew what he was saying. \u2018Oh, I understand you!\u2019 he\nexclaimed. \u2018You and Irene Vassilius are of a piece--all purity, eh!\nall disgust at the manners and customs of the \u201clower animals.\u201d Well, I\ntell you we are no worse than any one else in modern days. My lord the\nduke\u2019s conversation differs very little from that of his groom; and\nthe latest imported American heiress in search of a title rattles on\nto the full as volubly and ruthlessly as Mamie Dillon. Go home, if go\nyou must; and take my advice, if you don\u2019t like what you have seen in\nthe world to-day, _stay_ home for good. Stay in your shell, and dream\nyour dreams; I dare say they will profit you quite as much as our\nrealities!\u2019 He laughed, and as I left him I said, \u2018You mistake! it is\nyou who are \u201cdreaming,\u201d as you call it; dreaming a bad dream, too; it\nis I who _live_.\u2019 Then I went out of the house, as I tell you, and\nwandered alone, under the stars, and thought bitter things.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy \u2018bitter\u2019?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cI do not know,\u201d returned F\u00e9raz moodily, \u201cexcept that all the world\nseemed wrong. I wondered how God could endure so much degradation on\nthe face of one of His planets, without some grand, divine protest.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe protest is always there,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi quickly. \u201cSilent, but\neternal, in the existence of Good in the midst of Evil.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz lifted his eyes and rested their gaze on his brother with an\nexpression of unutterable affection.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi, keep me with you!\u201d he entreated; \u201cnever let me leave you\nagain! I think I must be crazed if the world is what it _seems_, and\nmy life is so entirely opposed to it; but, if so, I would rather be\ncrazed than sane. In my wanderings to-night, on my way home hither, I\nmet young girls and women who must have been devils in disguise, so\nutterly were they lost to every sense of womanhood and decency. I saw\nmen, evil-looking and wretched, who seemed waiting but the chance to\nmurder, or commit any other barbarous crime for gold. I saw little\nchildren, starving and in rags; old and feeble creatures, too, in the\nlast stage of destitution, without a passer-by to wish them well; all\nthings seemed foul and dark and hopeless, and when I entered here I\nfelt--ah, God knows what I felt!--that you were my Providence, that\nthis was my home, and that surely some Angel dwelt within and hallowed\nit with safety and pure blessing!\u201d\n\nA sudden remorse softened his voice, his beautiful eyes were dim with\ntears.\n\n\u201cHe remembers and thinks of Lilith!\u201d thought El-R\u00e2mi quickly, with a\nsingular jealous tightening emotion at his heart; but aloud he said\ngently:\n\n\u201cIf one day in the \u2018world\u2019 has taught you to love this simple abode of\nours, my dear F\u00e9raz, more than you did before, you have had a most\nvaluable lesson. But do not be too sure of yourself. Remember, you\nresented my authority, and you wished to escape from my influence.\nWell, now----\u201d\n\n\u201cNow I voluntarily place myself under both,\u201d said F\u00e9raz rising and\nstanding before him with bent head. \u201cEl-R\u00e2mi, my brother and my\nfriend, do with me as you will! If from you come my dreams, in God\u2019s\nname let me dream! If from your potent will, exerted on my spirit,\nsprings the fountain of the music which haunts my life, let me ever be\na servant of that will! With you I have had happiness, health, peace,\nand mysterious joy, such as the world could never comprehend; away\nfrom you, though only for a day, I have been miserable. Take my\ncomplete obedience, El-R\u00e2mi, for what it is worth; you give me more\nthan my life\u2019s submission can ever repay.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi stepped up more closely to him, and, laying both hands on his\nshoulders, looked him seriously in the eyes.\n\n\u201cMy dear boy, consider for a moment how you involve yourself,\u201d he said\nearnestly, yet with great kindliness. \u201cRemember the old Arabic volume\nyou chanced upon, and what it said concerning the mystic powers of\n\u2018influence.\u2019 Did you quite realise it, and all that it implies?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz met his searching gaze steadily.\n\n\u201cQuite,\u201d he replied. \u201cSo much and so plainly do I realise it that I\neven attribute everything done in the world to \u2018influence.\u2019 Each one\nof us is \u2018influenced\u2019 by something or some one. Even you, my dearest\nbrother, share the common lot, though I dare say you do not quite\nperceive where your ruling force is generated, your own powers being\nso extraordinary. Ainsworth, for example, is \u2018influenced\u2019 in very\nopposite directions by very opposite forces--Irene Vassilius, and--his\nMamie Dillon! Now I would rather have _your_ spell laid upon my life\nthan that of the speculator, the gambler, the drinker, or the vile\nwoman, for none of these can possibly give satisfaction, at least not\nto me; while your wizard wand invokes nothing but beauty, harmony, and\npeace of conscience. So I repeat it, El-R\u00e2mi, I submit to you utterly\nand finally--must I entreat you to accept my submission?\u201d\n\nHe smiled, and the old happy look that he was wont to wear began to\nradiate over his face, which had till then seemed worn and wearied.\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s dark features appeared to reflect the smile, as he gently\ntouched his brother\u2019s clustering curls, and said playfully:\n\n\u201cIn spite of Zaroba?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn spite of Zaroba,\u201d echoed F\u00e9raz mirthfully. \u201cPoor Zaroba! she does\nnot seem well, or happy. I fear she has offended you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi meditatively, \u201cshe has not offended me; she is\ntoo old to offend me. I cannot be angry with sorrowful and helpless\nage. And, if she is not well, we will make her well, and if she is not\nhappy we will make her happy, ... and be happy ourselves--shall it not\nbe so?\u201d His voice was very soft, and he seemed to talk at random, and\nto be conscious of it, for he roused himself with a slight start, and\nsaid in firmer tones: \u201cGood-night, F\u00e9raz; good-night, dear lad. Rest,\nand dream!\u201d\n\nHe smiled as F\u00e9raz impulsively caught his hand and kissed it, and\nafter the young man had left the room he still stood, lost in a\nreverie, murmuring under his breath: \u201cAnd be happy ourselves! Is that\npossible--could that be possible--in _this_ world?\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XXVIII.\n\nNext day towards noon, while F\u00e9raz, tired with his brief \u201cworldly\u201d\nexperiences, was still sleeping. El-R\u00e2mi sought out Zaroba. She\nreceived him in the ante-room of the chamber of Lilith with more than\nher customary humility; her face was dark and weary, and her whole\naspect one of resigned and settled melancholy. El-R\u00e2mi looked at her\nkindly, and with compassion.\n\n\u201cThe sustaining of wrath is an injury to the spirit,\u201d he wrote on the\nslate which served for that purpose in his usual way of communication\nwith her; \u201cI no longer mistrust you. Once more I say, be faithful and\nobedient. I ask no more. The spell of silence shall be lifted from\nyour lips to-day.\u201d\n\nShe read swiftly, and with apparent incredulity, and a tremor passed\nover her tall, gaunt frame. She looked at him wonderingly and\nwistfully, while he, standing before her, returned the look\nsteadfastly, and seemed to be concentrating all his thoughts upon her\nwith some fixed intention. After a minute or two he turned aside, and\nagain wrote on the slate; this time the words ran thus:\n\n \u201cSpeak; you are at liberty.\u201d\n\nWith a deep shuddering sigh, she extended her hands appealingly.\n\n\u201cMaster!\u201d she exclaimed; and, before he could prevent her, she had\ndropped on her knees. \u201cForgive--forgive!\u201d she muttered. \u201cTerrible is\nthy power, O El-R\u00e2mi, ruler of spirits! terrible, mystic, and\nwonderful! God must have given thee thy force, and I am but the\nmeanest of slaves to rebel against thy command. Yet out of wisdom\ncomes not happiness, but great grief and pain; and as I live,\nEl-R\u00e2mi, in my rebellion I but dreamed of a love that should bring\nthee joy! Pardon the excess of my zeal, for lo, again and yet again I\nswear fidelity! and may all the curses of heaven fall on me if this\ntime I break my vow!\u201d\n\nShe bent her head--she would have kissed the floor at his feet, but\nthat he quickly raised her up and prevented her.\n\n\u201cThere is nothing more to pardon,\u201d he wrote. \u201cYour wisdom is possibly\ngreater than mine. I know there is nothing stronger than Love, nothing\nbetter perhaps; but Love is my foe whom I must vanquish,--lest he\nshould vanquish me!\u201d\n\nAnd while Zaroba yet pored over these words, her black eyes dilating\nwith amazement at the half confession of weakness implied in them, he\nturned away and left the room.\n\nThat afternoon a pleasant sense of peace and restfulness seemed to\nsettle upon the little household; delicious strains of melody filled\nthe air; F\u00e9raz, refreshed in mind and body by a sound sleep, was\nseated at the piano, improvising strange melodies in his own\nexquisitely wild and tender fashion; while El-R\u00e2mi, seated at his\nwriting-table, indited a long letter to Dr. Kremlin at Ilfracombe,\ngiving in full the message left for him by the mysterious monk from\nCyprus respecting the \u201cThird Ray\u201d or signal from Mars.\n\n\u201cDo not weary yourself too much with watching this phenomenon,\u201d he\nwrote to his friend. \u201cFrom all accounts, it will be a difficult matter\nto track so rapid a flash on the Disc as the one indicated, and I have\nfears for your safety. I cannot give any satisfactory cause for my\npremonition of danger to you in the attempt, because, if we do not\nadmit an end to anything, then there can be no danger even in death\nitself, which we are accustomed to look upon as an \u2018end,\u2019 when it may\nbe _proved_ to be only a beginning. But, putting aside the idea of\n\u2018danger\u2019 or \u2018death,\u2019 the premonition remains in my mind as one of\n\u2018change\u2019 for you; and perhaps you are not ready or willing even to\naccept a different sphere of action from your present one, therefore I\nwould say, take heed to yourself when you follow the track of the\n\u2018Third Ray.\u2019\u201d\n\nHere his pen stopped abruptly; F\u00e9raz was singing in a soft\nmezza-voce, and he listened:\n\n O Sweet, if love obtained must slay desire,\n And quench the light and heat of passion\u2019s fire;\n If you are weary of the ways of love,\n And fain would end the many cares thereof,\n I prithee tell me so that I may seek\n Some place to die in ere I grow too weak\n To look my last on your belov\u00e8d face.\n Yea, tell me all! The gods may yet have grace\n And pity enough to let me quickly die\n Some brief while after we have said \u2018Good-bye!\u2019\n\n Nay, I have known it well for many days\n You have grown tired of all tender ways;\n Love\u2019s kisses weary you, love\u2019s eager words,\n Old as the hills and sweet as singing-birds,\n Are fetters hard to bear! O love, be free!\n You will lose little joy in losing me;\n Let me depart, remembering only this,\n That once you loved me, and that once your kiss\n Crown\u2019d me with joy supreme enough to last\n Through all my life till that brief life be past.\n\n Forget me, Sweetest-heart, and nevermore\n Turn to look back on what has gone before,\n Or say, \u2018Such love was brief, but wondrous fair;\n The past is past for ever; have no care\n Or thought for me at all, no tear or sigh,\n Or faint regret; for, Dearest, I shall die\n And dream of you i\u2019 the dark, beneath the grass;\n And o\u2019er my head perchance your feet may pass,\n Lulling me faster into sleep profound\n Among the fairies of the fruitful ground.\n Love, wearied out by love, hath need of rest.\n And, when all love is ended, Death is best.\n\nThe song ceased; but, though the singer\u2019s voice no longer charmed the\nsilence, his fingers still wandered over the keys of the piano,\ndevising intricate passages of melody as delicate and devious as the\nwarbling of nightingales. El-R\u00e2mi, unconsciously to himself, heaved a\ndeep sigh, and F\u00e9raz, hearing it, looked round.\n\n\u201cAm I disturbing you?\u201d he asked.\n\n\u201cNo. I love to hear you; but, like many youthful poets, you sing of\nwhat you scarcely understand--love, for instance; you know nothing of\nlove.\u201d\n\n\u201cI imagine I do,\u201d replied F\u00e9raz meditatively. \u201cI can picture my ideal\nwoman; she is----\u201d\n\n\u201cFair, of course!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, with an indulgent smile.\n\n\u201cYes, fair; her hair must be golden, but not uniformly so--full of\nlights and shadows, suggestive of some halo woven round her brows by\nthe sunlight, or the caressing touch of an angel. She must have deep,\nsweet eyes in which no actual colour is predominant; for a pronounced\nblue or black does away with warmth of expression. She must not be\ntall, for one cannot caress tall women without a sense of the\nludicrous spoiling sentiment----\u201d\n\n\u201cHave you tried it?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi, laughing.\n\nF\u00e9raz laughed too.\n\n\u201cYou know I have not; I only imagine the situation. To explain more\nfully what I mean, I would say one could more readily draw into one\u2019s\narms the Venus of Medicis than that of Milo--one could venture to\ncaress a Psyche, but scarcely a Juno. I have never liked the idea of\ntall women; they are like big handsome birds--useful, no doubt, but\nnot half so sweet as the little fluttering singing ones.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, and what other attributes must this imagined lady of yours\npossess?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi, vaguely amused at his brother\u2019s earnestness.\n\n\u201cOh, many more charms than I could enumerate,\u201d replied F\u00e9raz. \u201cAnd of\none thing I am certain, she is not to be found on this earth. But I am\nquite satisfied to wait; I shall find her, even as she will find me\nsome day. Meanwhile I \u2018imagine\u2019 love, and in imagination I almost feel\nit.\u201d\n\nHe went on playing, and El-R\u00e2mi resumed the writing of his letter to\nKremlin, which he soon finished and addressed ready for post. A gentle\nknock at the street door made itself heard just then through the ebb\nand flow of F\u00e9raz\u2019s music, and F\u00e9raz left off his improvisation\nabruptly and went to answer the summons. He returned, and announced\nwith some little excitement:\n\n\u201cMadame Irene Vassilius.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi rose and advanced to meet his fair visitor, bowing\ncourteously.\n\n\u201cThis is an unexpected pleasure, Madame,\u201d he said, the sincerity of\nhis welcome showing itself in the expression of his face, \u201cand an\nunmerited honour for which I am grateful.\u201d\n\nShe smiled, allowing her hand to rest in his for a moment; then,\naccepting the low chair which F\u00e9raz placed for her near his brother\u2019s\nwriting-table, she seated herself, and lifted her eyes to El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s\ncountenance--eyes which, like those of F\u00e9raz\u2019s \u201cideal ladye-love,\u201d\nwere \u201cdeep and sweet, and of no pronounced colour.\u201d\n\n\u201cI felt you would not resent my coming here as an intrusion,\u201d she\nbegan; \u201cbut my visit is not one of curiosity. I do not want to probe\nyou as to your knowledge of my past, or to ask you anything as to my\nfuture. I am a lonely creature, disliked by many people, and in the\nliterary career I have adopted I fight a desperately hard battle, and\noften crave for a little--just a little sympathetic comprehension. One\nor two questions puzzle me which you might answer if you would. They\nare on almost general subjects; but I should like to have your\nopinion.\u201d\n\n\u201cMadame, if you, with your exceptional gifts of insight and instinct,\nare baffled in these \u2018general\u2019 questions,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, \u201cshall not I\nbe baffled also?\u201d\n\n\u201cThat does not follow,\u201d replied Irene, returning his glance steadily,\n\u201cfor you men always claim to be wiser than women. I do not agree with\nthis fiat, so absolutely set forth by the lords of creation; yet I am\nnot what is termed \u2018strong-minded,\u2019 I simply seek justice. Pray stay\nwith us,\u201d she added, turning to F\u00e9raz, who was about to retire, as he\nusually did whenever El-R\u00e2mi held an interview with any visitor;\n\u201cthere is no occasion for you to go away.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz hesitated, glancing at his brother.\n\n\u201cYes, by all means remain here, F\u00e9raz,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi gently, \u201csince\nMadame Vassilius desires it.\u201d\n\nDelighted with the permission, F\u00e9raz ensconced himself in a corner\nwith a book, pretending to read, but in reality listening to every\nword of the conversation. He liked to hear Irene\u2019s voice--it was\nsingularly sweet and ringing, and at times had a peculiar thrill of\npathos in it that went straight to the heart.\n\n\u201cYou know,\u201d she went on, \u201cthat I am, or am supposed to be, what the\nworld calls \u2018famous.\u2019 That is, I write books which the public clamour\nfor and read, and for which I receive large sums of money. I am able\nto live well, dress well, and look well, and I am known as one of\nsociety\u2019s \u2018celebrities.\u2019 Well, now, can you tell me why, for such poor\nhonours as these, men, supposed to be our wiser and stronger\nsuperiors, are so spitefully jealous of a woman\u2019s fame?\u201d\n\n\u201cJealous?\u201d echoed El-R\u00e2mi dubiously, and with something of\nhesitation. \u201cYou mean----\u201d\n\n\u201cI mean what I say,\u201d continued Madame Vassilius calmly; \u201cneither more\nnor less. Spitefully jealous is the term I used. Explain to me this\nriddle: Why do men encourage women to every sort of base folly and\nvanity that may lead them at length to become the slaves of man\u2019s lust\nand cruelty, and yet take every possible means to oppose and hinder\nthem in their attempts to escape from sensuality and animalism into\nintellectual progress and pre-eminence? In looking back on the history\nof all famous women, from Sappho downwards to the present time, it is\namazing to consider what men have said of them. Always a sneer at\n\u2018women\u2019s work.\u2019 And, if praise is at any time given, how grudging and\nhalf-hearted it is! Men will enter no protest against women who\nuncover their bare limbs to the public gaze and dance lewdly in\nmusic-halls and theatres for the masculine delectation; they will\ndefend the street prostitute; they will pledge themselves and their\nfamily estates in order to provide jewels for the newest \u2018ballerina\u2019;\nbut for the woman of intellect they have nothing but a shrug of\ncontempt. If she produces a great work of art in literature, it is\nnever thoroughly acknowledged; and the hard blows delivered on\nCharlotte Bront\u00e9, George Eliot, Georges Sand, and others of their\ncalibre, far outweighed their laurels. George Eliot and Georges Sand\ntook men\u2019s names in order to shelter themselves a little from the\npitiless storm that assails literary work known to emanate from a\nwoman\u2019s brain; but let a man write the veriest trash that ever was\nprinted, he will still be accredited by his own sex with something\nbetter than ever the cleverest woman could compass. How is it that the\n\u2018superior\u2019 sex are cowardly enough to throw stones at those among the\n\u2018inferior,\u2019 who surpass their so-called lords and masters both in\nchastity and intellect?\u201d\n\nShe spoke earnestly, her eyes shining with emotion; she looked lovely,\nthus inspired by the strength of her inward feelings. El-R\u00e2mi was\ntaken aback. Like most Orientals, he had to a certain extent despised\nwomen and their work. But, then, what of Lilith? Without her aid would\nhis discoveries in spiritual science have progressed so far? Had he or\nany man a right to call woman the \u201cinferior\u201d sex?\n\n\u201cMadame,\u201d he said slowly and with a vague embarrassment, \u201cyou bring an\naccusation against our sex which it is impossible to refute, because\nit is simply and undeniably true. Men do not love either chastity or\nintellect in women.\u201d\n\nHe paused, looking at her, then went on:\n\n\u201cA chaste woman is an embodied defiance and reproach to man; an\nintellectual woman is always a source of irritation, because she is\ninvariably his superior. By this I mean that when a woman is\nthoroughly gifted she is gifted all round; an intellectual man is\ngenerally only gifted in one direction. For example, a great poet,\npainter, or musician, may be admirable in his own line, but he\ngenerally lacks in something; he is stupid, perhaps, in conversation,\nor he blunders in some way by want of tact; but a truly brilliant\nwoman has all the charms of mental superiority, generally combined\nwith delicate touches of satire, humour, and wit,--points which she\nuses to perfection against the lumbering animal Man, with the result\nthat she succeeds in pricking him in all his most vulnerable parts. He\ndetests her accordingly, and flies for consolation to the empty-headed\ndolls of the music-hall, who flatter him to the top of his bent, in\norder to get as much champagne and as many diamonds as they can out of\nhim. Man must be adored; he insists upon it, even if he pays for it!\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is a pity he does not make himself a little more worthy of\nadoration,\u201d said Irene, with a slight scornful smile.\n\n\u201cIt is,\u201d agreed El-R\u00e2mi; \u201cbut most men, even the ugliest and\nstupidest, consider themselves perfect.\u201d\n\n\u201cDo you?\u201d she asked suddenly.\n\n\u201cDo I consider myself perfect?\u201d El-R\u00e2mi smiled and reflected on this\npoint. \u201cMadame, if I am frank with you, and with myself, I must answer\n\u2018Yes!\u2019 I am made of the same clay as all my sex, and consider myself\nworthy to be the conqueror of any woman under the sun! Ask any\nloathsome, crooked-backed dwarf that sweeps a crossing for his\nlivelihood, and his idea of his own personal charm will be the same.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz laughed outright; Madame Vassilius looked amused and\ninterested.\n\n\u201cYou can never eradicate from the masculine nature,\u201d proceeded\nEl-R\u00e2mi, \u201cthe idea that our attentions, no matter how uncouth, are,\nand always must be, agreeable to the feminine temperament. Here you\nhave the whole secret of the battle carried on by men against women\nwho have won the prize of a world-wide fame. An intellectual woman\nsets a barrier between herself and the beasts; the beasts howl, but\ncannot leap it; hence their rage. You, Madame, are not only\nintellectual, but lovely to look at; you stand apart, a crowned queen,\nseeking no assistance from men; by your very manner you imply your\nscorn of their low and base desires. They _must_ detest you in\nself-defence; most of your adverse critics are the poorly-paid hacks\nof the daily journals, who envy you your house, your horses, your good\nfortune, and your popularity with the public; if you want them to\nadmire you, go in for a big scandal. Run away with some blackguard;\nhave several husbands; do something to tarnish your woman\u2019s\nreputation; be a vulture or a worm, not a star; men do not care for\nstars, they are too distant, too cold, too pure!\u201d\n\n\u201cAre you speaking satirically,\u201d asked Madame Vassilius, \u201cor in grim\nearnest?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn grim earnest, fair lady,\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi rose from his chair and\nconfronted her with a half-smile. \u201cIn grim earnest, men are brutes!\nThe statement is one which is frequently made by what is called the\n\u2018Shrieking Sisterhood\u2019; but I, a man, agree to it in cold blood,\nwithout conditions. We are stupid brutes; we work well in gangs, but\nnot so well singly. As soldiers, sailors, builders, engineers,\nlabourers, all on the gang method, we are admirable. The finest\npaintings of the world were produced by bodies of men working under\none head, called \u2018schools,\u2019 but differing from our modern \u2018schools\u2019 in\nthis grand exception, that, whereas _now_ each pupil tries his hand at\nsomething of his own, _then_ all the pupils worked at the one design\nof the Master. Thus were painted the frescoes of Michael Angelo, and\nthe chief works of Raphael. Now the rule is \u2018every man for himself and\nthe devil take the hindmost.\u2019 And very poorly does \u2018each man for\nhimself\u2019 succeed. Men must always be helped along, either by each\nother--or ... by ... a woman! Many of them owe all their success in\nlife to the delicate management and patient tact of woman, and yet\nnever have the grace to own it. Herein we are thankless brutes as well\nas stupid. But, as far as I personally am concerned, I am willing to\nadmit that all my best discoveries, such as they are, are due to the\nfar-reaching intelligence and pure insight of a woman.\u201d\n\nThis remark utterly amazed F\u00e9raz; Madame Vassilius looked surprised.\n\n\u201cThen,\u201d she said, smiling slightly, \u201cof course you love some one?\u201d\n\nA shadow swept over El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s features.\n\n\u201cNo, Madame; I am not capable of love, as this world understands\nloving. Love has existence, no doubt, but surely not as Humanity\naccepts it. For example, a man loves a woman; she dies; he gradually\nforgets her, and loves another, and so on. That is not love, but it is\nwhat society is satisfied with, as such. You are quite right to\ndespise such a fleeting emotion for yourself; it is not sufficient for\nthe demands of your nature; you seek something more lasting.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhich I shall never find,\u201d said Irene quietly.\n\n\u201cWhich you will find, and which you must find,\u201d declared El-R\u00e2mi.\n\u201cAll longings, however vague, whether evil or good, are bound to be\nfulfilled, there being no waste in the economy of the universe. This\nis why it is so necessary to weigh well the results of desire before\nencouraging it. I quite understand your present humour, Madame--it is\none of restlessness and discontent. You find your crown of fame has\nthorns; never mind! wear it royally, though the blood flows from the\ntorn brows. You are solitary at times, and find the solitude irksome;\nArt serves her children thus--she will accept no half-love, but takes\nall. Were I asked to name one of the most fortunate of women, I think\nI should name you, for, notwithstanding the progress of your\nintellectual capacity, you have kept your faith.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have kept my religion, if you mean that,\u201d said Irene, impressed by\nhis earnestness; \u201cbut it is not the religion of the churches.\u201d\n\nHe gave an impatient gesture.\n\n\u201cThe religion of the churches is a mere Show-Sunday,\u201d he returned. \u201cWe\nall know that. When I say you have kept your faith, I mean that you\ncan believe in God without positive proofs of Him. That is a grand\ncapability in this age. I wish I had it!\u201d\n\nIrene Vassilius looked at him wonderingly.\n\n\u201cSurely you believe in God?\u201d\n\n\u201cNot till I can _prove_ Him!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s eyes flashed defiantly.\n\u201cVice triumphant, and Virtue vanquished, do not explain Him to me.\nTorture and death do not manifest to my spirit His much-talked-of\n\u2018love and goodness.\u2019 I must unriddle His secret; I must pierce into\nthe heart of His plan, before I join the enforced laudations of the\nmultitude; I must know and feel that it is the truth I am proclaiming,\nbefore I stand up in the sight of my fellows and say, \u2018O God, Thou art\nthe Fountain of Goodness, and all Thy works are wise and wonderful!\u2019\u201d\n\nHe spoke with remarkable power and emphasis; his attitude was full of\ndignity. Madame Vassilius gazed at him in involuntary admiration.\n\n\u201cIt is a bold spirit that undertakes to catechise the Creator and\nexamine into the value of His creation,\u201d she said.\n\n\u201cIf there is a Creator,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, \u201cand if from Him all things do\ncome, then from Him also comes my spirit of inquiry. I have no belief\nin a devil, but, if there were one, the Creator is answerable for him,\ntoo. And to revert again to your questions, Madame, shall we not in a\nway make God somewhat responsible for the universal prostitution of\nwoman? It is a world-wide crime, and only very slight attempts as yet\nhave been made to remedy it, because the making of the laws is in the\nhands of men--the criminals. The Englishman, the European generally,\nis as great a destroyer of woman\u2019s life and happiness as any Turk or\nother barbarian. The life of the average woman is purely animal; in\nher girlhood she is made to look attractive, and her days pass into\nthe consideration of dress, appearance, manner, and conversation; when\nshe has secured her mate, her next business is to bear him children.\nThe children reared, and sent out into the world, she settles down\ninto old age, wrinkled, fat, toothless, and frequently quarrelsome;\nthe whole of her existence is not a grade higher than that of a\nleopardess or other forest creature, and sometimes not so exciting.\nWhen a woman rises above all this, she is voted by the men\n\u2018unwomanly\u2019; she is no longer the slave or the toy of their passions;\nand that is why, my dear Madame, they give the music-hall dancer their\ndiamonds, and heap upon _you_ their sneers.\u201d\n\nIrene sat silent for some minutes, and a sigh escaped her.\n\n\u201cThen it is no use trying to be a little different from the rest,\u201d she\nsaid wearily; \u201ca little higher, a little less prone to vulgarity? If\none must be hated for striving to be worthy of one\u2019s vocation----\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear lady, you do not see that men will never admit that\nliterature _is_ your vocation! No, not even if you wrote as grand a\ntragedy as \u2018Macbeth.\u2019 Your vocation, according to them, is to adore\ntheir sex, to look fascinating, to wear pretty clothes, and purr\nsoftly like a pleased cat when they make you a compliment; not to\nwrite books that set everybody talking. They would rather see you\ndragged and worn to death under the burden of half a dozen children,\nthan they would see you stepping disdainfully past them, in all the\nglory of fame. Yet be content,--you have, like Mary in the Gospel,\n\u2018chosen the better part;\u2019 of that I feel sure, though I am unable to\ntell you why or how I feel it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf you feel sure of certain things without being able to explain how\nor why you feel them,\u201d put in F\u00e9raz suddenly, \u201cis it not equally easy\nto feel sure of God without being able to explain how or why He\nexists?\u201d\n\n\u201cAdmirably suggested, my dear F\u00e9raz,\u201d observed El-R\u00e2mi, with a\nslight smile. \u201cBut please recollect that, though it may be easy to you\nand a fair romancist like Madame Vassilius to feel sure of God, it is\nnot at all easy to me. I am not sure of Him; I have not seen Him, and\nI am not conscious of Him. Moreover, if an average majority of people\ntaken at random could be persuaded to speak the truth for once in\ntheir lives, they would all say the same thing--that they are not\nconscious of Him. Because if they were--if the world were--the emotion\nof fear would be altogether annihilated; there would never be any\n\u2018panic\u2019 about anything; people would not shriek and wail at the\nterrors of an earthquake, or be seized with pallor and trembling at\nthe crash and horror of an unexpected storm. Being sure of God would\nmean being sure of Good; and I\u2019m afraid none of us are convinced in\nthat direction. But I think and believe that, if we indeed felt sure\nof God, evil would be annihilated as well as fear. And the mystery is,\nwhy does He not _make_ us sure of Him? It must be in His power to do\nso, and would save both Him and us an infinite deal of trouble.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz grew restless and left his place, laying down the volume he had\nbeen pretending to read.\n\n\u201cI wish you would not be so horribly, cruelly _definite_ in your\nsuggestions,\u201d he said rather vexedly. \u201cWhat is the good of it? It\nunsettles one\u2019s mind.\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely your mind is not unsettled by a merely reasonable idea\nreasonably suggested?\u201d returned El-R\u00e2mi calmly. \u201cMadame Vassilius\nhere is not \u2018unsettled,\u2019 as you call it.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo,\u201d said Irene slowly; \u201cbut I had thought you more of a spiritual\nbeliever----\u201d\n\n\u201cMadame,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi impressively, \u201cI am a spiritual believer, but\nin this way: I believe that this world and all worlds are composed of\nSpirit and Matter, and not only do I believe it, but I _know_ it! The\natmosphere around us and all planets is composed of Spirit and Matter;\nand every living creature that breathes is made of the same dual\nmixture. Of the Spirit that forms part of Matter and dominates it, I,\neven _I_ have some control; and others who come after me, treading in\nthe same lines of thought, will have more than I. I can influence the\nspirit of man; I can influence the spirit of the air; I can draw an\nessence from the earth upwards that shall seem to you like the wraith\nof some one dead; but if you ask me whether these provable,\npracticable scientific tests or experiments on the spirit, that is\npart of Nature\u2019s very existence, are manifestations of God or the\nDivine, I say--No. God would not permit Man to play at will with His\neternal Fires; whereas, with the spirit essence that can be chemically\ndrawn from earth and fire and water, I, a mere studious and\nconsidering biped, can do whatsoever I choose. I know how the legends\nof phantoms and fairies arose in the world\u2019s history, because at one\ntime, one particular period of the prehistoric ages, the peculiar, yet\nnatural combination of the elements and the atmosphere _formed_\n\u2018fantasma\u2019 which men saw and believed in. The last trace of these now\nexisting is the familiar \u2018mirage\u2019 of cities with their domes and\nsteeples seen during certain states of the atmosphere in mid-ocean.\nOnly give me the conditions, and I will summon up a ghostly city too.\nI can form numberless phantasmal figures now, and more than this, I\ncan evoke for your ears, from the very bosom of the air, music such as\nlong ago sounded for the pleasure of men and women dead. For the air\nis a better phonograph than Edison\u2019s, and has the advantage of being\neternal.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut such powers are marvellous!\u201d exclaimed Irene. \u201cI cannot\nunderstand how you have attained to them.\u201d\n\n\u201cNeither can others less gifted understand how you Madame, have\nattained your literary skill,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi \u201cAll art, all science,\nall discovery, is the result of a concentrated Will, an indomitable\nPerseverance. My \u2018powers,\u2019 as you term them, are really very slight,\nand, as I said before, those who follow my track will obtain far\ngreater supremacy. The secret of phantasmal splendour or \u2018vision,\u2019 as\nalso the clue to what is called \u2018unearthly music\u2019--anything and\neverything that is or pretends to be of a supernatural character in\nthis world--can be traced to natural causes, and the one key to it all\nis the great fact that nothing in the Universe is lost. Bear that\nstatement well in mind. Light preserves all scenes; Air preserves all\nsounds. Therefore, it follows that if the scenes are there, and the\nsounds are there, they can be evoked again, and yet again, by him who\nhas the skill to understand the fluctuations of the atmospheric waves,\nand the incessantly recurring vibrations of light. Do not imagine that\neven a thought, which you very naturally consider your own, actually\nremains a fixture in your brain from whence it was germinated. It\nescapes while you are in the very act of thinking it; its subtle\nessence evaporates into the air you breathe and the light you absorb.\nIf it presents itself to you again, it will probably be in quite a\ndifferent form, and perhaps you will hardly recognise it. All thought\nescapes thus; you cannot keep it to yourself any more than you can\nhave breath without breathing.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou mean that a thought belongs to all, and not to one individual?\u201d\nsaid Irene.\n\n\u201cYes, I mean that,\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi; \u201cand thought, I may say, is the\nonly reflex I can admit of possible Deity, because thought is free,\nabsolute, all-embracing, creative, perpetual, and unwearied. Limitless\ntoo--great Heaven, how limitless! To what heights does it not soar? In\nwhat depths does it not burrow? How daring, how calm, how indifferent\nto the ocean-swell of approaching and receding ages! Your modern\nTheosophist, calmly counting his gains from the blind incredulity and\nstupidity of the unthinking masses, is only copying, in a very\nLiliputian manner, the grand sagacity and cunning of the ancient\nEgyptian \u2018magi,\u2019 who, by scientific trickery, ruled the ignorant\nmultitude; it is the same thought, only dressed in modern aspect.\nThought, and the proper condensation, controlling and usage of\nthought, is Power,--Divinity, if you will. And it is the only existing\nForce that can make gods of men.\u201d\n\nIrene Vassilius sat silent, fascinated by his words, and still more\nfascinated by his manner. After a few minutes she spoke--\n\n\u201cI am glad you admit,\u201d she said gently, \u201cthat this all-potent Thought\nmay be a reflex of the Divine,--for we can have no reflections of\nlight without the Light itself. I came to you in a somewhat\ndiscontented humour,--I am happier now. I suppose I ought to be\nsatisfied with my lot,--I am certainly more fortunately situated than\nmost women.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are, Madame\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi, smiling pensively and fixing his\ndark eyes upon her with a kind expression,--\u201cAnd your native good\nsense and wit will prevent you, I hope, from marring the good which\nthe gods have provided for you. Do not marry yet,--it would be too\ngreat a disillusion for you. The smallest touch of prose is sufficient\nto destroy the delicacy of love\u2019s finer sentiments; and marriage, as\nthe married will tell you, is all prose,--very prosy prose too. Avoid\nit!--prosy prose is tiresome reading.\u201d\n\nShe laughed, and rose to take her leave.\n\n\u201cI saw your brother with Mr. Ainsworth yesterday,\u201d she observed--\u201cAnd\nI could not understand how two such opposite natures could possibly\nagree.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, we did not agree,--we have not agreed,\u201d said F\u00e9raz hastily,\nspeaking for himself--\u201cIt is not likely we shall see much of each\nother.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am glad to hear it\u201d--and she extended her hand to him, \u201cYou are\nvery young, and Roy Ainsworth is very old, not in years, but in heart.\nIt would be a pity for you to catch the contagion of our modern\npessimism.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut----\u201d F\u00e9raz hesitated and stammered, \u201cit was you, was it not,\nMadame, who suggested to Mr. Ainsworth that he should take me as the\nmodel for one of the figures in his picture?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, it was I,\u201d replied Irene with a slight smile--\u201cBut I never\nthought you would consent,--and I felt sure that, even if you did, he\nwould never succeed in rendering your expression, for he is a mere\nsurface-painter of flesh, not soul--still, all the same, it amused me\nto make the suggestion.\u201d\n\n\u201cYes,--woman-like,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cYou took pleasure in offering him\na task he could not fulfil. There you have another reason why\nintellectual women are frequently detested--they ask so much and give\nso little.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou wrong us,\u201d answered Irene swiftly. \u201cWhen we love, we give all!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd so you give too much!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi gravely--\u201cIt is the common\nfault of women. You should never give \u2018all\u2019--you should always hold\nback something. To be fascinating, you should be enigmatical. When\nonce man is allowed to understand your riddle thoroughly, the spell is\nbroken. The placid, changeless, monotonously amiable woman has no\npower whatever over the masculine temperament. It is Cleopatra that\nmakes a slave of Antony, not blameless and simple Octavia.\u201d\n\nIrene Vassilius smiled.\n\n\u201cAccording to such a theory, the angels must be very tame and\nuninteresting individuals,\u201d she said.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s eyes grew lustrous with the intensity of his thought.\n\n\u201cAh, Madame, our conception of angels is a very poor and false one,\nfounded on the flabby imaginations of ignorant priests. An Angel,\naccording to my idea, should be wild and bright and restless as\nlightning, speeding from star to star in search of new lives and new\nloves, with lips full of music and eyes full of fire, with every fibre\nof its immortal being palpitating with pure yet passionate desires for\neverything that can perfect and equalise its existence. The pallid,\ngoose-winged object represented to us as inhabiting a country of\nNo-Where without landscape or colour, playing on an unsatisfactory\nharp and singing \u2018Holy, holy\u2019 for ever and ever, is no Angel, but\nrather a libel on the whole systematic creative plan of the Universe.\nBeauty, brilliancy, activity, glory and infinite variety of thought\nand disposition--if these be not in the composition of an Angel, then\nthe Creator is but poorly served!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou speak as if you had seen one of these immortals?\u201d said Irene,\nsurprised.\n\nA shadow darkened his features.\n\n\u201cNot I, Madame--except once--in a dream! You are going!--then\nfarewell! Be happy,--and encourage the angelic qualities in\nyourself--for, if there be a Paradise anywhere, you are on the path\nthat leads to it.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou think so?\u201d and she sighed--\u201cI hope you may be right,--but\nsometimes I fear, and sometimes I doubt. Thank you for all you have\nsaid,--it is the first time I have met with so much gentleness,\ncourtesy and patience from one of your sex. Good-bye!\u201d\n\nShe passed out, F\u00e9raz escorting her to her carriage, which waited at\nthe door; then he returned to his brother with a slow step and\nmeditative air.\n\n\u201cDo men really wrong women so much as she seems to think?\u201d he asked.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi paused a moment,--then answered slowly:\n\n\u201cYes, F\u00e9raz, they do; and, as long as this world wags, they will! Let\nGod look to it!--for the law of feminine oppression is His--not ours!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XXIX.\n\nThat same week was chronicled one of the worst gales that had ever\nbeen known to rage on the English coast. From all parts of the country\ncame accounts of the havoc wrought on the budding fruit-trees by the\npitiless wind and rain,--harrowing stories of floods and shipwrecks\ncame with every fresh despatch of news,--great Atlantic steamers were\nreported \u201cmissing,\u201d and many a fishing-smack went down in sight of\nland, with all the shrieking, struggling souls on board. For four days\nand four nights the terrific hurricane revelled in destruction, its\nwrath only giving way to occasional pauses of heavy silence more awful\nthan its uproar; and, by the rocky shores of Ilfracombe, the scene of\nnature\u2019s riot, confusion and terror attained to a height of\nindescribable grandeur. The sea rose in precipitous mountain-masses,\nand anon wallowed in black abysmal chasms,--the clouds flew in a\nfierce rack overhead like the forms of huge witches astride on\neagle-shaped monsters,--and with it all there was a close heat in the\nair, notwithstanding the tearing wind,--a heat and a sulphureous\nsmell, suggestive of some pent-up hellish fire that but waited its\nopportunity to break forth and consume the land. On the third day of\nthe gale, particularly, this curious sense of suffocation was almost\nunbearable, and Dr. Kremlin, looking out of his high tower window in\nthe morning at the unquiet sky and savage sea, wondered, as the wind\nscudded past, why it brought no freshness with it, but only an\nincreased heat, like the \u201csimoom\u201d of the desert.\n\n\u201cIt is one of those days on which it would seem that God is really\nangry,\u201d mused Kremlin--\u201cangry with Himself, and still more angry with\nHis creature.\u201d\n\nThe wind whistled and shrieked in his ears as though it strove to\nutter some wild response to his thought,--the sullen roaring and\nbattling of the waves on the beach below sounded like the clashing\narmour of contesting foes,--and the great Disc in the tower revolved,\nor appeared to revolve, more rapidly than its wont, its incessant\nwhirr-whirring being always distinctly heard above the fury of the\nstorm. To this, his great work, the chief labour of his life, Dr.\nKremlin\u2019s eyes turned wistfully, as, after a brief observation of the\nturbulent weather, he shut his window fast against the sheeting rain.\nIts shining surface, polished as steel, reflected the lights and\nshadows of the flying storm-clouds, in strange and beautiful groups\nlike moving landscapes--now and then it flashed with a curious\nlightning glare of brilliancy as it swung round to its appointed\nmeasure, even as a planet swings in its orbit. A new feature had been\nadded to the generally weird effect of Kremlin\u2019s strange studio or\nworkshop,--this was a heavy black curtain made of three thicknesses of\ncloth sewn closely together, and weighted at the end with\nbullet-shaped balls of lead. It was hung on a thick iron pole, and ran\neasily on indiarubber rings,--when drawn forward it covered the Disc\ncompletely from the light without interfering with any portion of its\nmechanism. Three days since, Kremlin had received El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s letter\ntelling him what the monk from Cyprus had said concerning the \u201cThird\nRay\u201d or the messages from Mars, and, eagerly grasping at the smallest\nchance of any clue to the labyrinth of the Light-vibrations, he had\nlost no time in making all the preparations necessary for this grand\neffort, this attempt to follow the track of the flashing signal whose\nmeaning, though apparently unintelligible, might yet with patience be\ndiscovered. So, following the suggestions received, he had arranged\nthe sable drapery in such a manner that it could be drawn close across\nthe Disc, or, in a second, be flung back to expose the whole surface\nof the crystal to the light,--all was ready for the trial, when the\ngreat storm came and interfered. Dense clouds covered the\nfirmament,--and not for one single moment since he received the monk\u2019s\nmessage had Kremlin seen the stars. However, he was neither\ndiscouraged nor impatient,--he had not worked amid perplexities so\nlong to be disheartened now by a mere tempest, which in the ordinary\ncourse of nature would wear itself out, and leave the heavens all the\nclearer both for reflection and observation. Yet he, as a\nmeteorologist, was bound to confess that the fury of the gale was of\nan exceptional character, and that the height to which the sea lifted\nitself before stooping savagely towards the land and breaking itself\nin hissing spouts of spray was stupendous, and in a manner appalling.\nKarl, his servant, was entirely horrified at the scene,--he hated the\nnoise of the wind and waves, and more than all he hated the incessant\nmelancholy scream of the sea-birds that wheeled in flocks round and\nround the tower.\n\n\u201cIt is for all the world like the shrieks of drowning men\u201d--he said,\nand shivered, thinking of the pleasantly devious ways of the Rhine and\nits placid flowing,--placid even in flood, as compared with the\nhowling ocean, all madness and movement and terror. Twice during that\nturbulent day Karl had asked his master whether the tower \u201cshook.\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course!\u201d answered Dr. Kremlin with a smile in his mild eyes--\u201cOf\ncourse it shakes,--it can hardly do otherwise in such a gale. Even a\ncottage shakes in a fierce wind.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh yes, a cottage shakes,\u201d said Karl meditatively--\u201cbut then if a\ncottage blows away altogether it doesn\u2019t so much matter. Cottages are\nfrequently blown away in America, so they say, with all the family\nsitting inside. That\u2019s not a bad way of travelling. But when a tower\nflies through the air it seldom carries the family with it except in\nbits.\u201d\n\nKremlin laughed, but did not pursue the conversation, and Karl went\nabout his duties in a gloomy humour, not common to his cheerful\ntemperament. He really had enough to put him out, all things\nconsidered. Soot fell down the kitchen chimney--a huge brick also\nlanded itself with a crash in the fender,--there were crevices in the\ndoors and windows through which the wind played wailing sounds like a\n\u201ccoronach\u201d on the bagpipes;--and then, when he went out into the\ncourtyard to empty the pail of soot he had taken from the grate, he\ncame suddenly face to face with an ugly bird, whose repulsive aspect\nquite transfixed him for the moment and held him motionless, staring\nat it. It was a cormorant, and it stood huddled on the pavement,\nblinking its disagreeable eyes at Karl,--its floppy wings were\ndrenched with the rain, and all over the yard was the wet trail of its\nfeathers and feet.\n\n\u201cShoo!\u201d cried Karl, waving his arms and the pail of soot all\ntogether--\u201cShoo! Beast!\u201d\n\nBut the cormorant appeared not to mind--it merely set about preening\nits dirty wing.\n\nKarl grew savage, and, running back to the kitchen, brought shovel,\ntongs and a broom, all of which implements he flung in turn at the\nhorrid-looking creature, which, finally startled, rose in air uttering\ndismal cries as it circled higher and higher, the while Karl watched\nits flight,--higher and higher it soared, till at last he ran out of\nthe courtyard to see where it went. Round and round the house it flew,\nseeming to be literally tossed to and fro by the wind, its unpleasant\nshriek still echoing distinctly above the deep boom of the sea, till\nsuddenly it made a short sweep downwards, and sat on the top of the\ntower like a squat black phantom of the storm.\n\n\u201cNasty brute!\u201d said Karl, shaking his clenched fist at it--\u201cIf the\nHerr Doctor were like any other man, which he is not, he would have a\ngun in the house, and I\u2019d shoot that vile screamer. Now it will sit\ncackling and yelling there all day and all night perhaps. Pleasant,\ncertainly!\u201d\n\nAnd he went indoors, grumbling more than ever. Everything seemed to go\nwrong that day,--the fire wouldn\u2019t burn,--the kettle wouldn\u2019t\nboil,--and he felt inwardly vexed that his master was not as morose\nand irritable as himself. But, as it happened, Dr. Kremlin was in a\nsingularly sweet and placid frame of mind,--the noise of the gale\nseemed to soothe rather than agitate his nerves. For one thing, he was\nmuch better in health, and looked years younger than when El-R\u00e2mi\nvisited him, bringing the golden flask whose contents were guaranteed\nto give him a new lease of life. So far indeed the elixir had done its\nwork,--and to all appearances he might have been a well-preserved man\nof about fifty, rather than what he actually was, close upon his\nseventy-fourth year. As he could take no particularly interesting or\nuseful observations from his Disc during the progress of the tempest,\nhe amused himself with the task of perfecting one or two of his\n\u201cLight-Maps\u201d as he called them, and he kept at this work with the\ngreatest assiduity and devotion all the morning. These maps were\nwonderfully interesting, if only for the extreme beauty, intricacy and\nregularity of the patterns,--one set of \u201cvibrations\u201d as copied from\nthe reflections on the Disc formed the exact shape of a branch of\ncoral,--another gave the delicate outline of a frond of fern. All the\nlines ran in waves,--none of them were straight. Most of them were in\nsmall ripples,--others were larger--some again curved broadly, and\nturned round in a double twist, forming the figure 8 at long intervals\nof distance, but all resolved themselves into a definite pattern of\nsome sort.\n\n\u201cPictures in the sky!\u201d he mused, as he patiently measured and\nre-touched the lines. \u201cAnd all different!--not two of them alike! What\ndo they all mean?--for they must mean something. Nothing--not the\nlowest atom that exists is without a meaning and a purpose. Shall I\never discover the solution to the Light-mystery, or is it so much\nGod\u2019s secret that it will never become Man\u2019s?\u201d\n\nSo he wondered, puzzling himself, with a good deal of pleasure in the\npuzzle. He was happy in his work, despite its strange and difficult\ncharacter,--El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s elixir had so calmed and equalised his physical\ntemperament that he was no longer conscious of worry or perplexity.\nSatisfied that he had years of life before him in which to work, he\nwas content to let things take their course, and he laboured on in the\nspirit that all labour claims, \u201cwithout haste, without rest.\u201d Feverish\nhurry in work,--eagerness to get the rewards of it before\nconscientiously deserving them,--this disposition is a curse of the\nage we live in and the ruin of true art,--and it was this delirium of\nhaste that had seized Kremlin when he had summoned El-R\u00e2mi to his\naid. Now, haste seemed unnecessary;--there was plenty of time,\nand--possessed of the slight clue to the \u201cThird Ray,\u201d--plenty of hope\nas well, or so he thought.\n\nIn the afternoon the gale gradually abated, and sank to a curiously\nsudden dead calm. The sea still lifted toppling foam-crowned peaks to\nthe sky, and still uttered shattering roars of indignation,--but there\nwas a break in the clouds and a pale suggestion of sunshine. As the\nevening closed in, the strange dull quietness of the air\ndeepened,--the black mists on the horizon flashed into stormy red for\nan instant when the sun set,--and then darkened again into an ominous\ngreenish-gray. Karl, who was busy cooking his master\u2019s dinner, stopped\nstirring some sauce he was making, to listen, as it were, to the\nsilence,--the only sound to be heard was the long roll and swish of\nthe sea on the beach,--and even the scream of the gulls was stilled.\nSpoon in hand he went out in the yard to observe the weather; all\nmovement in the heavens seemed to have been suddenly checked, and\nmasses of black cloud rested where they were, apparently motionless.\nAnd while he looked up at the sky he could hardly avoid taking the top\nof the tower also into his view;--there, to his intense disgust, still\nsate his enemy of the morning, the cormorant. Something that was not\nquite choice in the way of language escaped his lips as he saw the\nhateful thing;--its presence was detestable to him and filled his mind\nwith morbid imaginations which no amount of reasoning could chase\naway.\n\n\u201cAnd yet what is it but a bird!\u201d he argued with himself angrily, as he\nwent indoors and resumed his cooking operations--\u201cA bird of prey, fond\nof carrion--nothing more. Why should I bother myself about it? If I\ntold the Herr Doctor that it was there, squatting at ease on his\ntower, he would very likely open the window, invite the brute in, and\noffer it food and shelter for the night. For he is one of those\nkind-hearted people who think that all the animal creation are worthy\nof consideration and tenderness. Well,--it may be very good and broad\nphilosophy,--all the same, if I caught a rat sitting in my bed, I\nshouldn\u2019t like it,--nor would I care to share my meals with a lively\nparty of cockroaches. There are limits to Christian feelings. And, as\nfor that beast of a bird outside, why, it\u2019s better outside than in, so\nI\u2019ll say nothing about it.\u201d\n\nAnd he devoted himself more intently than ever to the preparation of\nthe dinner,--for his master had now an excellent appetite, and ate\ngood things with appreciation and relish, a circumstance which greatly\nconsoled Karl for many other drawbacks in the service he had\nundertaken. For he was a perfect cook, and proud of his art, and that\nnight he was particularly conscious of the excellence of the little\ntasty dishes he had, to use an art-term, \u201ccreated,\u201d and he watched his\nmaster enjoy their flavour, with a proud, keen sense of his own\nconsummate skill.\n\n\u201cWhen a man relishes his food it is all right with him,\u201d he\nthought.--\u201cStarving for the sake of science may be all very well, but\nif it kills the scientist what becomes of the science?\u201d\n\nAnd he grew quite cheerful in the contemplation of the \u201cHerr Doctor\u2019s\u201d\nimproved appetite, and by degrees almost forgot the uncanny bird that\nwas still sitting on the topmost ledge of the tower.\n\nAmong other studious habits engendered by long solitude into which\nKremlin had fallen, was the somewhat unhygienic one of reading at\nmeals. Most frequently it was a volume of poems with which he beguiled\nthe loneliness of his dinner, for he was one of those rare few who\naccept and believe in what may be called the \u201cProphecies\u201d of Poesy.\nThese are in very truth often miraculous, and it can be safely\nasserted that if the writers of the Bible had not been poets they\nwould never have been prophets. A poet,--if he indeed _be_ a poet, and\nnot a mere manufacturer of elegant verse,--always raves--raves madly,\nblindly, incoherently of things he does not really understand.\nMoreover, it is not himself that raves--but a Something within\nhim,--some demoniac or angelic spirit that clamours its wants in wild\nmusic, which by throbbing measure and degree resolves itself, after\nsome throes of pain on the poet\u2019s part, into a peculiar and\noccasionally vague language. The poet, as man, is no more than man;\nbut that palpitating voice in his mind gives him no rest, tears his\nthoughts piecemeal, rends his soul, and consumes him with feverish\ntrouble and anxiety not his own, till he has given it some sort of\nspeech, however mystic and strange. If it resolves itself into a\nstatement which appals or amazes, he, the poet, cannot help it; if it\nenunciates a prophecy he is equally incapable of altering or refuting\nit. When Shakespeare wrote the three words, \u201cSermons in stones,\u201d he\nhad no idea that he was briefly expounding with perfect completeness\nthe then to him unknown science of geology. The poet is not born of\nflesh alone, but of spirit--a spirit which dominates him whether he\nwill or no, from the very first hour in which his childish eyes look\ninquiringly on leaves and flowers and stars--a spirit which catches\nhim by the hands, kisses him on the lips, whispers mad nothings in his\nstartled ears, flies restlessly round and about him, brushing his\nevery sense with downy, warm, hurrying wings,--snatches him up\naltogether at times and bids him sing, write, cry out strange oracles,\nweep forth wild lamentations, and all this without ever condescending\nto explain to him the reason why. It is left to the world to discover\nthis \u201cWhy,\u201d and the discovery is often not made till ages after the\npoet\u2019s mortal dust has been transformed to flowers in the grass which\nlittle children gather and wear unknowingly. The poet whose collected\nutterances Dr. Kremlin was now reading, as he sipped the one glass of\nlight burgundy which concluded his meal, was Byron; the fiery singer\nwhose exquisite music is pooh-poohed by the insipid critics of the\nimmediate day, who, jealous of his easily-won and world-wide fame,\ngrudge him the laurel, even though it spring from the grave of a hero\nas well as bard. The book was open at \u201cManfred,\u201d and the lines on\nwhich old Kremlin\u2019s eyes rested were these:\n\n \u201cHow beautiful is all this visible world!\n How glorious in its action and itself!\n But we who name ourselves its sovereigns, we\n Half dust, half deity, alike unfit\n To sink or soar, with our mix\u2019d essence make\n A conflict of its elements, and breathe\n The breath of degradation and of pride,\n Contending with low wants and lofty will.\n Till our mortality predominates,\n And men are,--what they name not to themselves,\n And trust not to each other.\u201d\n\n\u201cNow that passage is every whit as fine as anything in Shakespeare,\u201d\nthought Kremlin--\u201cand the whole secret of human trouble is in it;--it\nis not the world that is wrong, but we--we \u2018who make a conflict of its\nelements.\u2019 The question is, if we are really \u2018unfit to sink or soar\u2019\nis it our fault?--and may we not ask without irreverence why we were\nmade so incomplete? Ah, my clever friend El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos has set\nhimself a superhuman task on the subject of this \u2018Why,\u2019 and I fancy I\nshall find out the riddle of Mars, and many another planet besides,\nbefore he \u2018proves,\u2019 as he is trying to do, the conscious and\nindividual existence of the soul.\u201d\n\nHe turned over the pages of \u201cManfred\u201d thoughtfully, and then stopped,\nhis gaze riveted on the splendid lines in which the unhappy hero of\nthe tragedy flings his last defiance to the accusing demons--\n\n \u201cThe mind which is immortal makes itself\n Requital for its good or evil thoughts--\n Is its own origin of ill and end--\n And its own place and time--its innate sense,\n When stripped of this mortality, derives\n No colour from the fleeting things without,\n But is absorbed in sufferance or in joy,\n Born from the knowledge of its own desert.\n Thou didst not tempt me, and thou couldst not tempt;\n I have not been thy dupe, nor am thy prey--\n But was my own destroyer, and will be\n My own hereafter.--Back, ye baffled fiends!\n The hand of death is on me,--but not yours!\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd yet people will say that Byron was an immoral writer!\u201d murmured\nKremlin--\u201cIn spite of the tremendous lesson conveyed in those lines!\nThere is something positively terrifying in that expression--\n\n \u2018But was my own destroyer, and will be\n My own hereafter.\u2019\n\nWhat a black vista of possibilities----\u201d\n\nHere he broke off, suddenly startled by a snaky blue glare that\nflashed into the room like the swift sweep of a sword-blade. Springing\nup from the table he rubbed his dazzled eyes.\n\n\u201cWhy--what was that?\u201d he exclaimed.\n\n\u201cLightning!\u201d replied Karl, just entering at the moment--\u201cand a very\nnasty specimen of it. ... I\u2019d better put all the knives and steel\nthings by.\u201d\n\nAnd he proceeded to do this, while Kremlin still stood in the centre\nof the room, his sight yet a little confused by the rapidity and\nbrilliancy of that unexpected storm-flash. A long low ominous\nmuttering of thunder, beginning far off and rolling up nearer and\nnearer till it boomed like a volley of cannon in unison with the roar\nof the sea, followed,--then came silence. No rain fell, and the wind\nonly blew moderately enough to sway the shrubs in front of the house\nlightly to and fro.\n\n\u201cIt will be a stormy night,\u201d said Dr. Kremlin then, recovering himself\nand taking up his Byron--\u201cI am sorry for the sailors! You had better\nsee well to all the fastenings of the doors and windows.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrust me!\u201d replied Karl sententiously--\u201cYou shall not be carried out\nto sea against your will if I can help it--nor have I any desire to\nmake such a voyage myself. I hope, Herr Doctor\u201d--he added with a touch\nof anxiety--\u201cyou are not going to spend this evening in the tower?\u201d\n\n\u201cI certainly am!\u201d answered Kremlin, smiling--\u201cI have work up there,\nand I cannot afford to be idle on account of a thunderstorm. Why do\nyou look so scared? There is no danger.\u201d\n\n\u201cI didn\u2019t say there was\u201d--and Karl fidgeted uneasily--\u201cbut--though\nI\u2019ve never been inside it, I should think the tower was lonesome, and\nI should fancy there might be too close a view of the lightning to be\nquite pleasant.\u201d\n\nKremlin looked amused, and, walking to the window, pushed back one of\nthe curtains.\n\n\u201cI believe it was a false alarm,\u201d he said, gazing at the sea--\u201cThat\nflash and thunder-peal were the parting notes of a storm that has\ntaken place somewhere else. See!--the clouds are clearing.\u201d\n\nSo in truth they were; the evening, though very dark, seemed to give\npromise of a calm. One or two stars twinkled faintly in a\nblackish-blue breadth of sky, and, perceiving these shining monitors\nand problems of his life\u2019s labour, Kremlin wasted no more time in\nwords, but abruptly left the room and ascended to his solitary studio.\nKarl, listening, heard the closing of the heavy door aloft and the\ngrating of the key as it turned in the lock,--and he also heard that\nstrange perpetual whirring noise above, which, though he had in a\nmanner grown accustomed to it, always remained for him a perplexing\nmystery. Shaking his head dolefully, and with a somewhat troubled\ncountenance, he cleared the dining-table, set the room in order, went\ndown to his kitchen, cleaned, rubbed, and polished everything till his\nsurroundings were as bright as it was possible for them to be, and\nthen, pleasantly fatigued, sat down to indite a letter to his mother\nin the most elaborate German phraseology he could devise. He was\nrather proud of his \u201clearning,\u201d and he knew his letters home were read\nby nearly all the people in his native village as well as by his\nmaternal parent, so that he was particularly careful in his efforts to\nimpress everybody by the exceeding choiceness of his epistolary\n\u201cstyle.\u201d Absorbed in his task, he at first scarcely noticed the\ngradual rising of the wind, which, having rested for a few hours, now\nseemed to have awakened in redoubled strength and fury. Whistling\nunder the kitchen door it came, with a cold and creepy chill,--it\nshook the windows angrily, and then, finding the door of the outside\npantry open, shut it to with a tremendous bang, like an irate person\nworsted in an argument. Karl paused, pen in hand; and, as he did so, a\ndismal cry echoed round the house, the sound seeming to fall from a\nheight and then sweep over the earth with the wind, towards the sea.\n\n\u201cIt\u2019s that brute of a bird!\u201d said Karl half aloud--\u201cNice cheerful\nvoice he has, to be sure!\u201d\n\nAt that moment the kitchen was illuminated from end to end by a wide\nblue glare of lightning, followed, after a heavy pause, by a short\nloud clap of thunder. The hovering storm had at last gathered together\nits scattered forces, and, concentrating itself blackly above the\nclamorous sea, now broke forth in deadly earnest.\n\n\n\n\n XXX.\n\nKremlin meanwhile had reached his tower in time to secure a glimpse\nof the clearer portion of the sky before it clouded over again.\nOpening the great window, he leaned out and anxiously surveyed the\nheavens. There was a little glitter of star-groups above his head, and\nimmediately opposite an almost stirless heavy fleece of blackness,\nwhich he knew by its position hid from his sight the planet Mars, the\nbrilliant world he now sought to make the chief centre of his\nobservations. He saw that heavy clouds were slowly rolling up from the\nsouth, and he was quite prepared for a fresh outbreak of storm and\nrain, but he was determined to take advantage, if possible, of even a\nfew moments of temporary calm. And with this intention he fixed his\ngaze watchfully on the woolly-looking dark mass of vapour that\nconcealed the desired star from his view, having first carefully\ncovered the steadily revolving Disc with its thick sable curtain.\nNever surely was there a more weird and solemn-looking place than the\ntower-room as it now appeared; no light in it at all save a fitful\nside-gleam from the whirling edge of the Disc,--all darkness and\nmonotonous deep sound, with that patient solitary figure leaning at\nthe sill of the wide-open window, gazing far upward at the pallid\ngleam of those few distant stars that truly did no more than make\n\u201cdarkness visible.\u201d The aged scientist\u2019s heart beat quickly; the\nweight of long years of labour and anxiety seemed to be lifted from\nhis spirit, and it was with almost all the ardour of his young student\ndays that he noted the gradual slow untwisting and dividing of those\nthreads of storm-mist, that like a dark web, woven by the Fates,\nveiled the \u201cred planet\u201d whose flashing signal might prove to be the\nkey to a thousand hitherto unexplored mysteries. It was strange that\njust at this particular moment of vague suspense his thoughts should\ngo wandering in a desultory wilful fashion back to his past,--and that\nthe history of his bygone life seemed to arrange itself, as it were,\nin a pattern as definite as the wavy lines on his \u201cLight-Maps\u201d and\nwith just as _in_definite a meaning. He, who had lived that life, was\nas perplexed concerning its ultimate intention as he was concerning\nthe ultimate meanings conveyed by the light-vibrations through air. He\ntried to keep his ideas centred on the scientific puzzle he was\nattempting to unravel,--he strove to think of every small fact that\nbore more or less on that one central object,--he repeated to himself\nthe A B C of his art, concerning the vibrations of light on that first\nnatural reflector, the human eye,--how, in receiving the impression of\nthe colour red, for instance, the nerves of the eye are set quivering\n_four hundred and eighty-two millions of millions of times_; or, of\nthe colour violet, seven hundred and seven millions of millions of\ntimes _per second_. How could he hope to catch the rapid flash of the\n\u201cThird Ray\u201d under these tremendous conditions? Would it not vanish\nfrom the very face of the Disc before he had time to track its\ncircuit? But, though he strove to busy his brain with conjectures and\ncalculations, he was forced, in spite of himself, to go on groping\ninto the Past; that wonderful Past when he had been really\nyoung--young with a youth not born of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s secret\nconcoctions,--but youth as it is received fresh and perfect from the\nhand of Divinity--the talisman which makes all the world an Eden of\nroses without thorns. He saw himself as he used to be, a slim student,\nfair-haired and blue-eyed, absorbed in science, trying strange\nexperiments, testing new chemical combinations, ferreting out the\ncurious mysteries of atmospheric phenomena, and then being gradually\nled to consider the vast amount of _apparently unnecessary_ Light _per\nsecond_, that pours upon us from every radiating object in the\nfirmament, bearing in mind the fact that our Earth itself radiates\nthrough Space, even though its glimmer be no more than that of a spark\namid many huge fires. He remembered how he had pored over the strange\nbut incontestable fact that two rays of light starting from the same\npoint and travelling in the same direction frequently combine to\nproduce darkness, by that principle which is known in the science of\noptics as the _interference_ of the rays of light,--and how, in the\nmidst of all this, his work had been suddenly interrupted and put a\nstop to by a power the stars in their courses cannot gainsay--Love.\nYes--he had loved and been beloved,--this poor, gentle, dreamy\nman;--one winter in Russia--one winter when the snows lay deep on the\nwild steppes and the wolves were howling for hunger in the gloom of\nthe forests,--he had dreamed his dream, and wakened from\nit--broken-hearted. She whom he loved, a beautiful girl connected with\nthe Russian nobility, was associated, though he knew it not, with a\nsecret society of Nihilists, and was all at once arrested with several\nothers and accused of being party to a plot for the assassination of\nthe Tsar. Found guilty, she was sentenced to exile in Siberia, but\nbefore the mandate could be carried out she died by her own hand,\npoisoned in her prison cell. Kremlin, though not \u201csuspect,\u201d went\nalmost mad with grief, and fled from Russia never to set his foot on\nits accurs\u00ebd soil again. People said that the excess of his sorrow,\nrage and despair had affected his brain, which was possible, as his\nmanner and mode of living, and the peculiar grooves of study into\nwhich he fell, were undoubtedly strange and eccentric--and\nyet--tenderness for his dead love, self-murdered in her youth and\nbeauty, kept him sensitively alive to human needs and human\nsuffering,--there was no scorn or bitterness in his nature, and his\nfaith in the unseen God was as great as El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s doubt. But, left as\nhe was all alone in the world, he plunged into the obscure depths of\nscience with greater zest than ever, striving to forget the dire agony\nof that brief love-drama, the fatal end of which had nearly closed his\nown career in madness and death. And so the years drifted on and on in\nwork that every day grew more abstruse and perplexing, till he had\nsuddenly, as it were, found himself old,--too old, as he told himself\nwith nervous trembling, ever to complete what he had begun. Then he\nhad sent for El-R\u00e2mi; El-R\u00e2mi whom he had met and wondered at,\nduring his travels in the East years ago ... and El-R\u00e2mi, at his\ndesire, by strange yet potent skill, had actually turned back time in\nits too rapid flight--and a new lease of life was vouchsafed to\nhim;--he had leisure,--long, peaceful leisure in which to carry out\nhis problems to perfection, if to carry them out were at all possible.\nFor had not El-R\u00e2mi said--\u201cYou cannot die, except by violence\u201d?\n\nAnd thus, like the \u201cstar-patterns,\u201d all the fragments of his personal\nhistory came into his mind to-night as he waited at his tower-window,\nwatching the black pavilion under which the world of Mars swung round\nin its fiery orbit.\n\n\u201cWhy do I think of all these bygone things just now?\u201d he asked himself\nwonderingly--\u201cI who so seldom waste my time in looking back, my work\nbeing all for the Future?\u201d\n\nAs he murmured the words half aloud, a rift showed itself in the cloud\nhe was observing,--a rift which widened gradually and broke up the\ndark mass by swift and ever swifter degrees. Fold after fold of mist\ndissolved and dispersed itself along the sky, swept by the wings of\nthe newly-arisen wind, and Mars, angrily crimson and stormily\nbrilliant, flashed forth a lurid fire ... In less time than\nimagination can depict, Kremlin had noiselessly flung the black\ncurtain back from his disc, ... and with his eyes riveted upon its\ngleaming pearly surface he waited ... scarcely breathing, ... every\nnerve in his body seeming to contract and grow rigid with expectation\nand something like dread. A pale light glistened on the huge disc ...\nit was gone! ... another flash, ... and this remained trembling in\nwavy lines and small revolving specks--now ... now ... the Third!--and\nKremlin craned his head forward eagerly ... it came!--like a drop of\nhuman blood it fell, and raced more rapidly than quicksilver round and\nround the polished surface of the disc, paling in tint among the other\ninnumerable silvery lines ... flashed again redly ... and ...\ndisappeared! A cry of irrepressible disappointment broke from\nKremlin\u2019s lips.\n\n\u201cImpossible! ... my God! ... impossible!\u201d\n\nAy!--impossible surely to track such velocity of motion--impossible to\nfix the spot where first its dazzling blood-like hue fell, and where\nit at last vanished. And yet Kremlin waited on in feverish\nexpectancy,--his lips apart, his breath coming and going in quick\nuneasy gasps, his straining eyes fixed on that terrible, inscrutable\ncreation of his own skill, that fearful Mirror of the heavens which\nreflected so much and betrayed so little! ... Heedless of the\nmuttering roar of the wind which now suddenly assailed the tower, he\nstood, fascinated by the dazzling play of light that illumined the\ndisc more brilliantly than usual. A dismal scream,--the cry of the\ncormorant perched on the roof above him, echoed faintly in his ears,\nbut he scarcely heard it, so absorbed was he in his monstrous Enigma;\ntill--all at once, a blue shaft of lightning glared in at the window,\nits brief reflection transforming the disc for a second to an almost\noverwhelming splendour of glittering colour. The strong blaze dazzled\nKremlin\u2019s eyes,--and as the answering thunder rattled through the sky\nhe reluctantly moved from his position and went towards the window to\nshut it against the threatening storm. But when he reached it he saw\nthat the planet Mars was yet distinctly visible; the lightning and\nthunder came from that huge bank of clouds in the south he had before\nnoticed,--clouds which were flying rapidly up, but had not yet\nentirely obscured the heavens. In eager and trembling haste he hurried\nback to the disc,--it seemed alive with light, and glistened from\npoint to point like a huge jewel as it whirled and hummed its strange\nmonotonous music,--and, shading his eyes, he remained close beside it,\ndetermined to watch it still, hoping against hope that another red\nflash like the one he had lately seen might crimson the quivering mass\nof silvery intersecting lines which he knew were not so much the\nlight-vibrations of stars now as reflexes of the electricity pent up\nin the tempestuous atmosphere.\n\n\u201cPatience ... patience!\u201d he murmured aloud--\u201cA moment more, and\nperhaps I shall see, ... I shall know ... I shall find what I have\nsought. ...\u201d\n\nThe last words were yet trembling on his lips when a fearful fork\u00ebd\ntongue of red flame leaped from the clouds, descending obliquely like\na colossal sword, ... it smote the tower, splitting its arched roof\nand rending its walls asunder,--and with the frightful boom and bellow\nof thunder that followed, echoing over land and sea for miles and\nmiles there came another sound, ... a clanging jangle of chains and\nwires and ponderous metals, ... the mighty mass of the glittering\nStar-Dial swirled round unsteadily once ... twice ... quivered ...\nstopped ... and then ... slipping from its wondrous pendulum, hurled\nitself forward like a monster shield and fell! ... fell with an\nappalling crash and thud, bringing the roof down upon itself in a\nblinding shower of stones and dust and mortar. ... And then ... why,\nthen nothing! Nothing but dense blackness, muttering thunder, and the\nroaring of the wind.\n\n\nOutside, frantic with fear, Karl shook and battered at the\nfirmly-locked and bolted door of the tower. When that forked flash of\nlightning had struck the house, it had stretched him senseless in his\nkitchen,--he had, however, recovered after a few minutes\u2019\nunconsciousness, dazed and stunned, but otherwise unhurt, and,\nbecoming gradually alive to the immediate dangers of the situation, he\nhad, notwithstanding the fury of the gale and the deafening peals of\nthunder, rushed out of doors instinctively to look at the tower. One\nglance showed him what had happened,--it was split asunder, and showed\ndimly against the stormy night like a yawning ruin round which in time\nthe ivy might twist and cling. Breathless and mad with terror, he had\nrushed back to the house and up the stairs, and now stood impatiently\nclamouring outside the impenetrable portal whose firm interior\nfastenings resisted all his efforts. He called, he knocked, he\nkicked,--and then, exhausted with the vain attempt, stopped to listen.\n... Nothing! ... not a sound! He made a hollow of his hands and put\nhis mouth to the keyhole.\n\n\u201cHerr Doctor! ... Herr Doctor!\u201d\n\nNo answer,--except the stormy whistle of the blast.\n\n\u201cNo help for it!\u201d he thought desperately, tears of excitement and\nalarm gathering in his eyes--\u201cI must call for assistance,--rouse the\nneighbours and break open the door by force.\u201d\n\nHe ran downstairs and out of the house bareheaded, to be met by a\nsudden sweep of rain which fell in a straight unpremeditated way from\nthe clouds in stinging torrents. Heedless of wind and wet he sped\nalong, making direct for some fishermen\u2019s cottages whose inhabitants\nhe knew and whom in a manner he was friendly with, and, having roused\nthem up by shouts and cries, explained to them as briefly as possible\nwhat had happened. As soon as they understood the situation four stout\nfellows got ready to accompany him, and taking pickaxes, crowbars,\nboathooks, and any other such implements as were handy, they ran\nalmost as quickly as Karl himself to the scene of the catastrophe.\nTheir excitement was to the full as great as his, till they reached\nthe top of the staircase and stood outside the mysterious door--there\nthey hung back a moment hesitatingly.\n\n\u201cCall him again\u201d--one whispered to Karl. \u201cMebbe he\u2019s in there safe and\nsound and did not hear ye at fust.\u201d\n\nTo satisfy the man\u2019s scruples Karl obeyed, and called and called, and\nknocked and knocked again and yet again,--with the same result,--no\nanswer, save the derisive yell of the gale.\n\n\u201cHe be dead an\u2019 gone for sure\u201d--said a second man, with a slight\npallor coming over his sea-tanned face--\u201cWell ... well! ... if so be\nas we _must_ break down th\u2019 door----\u201d\n\n\u201cHere, give me one of those things\u201d--cried Karl impatiently, and\nsnatching a crowbar he began dealing heavy blows at the massive\nnail-studded oaken barrier. Seeing him so much in earnest, his\ncompanions lost the touch of superstitious dread that had made them\nhesitate, and also set themselves to work with a will, and in a few\nminutes--minutes which to the anxious Karl seemed ages,--the door was\nbattered in, ... and they all rushed forward, ... but the fierce wind,\ntearing wildly around them, caught the flame of the lamp they carried\nand extinguished it, so that they were left in total darkness. But\nover their heads the split roof yawned, showing the black sky, and\nabout their feet was a mass of fallen stones and dust and\nindistinguishable ruin. As quickly as possible they re-lit the lamp\nand, holding it aloft, looked tremblingly, and without speaking a\nword, at the havoc and confusion around them. At first little could be\nseen but heaped-up stones and bricks and mortar, but Karl\u2019s quick eyes\nroving eagerly about caught sight suddenly of something black under a\nheap of d\u00e9bris,--and quickly bending down over it he began with his\nhands to clear away the rubbish,--the other men, seeing what he was\ntrying to do, aided him in his task, and in about twenty minutes\u2019 time\nthey succeeded in uncovering a black mass, huge and inanimate.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d whispered one of the men--\u201cIt\u2019s ... it\u2019s not him?\u201d\n\nKarl said nothing--he felt himself turning sick with dread, ... he\ntouched that doubtful blackness--it was a thick cloth like a great\npall--it concealed ... what? Recklessly he pulled and tugged at it,\ngetting his hands lacerated by a tangled mesh of wires and\nmetals,--till, yielding at last to a strong jerk, it came away in\nweighty clinging folds, disclosing what to him seemed an enormous\nround stone, which, as the lamp-light flashed upon it, glistened\nmysteriously with a thousand curious hues. Karl grasped its edge in an\neffort to lift it--his fingers came in contact with something moist\nand warm, and, snatching them away in a sort of vague horror, he saw\nthat they were stained with blood.\n\n\u201cOh my God! my God!\u201d he cried--\u201cHe is down there,--underneath this\nthing! ... help me to lift it, men!--lift it for Heaven\u2019s sake!--lift\nit, quick--quick!\u201d\n\nBut, though they all dragged at it with a will, the work was not so\neasy--the great Disc had fallen flat, and lay solemnly inert--and that\noozing blood,--the blood of the too daring student of the stars who\nhad designed its mystic proportions,--trickled from under it with\nsickening rapidity. At last, breathless and weary, they were about to\ngive up the task in despair, when Karl snatched from out the ruins the\niron needle or pendulum on which the Disc had originally swung, and,\nall unknowing what it was, thrust it cautiously under the body of the\ngreat stone to aid in getting a firmer hold of it, ... to his\namazement and terror the huge round mass caught and clung to it, like\nwarm sealing-wax to a piece of paper, and in an instant seemed to have\nmagically dispensed with all its weight, for as, with his unassisted\nstrength, he lifted the pendulum, the Disc lifted itself lightly and\neasily with it! A cry of fear and wonder broke from all the men,--Karl\nhimself trembled in every limb, and big drops of cold sweat broke out\non his forehead at what he deemed the devilish horror of this miracle.\nBut as he, with no more difficulty than he would have experienced in\nheaving up a moderate-sized log of wood, raised the Disc and flung it\nback and away from him shudderingly, pendulum and all, his eyes fell\non _what_ had lain beneath it, ... a crushed pulp of human flesh and\nstreaming blood--and reverend silver hairs ... and with a groan that\nseemed to rend his very heart Karl gave one upward sick stare at the\nreeling sky, and fainted, ... as unconscious for the time being as\nthat indistinguishable mangled mass of perished mortality that once\nhad been his master.\n\n\nGently and with compassionate kindness, the rough fishers who stood by\nlifted him up and bore him out of the tower and down the stairs,--and,\nafter a whispered consultation, carried him away from the house\naltogether to one of their own cottages, where they put him under the\ncare of one of their own women. None of them could sleep any more that\nnight; they stood in a group close by their humble habitations,\nwatching the progress of the storm, and ever and anon casting\nawe-stricken glances at the shattered tower.\n\n\u201cThe devil was in it\u201d--said one of the men at last, as he lit his pipe\nand endeavoured to soothe his nerves by several puffs at that smoky\nconsoler--\u201cor else how would it rise up like that as light as a\nfeather at the touch of an iron pole?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt must \u2019a weighed twenty stun at least\u201d--murmured another man\nmeditatively.\n\n\u201cWhat _was_ it?\u201d demanded a third--\u201cI should \u2019a took it for a big\ngrindstone if it hadn\u2019t sparkled up so when the light fell on it.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, it may stay where it is for all I care,\u201d said the first\nspeaker--\u201cI wouldn\u2019t touch it again for a hundred pound!\u201d\n\n\u201cNor I.\u201d \u201cNor I.\u201d\n\nThey were all agreed on that point.\n\n\u201cWotever he were a-doin\u2019 on,\u201d--said the fourth man gravely--\u201cwhether\nit were God\u2019s work or the devil\u2019s, it\u2019s all over now. He\u2019s done for,\npoor old chap! It\u2019s an awful end--God rest his soul!\u201d\n\nThe others lifted their caps and murmured \u201cAmen\u201d with simple\nreverence. Then they looked out at the dark wallowing trough of the\nsea.\n\n\u201cHow the wind roars!\u201d said the last speaker.\n\n\u201cAy, it do roar,\u201d replied the man who was his mate in the boat when\nthey went fishing; \u201cand did ye hear a cormorant scream a while ago?\u201d\n\n\u201cAy, ay! I heard it!\u201d They were silent then, and turned in, after\nmaking inquiries concerning Karl at the cottage where they had left\nhim. He was still unconscious.\n\n\n\n\n XXXI.\n\nA couple of days later, El-R\u00e2mi was engaged in what was not a very\nfavourite occupation with him,--he was reading the morning\u2019s\nnewspaper. He glanced over the cut-and-dry chronicle of \u201cStorms and\nFloods\u201d--he noted that a great deal of damage had been wrought by the\ngale at Ilfracombe and other places along the Devonshire coast,--but\nthere was nothing of any specially dreadful import to attract his\nattention, and nothing either in politics or science of any pressing\nor vital interest. There were two or three reviews of books, one of\nthese being pressed into a corner next to the advertisement of a\npatent pill; there were announcements of the movements of certain\nhuman units favoured with a little extra money and position than\nordinary, as being \u201cin\u201d or \u201cout\u201d of town, and there was a\nloftily-patronising paragraph on the \u201cTheosophical Movement,\u201d or, as\nit is more frequently termed, the \u201cTheosophical Boom.\u201d From this,\nEl-R\u00e2mi learned that a gentleman connected with the Press, who wrote\nexcessively commonplace verse, and thereby had got himself and his\nname (through the aforesaid press connection) fairly well known, had\nbeen good enough to enunciate the following amazing platitude:--\u201cThat,\nas a great portion of the globe is composed of elements which cannot\nbe seen, and as the study of the invisible may be deemed as legitimate\nas the study of the visible, he\u201d (the press-connected versifier) \u201cis\ninclined to admit that there are great possibilities on the lines of\nthat study.\u201d\n\n\u201cInclined to admit it, is he!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi threw aside the paper and\nbroke into a laugh of the sincerest enjoyment, \u201cHeavens! what fools\nthere are in this world, who call themselves wise men! This little\npoetaster, full of the conceit common to his imitative craft, is\n\u2018inclined to admit\u2019 that there are great possibilities in the study of\nthe invisible! Excellent condescension! How the methods of life have\nturned topsy-turvy since the ancient days! Then the study of the\nInvisible was the first key to the study of the Visible,--the things\nwhich are seen being considered only as the reflexes of the things\nwhich are unseen--the Unseen being accepted as Cause, the Seen as\nEffect. Now we all drift the other way,--taking the Visible as\nFact,--the Invisible as Fancy!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz, who was writing at a side-table, looked up at him.\n\n\u201cSurely you are inconsistent?\u201d he said--\u201cYou yourself believe in\nnothing unless it is _proved_.\u201d\n\n\u201cBut then, my dear fellow, I _can_ prove the Invisible and follow the\ngrades of it, and the modes by which it makes itself the Visible,--to\na certain extent--but only to a certain extent. Beyond the provable\nlimit I do not go. You, on the contrary, aided by the wings of\nimagination, outsoar that limit, and profess to find angels,\nstar-kingdoms, and God Himself. I cannot go so far as this. But,\nunlike our blown-out frog of a versifier here, who would fain persuade\nmankind he is a bull, I am not only \u2018inclined\u2019 to admit--I _do_ admit\nthat there are \u2018great possibilities\u2019--only I must test them all before\nI can accept them as facts made clear to my comprehension.\u201d\n\n\u201cStill, you believe in the Invisible?\u201d\n\n\u201cNaturally. I believe in the millions of suns in the Milky Way, though\nthey can scarcely be called \u2018visible.\u2019 I should be a fool if I did not\nbelieve in the Invisible, under the present conditions of the\nUniverse. But I cannot be tricked by \u2018shams\u2019 of the Invisible. The\nTheosophical business is a piece of vulgar imposture, in which the\nprofessors themselves are willing to delude their own imaginations, as\nwell as the imaginations of others--they are the most wretched\nimitators that ever were of the old Eastern sorcerers,--the fellows\nwho taught Moses and Aaron how to frighten their ignorant cattle-like\nherds of followers. None of the modern \u2018mediums,\u2019 as they are called,\nhave the skill over atmospheric phenomena, metals, and light-reflexes\nthat Apollonius of Tyana had, or Alexander the Paphlagonian. Both\nthese scientific sorcerers were born about the same time as Christ,\nand Apollonius, like Christ, raised a maiden from the dead. Miracles\nwere the fashion in that period of time,--and, according to the\nmonotonous manner in which history repeats itself, they are coming\ninto favour again in this century. All that we know now has been\nalready known. The ancient Greeks had their \u2018penny-in-the-slot\u2019\nmachine for the purpose of scattering perfume on their clothes as they\npassed along the streets--they had their \u2018syphon\u2019 bottles and vases as\nwe have, and they had their automatically opening and closing doors.\nCompare the miserable \u2018spiritualistic phenomena\u2019 of the Theosophists\nwith the marvels wrought by Hakem, known as Mokanna! Mokanna could\ncause an orb like the moon to rise from a well at a certain hour and\nillumine the country for miles and miles around. How did he do it? By\na knowledge of electric force applied to air and water. The \u2018bogies\u2019\nof a modern _s\u00e9ance_ who talk bad grammar and pinch people\u2019s toes and\nfingers are very coarse examples of necromancy, compared with the\nscientific skill of Mokanna and others of this tribe. However,\nsuperstition is the same in all ages, and there will always be fools\nready to believe in \u2018Mahatmas\u2019 or anything else,--and the old\n\u2018incantation of the Mantra\u2019 will, if well done, influence the minds of\nthe dupes of the nineteenth century quite as effectively as it did\nthose of the bygone ages before Christ.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat is the incantation of the Mantra?\u201d asked F\u00e9raz.\n\n\u201cA ridiculous trick\u201d--replied El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cknown to every Eastern\nconjurer and old woman who professes to see the future. You take your\ndupe, and fling a little water over him, fixing upon him your eyes and\nall the force of your will,--then, you take a certain mixture of\nchemical substances and perfumes, and set them on fire--the flames and\nfumes produce a dazzling and drowsy effect on the senses of your\n\u2018subject,\u2019 who will see whatever you choose him to see, and hear\nwhatever you intend him to hear. But Will is the chief ingredient of\nthe spell,--and if I, for example, choose to influence any one, I can\ndispense with both water and fire--I can do it alone and without any\nshow of preparation.\u201d\n\n\u201cI know you can!\u201d said F\u00e9raz meaningly, with a slight smile, and then\nwas silent.\n\n\u201cI wonder what the art of criticism is coming to nowadays!\u201d exclaimed\nEl-R\u00e2mi presently, taking up the paper again--\u201cHere is a remark\nworthy of Dogberry\u2019s profundity--\u2018_This is a book that must be read to\nbe understood._\u2019[3] Why, naturally! Who can understand a book without\nreading it?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz laughed--then his eyes darkened.\n\n\u201cI saw an infamous so-called critique of one of Madame Vassilius\u2019s\nbooks the other day\u201d--he said--\u201cI should like to have thrashed the man\nwho wrote it. It was not criticism at all--it was a mere piece of\nscurrilous vulgarity.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh, but that sort of thing pays!\u201d retorted El-R\u00e2mi satirically. \u201cThe\nmodern journalist attains his extremest height of brilliancy when he\nthrows the refuse of his inkpot at the name and fame of a woman more\ngifted than himself. It\u2019s nineteenth-century chivalry you know,--above\nall ... it\u2019s manly!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz shrugged his shoulders with a faint gesture of contempt.\n\n\u201cThen--if there is any truth in old chronicles--men are not what they\nwere;\u201d--he said.\n\n\u201cNo--they are not what they were, my dear boy--because all things have\nchanged. Women were once the real slaves and drudges of men,--now,\nthey are very nearly their equals, or can be so if they choose. And\nmen have to get accustomed to this--at present they are in the\ntransition state and don\u2019t like it. Besides, there will always be male\ntyrants and female drudges as long as the world lasts. Men are not\nwhat they were,--and, certes, they are not what they might be.\u201d\n\n\u201cThey might be gods;\u201d--said F\u00e9raz--\u201cbut I suppose they prefer to be\ndevils.\u201d\n\n\u201cPrecisely!\u201d agreed El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cit is easier, and more amusing.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz resumed his writing in silence. He was thinking of Irene\nVassilius, whom he admired;--and also of that wondrous Sleeping Beauty\nenshrined upstairs whose loveliness he did not dare to speak of. He\nhad latterly noticed a great change in his brother,--an indefinable\nsoftness seemed to have imperceptibly toned down the habitual cynicism\nof his speech and manner,--his very expression of countenance was more\ngracious and benign,--he looked handsomer,--his black eyes shot forth\na less fierce fire,--and yet, with all his gentleness and entire lack\nof impatience, he was absorbed from morning to night in such close and\nsecret study as made F\u00e9raz sometimes fear for its ultimate result on\nhis health.\n\n\u201cDo you really believe in prayer, F\u00e9raz?\u201d was the very unexpected\nquestion he now asked, with sudden and startling abruptness; \u201cI mean,\ndo you think any one in the invisible realms _hears_ us when we pray?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz laid down his pen, and gazed at his brother for a moment\nwithout answering. Then he said slowly--\n\n\u201cWell, according to your own theories the air is a vast\nphonograph,--so it follows naturally that everything is _heard_ and\n_kept_. But as to prayer, that depends, I think, altogether on how you\npray. I do not believe in it at all times. And I\u2019m afraid my ideas on\nthe subject are quite out of keeping with those generally\naccepted----\u201d\n\n\u201cNever mind--let me have them, whatever they are\u201d--interrupted\nEl-R\u00e2mi with visible eagerness--\u201cI want to know when and how you\npray?\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, the fact is I very seldom pray\u201d--returned F\u00e9raz--\u201cI offer up\nthe best praise I can in mortal language devise, both night and\nmorning--but I never _ask_ for anything. It would seem so vile to ask\nfor more, having already so much. And I am sure God knows best--in\nwhich case I have nothing to ask, except one thing.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd that is----?\u201d queried his brother.\n\n\u201cPunishment!\u201d replied F\u00e9raz emphatically; \u201cI pray for that--I crave\nfor that--I implore that I may be punished at once when I have done\nwrong, that I may immediately recognise my error. I would rather be\npunished here, than hereafter.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi paled a little, and his lips trembled.\n\n\u201cStrange boy!\u201d he murmured--\u201cAll the churches are praying God to take\naway the punishments incurred for sin,--you, on the contrary, ask for\nit as if it were a blessing.\u201d\n\n\u201cSo it is a blessing\u201d--declared F\u00e9raz--\u201cIt must be a blessing--and it\nis absurd of the churches to pray against a Law. For it is a Law.\nNature punishes us, when we physically rebel against the rules of\nhealth, by physical suffering and discomfort,--God punishes us in our\nmental rebellions by mental wretchedness. This is as it should be. I\nbelieve we get everything in this world that we deserve--no more and\nno less.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd do you never pray\u201d--continued El-R\u00e2mi slowly, \u201cfor the\naccomplished perfection of some cherished aim,--the winning of some\nspecial joy----\u201d\n\n\u201cNot I\u201d--said F\u00e9raz--\u201cbecause I know that if it be good for me I\nshall have it,--if bad, it will be withheld; all my prayers could not\nalter the matter.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi sat silent for a few minutes,--then, rising, he took two or\nthree turns up and down the room, and gradually a smile, half\nscornful, half sweet, illumined his dark features.\n\n\u201cThen, O young and serene philosopher, I will not pray!\u201d he said, his\neyes flashing a lustrous defiance--\u201cI have a special aim in view--I\nmean to grasp a joy!--and whether it be good or bad for me, I will\nattempt it unassisted.\u201d\n\n\u201cIf it be good you will succeed;\u201d--said F\u00e9raz with a glance\nexpressive of some fear as well as wonderment. \u201cIf it be bad, you will\nnot. God arranges these things for us.\u201d\n\n\u201cGod--God--always God!\u201d cried El-R\u00e2mi with some impatience--\u201cNo God\nshall interfere with me!\u201d At that moment there came a hesitating knock\nat the street door. F\u00e9raz went to open it, and admitted a pale\ngrief-stricken man whose eyes were red and heavy with tears and whose\nvoice utterly failed him to reply when El-R\u00e2mi exclaimed in\nastonishment:\n\n\u201cKarl! ... Karl! You here? Why, what has happened?\u201d\n\nPoor Karl made a heroic struggle to speak,--but his emotion was too\nstrong for him--he remained silent, and two great drops rolled down\nhis cheeks in spite of all his efforts to restrain them.\n\n\u201cYou are ill;\u201d--said F\u00e9raz kindly, pushing him by gentle force into a\nchair and fetching him a glass of wine--\u201cHere, drink this--it will\nrestore you.\u201d\n\nKarl put the glass aside tremblingly, and tried to smile his\ngratitude,--and presently gaining a little control over himself he\nturned his piteous glances towards El-R\u00e2mi whose fine features had\nbecome suddenly grave and fixed in thought.\n\n\u201cYou ... you ... have not heard, sir----\u201d he stammered.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi raised his hand gently, with a solemn and compassionate\ngesture.\n\n\u201cPeace, my good fellow!--no, I have not heard,--but I can\nguess;--Kremlin, ... your master ... is dead.\u201d\n\nAnd he was silent for many minutes. Fresh tears trickled from Karl\u2019s\neyes, and he made a pretence of tasting the wine that F\u00e9raz pressed\nupon him--F\u00e9raz, who looked as statuesque and serene as a young\nApollo.\n\n\u201cYou must console yourself;\u201d--he said cheerfully to Karl, \u201cPoor Dr.\nKremlin had many troubles and few joys--now he has gone where he has\nno trouble and all joy.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d sighed Karl dolefully--\u201cI wish I could believe that, sir,--I\nwish I could believe it! But it was the judgment of God upon him--it\nwas indeed!--that is what my poor mother would say,--the judgment of\nGod!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi moved from his meditative attitude with a faint sense of\nirritation. The words he had so lately uttered--\u201cNo God shall\ninterfere with me\u201d--re-echoed in his mind. And now here was this\nman,--this servant, weeping and trembling and talking of the \u201cjudgment\nof God\u201d as if it were really something divinely directed and\ninexorable.\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean?\u201d he asked, endeavouring to suppress the impatience\nin his voice--\u201cOf course, I know he must have had some violent end, or\nelse he could not\u201d--and he repeated the words impressively--\u201ccould not\nhave died,--but was there anything more than usually strange in the\nmanner of his death?\u201d\n\nKarl threw up his hands.\n\n\u201cMore than usually strange! Ach, Gott!\u201d and, with many interpolations\nof despair and expressions of horror, he related in broken accents the\nwhole of the appalling circumstances attending his master\u2019s end. In\nspite of himself a faint shudder ran through El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s warm blood as\nhe heard--he could almost see before him the horrible spectacle of the\nold man\u2019s mangled form lying crushed under the ponderous Disc his\ndaring skill had designed; and under his breath he murmured, \u201cOh\nLilith, oh my too happy Lilith! and yet you tell me there is no\ndeath!\u201d F\u00e9raz, however, the young and sensitive F\u00e9raz, listened to\nthe sad recital with quiet interest, unhorrified, apparently\nunmoved,--his eyes were bright, his expression placid.\n\n\u201cHe could not have suffered;\u201d--he observed at last, when Karl had\nfinished speaking--\u201cThe flash of lightning must have severed body and\nspirit instantly and without pain. I think it was a good end.\u201d\n\nKarl looked at the beautiful smiling youth in vague horror. What!--to\nbe flattened out like a board beneath a ponderous weight of fallen\nstone--to be so disfigured as to be unrecognisable--to be only a\nmangled mass of flesh difficult of decent burial,--and call that \u201ca\ngood end\u201d! Karl shuddered and groaned;--he was not versed in the\nstrange philosophies of young F\u00e9raz--_he_ had never been out of his\nbody on an ethereal journey to the star-kingdoms.\n\n\u201cIt was the judgment of God,\u201d--he repeated dully--\u201cNeither more nor\nless. My poor master studied too hard, and tried to find out too much,\nand I think he made God angry----\u201d\n\n\u201cMy good fellow,\u201d interrupted El-R\u00e2mi rather irritably--\u201cdo not talk\nof what you do not understand. You have been faithful, hard-working\nand all the rest of it,--but as for your master trying to find out too\nmuch, or God getting angry with him, that is all nonsense. We were\nplaced on this earth to find out as much as we can, about it and about\nourselves, and do the best that is possible with our learning,--and\nthe bare idea of a great God condescending to be \u2018angry\u2019 with one out\nof millions upon millions of units is absurd----\u201d\n\n\u201cBut even if an unit rebels against the Law the Law crushes\nhim\u201d--interrupted F\u00e9raz softly--\u201cA gnat flies into flame--the flame\nconsumes it--the Law is fulfilled,--and the Law is God\u2019s Will.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi bit his lip vexedly.\n\n\u201cWell, be that as it may, one must needs find out what the Law _is_\nfirst, before it can either be accepted or opposed,\u201d he said.\n\nF\u00e9raz made no answer. He was thinking of the simplicity of certain\nLaws of Spirit and Matter which were accepted and agreed to by the\ncommunity of men of whom the monk from Cyprus was the chief master.\n\nKarl meanwhile stared bewilderedly from F\u00e9raz to El-R\u00e2mi and from\nEl-R\u00e2mi back to F\u00e9raz again. Their remarks were totally beyond his\ncomprehension; he never could understand, and never wanted to\nunderstand, these subtle philosophies.\n\n\u201cI came to ask you, sir\u201d--he said after a pause--\u201cwhether you would\nnot, now you know all, manage to take away that devilish thing that\nkilled my master? I\u2019m afraid to touch it myself, and no one else\nwill--and there it lies up in the ruined tower shining away like a big\nlamp, and sticking like a burr to the iron rod I lifted it with, If\nit\u2019s any good to you, I\u2019m sure you\u2019d better have it--and by the bye, I\nfound this, sir, in my master\u2019s room addressed to you.\u201d\n\nHe held out a sealed envelope, which El-R\u00e2mi opened. It contained a\nfolded paper, on which were scratched these lines--\n\n \u201cTo El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos.\n\n \u201cGood friend, in the event of my death, I beg you to accept all my\n possessions such as they are, and do me the one favour I ask, which is\n this--Destroy the Disc, and let my problem die with me.\u201d\n\nThis paper, duly signed, bore the date of two years previously.\nEl-R\u00e2mi read it, and handed it to Karl, who read it also. They were\nsilent for a few minutes; then El-R\u00e2mi crossed the room, and,\nunlocking a small cupboard in the wall, took out a sealed flask full\nof what looked like red wine.\n\n\u201cSee here, Karl\u201d--he said;--\u201cThere is no devil in the great stone you\nare so afraid of. It is as perishable as anything else in this best of\nall possible worlds. It is nothing but a peculiar and rare growth of\ncrystal, which, though found in the lowest depths of the earth, has\nthe quality of absorbing light and emitting it. It clings to the iron\nrod in the way you speak of because it is a magnet,--and iron not only\nattracts but fastens it. It is impossible for me just now to go to\nIlfracombe--besides there is really no necessity for my presence\nthere. I can fully trust you to bring me the papers and few\npossessions of my poor old friend,--and for the rest, you can destroy\nthe stone yourself--the Disc, as your master called it. All you have\nto do is simply to pour this liquid on it,--it will pulverise--that\nis, it will crumble into dust while you watch it, and in ten minutes\nwill be indistinguishable from the fallen mortar of the shattered\ntower. Do you understand?\u201d\n\nKarl\u2019s mouth opened a little in wonderment, and he nodded feebly,--he\nfound it quite easy and natural to be afraid of the flask containing a\nmixture of such potent quality, and he took it from El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s hand\nvery gingerly and reluctantly. A slight smile crossed El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s\nfeatures as he said--\n\n\u201cNo, Karl! there is no danger--no fear of pulverisation for _you_. You\ncan put the phial safely in your pocket,--and though its contents\nwould pulverise a mountain if used in sufficient quantities,--the\nliquid has no effect on flesh and blood.\u201d\n\n\u201cPulverise a mountain!\u201d repeated Karl nervously--\u201cDo you mean that it\ncould turn a mountain into a dust-heap?\u201d\n\n\u201cOr a city--or a fortress--or a rock-bound coast--or anything in the\nshape of stone that you please\u201d--replied El-R\u00e2mi carelessly--\u201cbut it\nwill not harm human beings.\u201d\n\n\u201cWill it not explode, sir?\u201d and Karl still looked at the flask in\ndoubt.\n\n\u201cOh no--it will do its work with extraordinary silence and no less\nextraordinary rapidity. Do not be afraid!\u201d\n\nSlowly and with evident uneasiness Karl put the terrifying composition\ninto his pocket, deeply impressed by the idea that he had about him\nstuff, which, if used in sufficient quantity, could \u201cpulverise a\nmountain.\u201d It was awful! worse than dynamite, he considered, his\nthoughts flying off wantonly to the woes of Irishmen and Russians.\nEl-R\u00e2mi seemed not to notice his embarrassment and went on talking\nquietly, asking various questions concerning Kremlin\u2019s funeral, and\ngiving advice as to the final arrangements which were necessary, till\npresently he inquired of Karl what he proposed doing with himself in\nthe future.\n\n\u201cOh I shall look out for another situation,\u201d--he said--\u201cI shall not go\nback to Germany. I like to think of the \u2018Fatherland,\u2019 and I can sing\nthe \u2018Wacht am Rhein\u2019 with as much lung as anybody, but I wouldn\u2019t care\nto live there. I think I shall try for a place where there\u2019s a lady to\nserve; you know, sir, gentlemen\u2019s ways are apt to be monotonous.\nWhether they are clever or foolish they always stick to it, whatever\nit is. A gentleman that races is always racing, and always talking and\nthinking about racing,--a gentleman that drinks is always on the\ndrink,--a gentleman that coaches is always coaching, and so on; now a\nlady _does_ vary! One day she\u2019s all for flowers, another for pictures,\nanother for china,--sometimes she\u2019s mad about music, sometimes about\ndresses,--or else she takes a fit for study, and gets heaps of books\nfrom the libraries. Now for a man-servant all that is very agreeable\nand lively.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz laughed at this novel view of domestic service, and Karl,\ngrowing a little more cheerful, went on with his explanation--\n\n\u201cYou see, supposing I get into a lady\u2019s service, I shall have so much\nmore to distract me. One afternoon I shall be waiting outside a\npicture-gallery with her shawls and wraps; another day I shall be\nrunning backwards and forwards to a library,--and then there\u2019s always\nthe pleasure of never quite knowing what she will do next. And it\u2019s\nexcitement I want just now--it really is!\u201d\n\nThe corners of his good-humoured mouth drooped again despondently, and\nhis thoughts reverted with unpleasant suddenness to the \u201cpulverising\u201d\nliquid in his pocket. What a terrible thing it was to get acquainted\nwith scientists!\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi listened to his observations patiently.\n\n\u201cWell, Karl,\u201d he said at last--\u201cI think I can promise you a situation\nsuch as you would like. There is a very famous and lovely lady in\nLondon, known to the reading-world as Irene Vassilius--she writes\noriginal books; is sweetly capricious, yet nobly kind-hearted. I will\nwrite to her about you, and I have no doubt she will give you a\ntrial.\u201d\n\nKarl brightened up immensely at this prospect.\n\n\u201cThank you, sir!\u201d he said fervently--\u201cYou\u2019ve no idea what a deal of\ngood it will do me to take in the tea to a sweet-looking lady--a\nproperly-served tea, you know, all silver and good china. It will be a\nsort of tonic to me,--it will indeed, after that terrible place at\nIlfracombe. You can tell her I\u2019m a very handy man,--I can do almost\nanything, from cooking a chop, up to stretching my legs all day in a\nporter\u2019s chair in the hall and reading the latest \u2018special.\u2019 Anything\nshe wishes, whether for show or economy, she couldn\u2019t have a better\nhand at it than me;--will you tell her so, sir?\u201d\n\n\u201cCertainly!\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi with a smile. \u201cI\u2019ll tell her you are a\ndomestic Von Moltke, and that under your management her household will\nbe as well ordered as the German army under the great Field-Marshal.\u201d\n\nAfter a little more desultory conversation, Karl took his departure,\nand returned by the afternoon train to Ilfracombe. He was living with\none of his fisher-friends, and as it was late when he arrived he made\nno attempt to go to the deserted house of his deceased master that\nnight. But early the next morning he hurried there before breakfast,\nand ascended to the shattered tower,--that awful scene of desolation\nfrom whence poor Kremlin\u2019s mangled remains had been taken, and where\nonly a dark stain of blood on the floor silently testified of the\nhorror that had there been enacted. The Disc, lying prone, glittered\nas he approached it, with, as he thought, a fiendish and supernatural\nlight--the early sunlight fell upon its surface, and a thousand\nprismatic tints and sparkles dazzled his eyes as he drew near and\ngazed dubiously at it where it still clung to the iron pendulum. What\ncould his master have used such a strange object for?--what did it\nmean? And that solemn humming noise which he had used to hear when the\nnights were still,--had that glistening thing been the cause?--had it\nany sound? ... Struck by this idea, and filled with a sudden courage,\nhe seized a piece of thick wire, part of the many tangled coils that\nlay among the ruins of roof and wall, and with it gave the Disc a\nsmart blow on its edge ... hush! ... hush! ... The wire dropped from\nhis hand, and he stood, almost paralysed with fear. A deep, solemn,\nbooming sound, like a great cathedral bell, rang through the\nair,--grand, and pure and musical, and ... unearthly!--as might be the\nclarion stroke of a clock beating out, not the short pulsations of\nTime, but the vast throbs of Eternity. Round and round, in eddying\nechoes swept that sweet, sonorous note,--till--growing gradually\nfainter and fainter, it died entirely away from human hearing, and\nseemed to pass out and upwards into the gathering sun-rays that poured\nbrightly from the east, there to take its place, perchance, in that\nimmense diapason of vibrating tone-music that fills the star-strewn\nspace for ever and ever. It was the last sound struck from the great\nStar-Dial:--for Karl, terrified at the solemn din, wasted no more time\nin speculative hesitation, but, taking the flask El-R\u00e2mi had given\nhim, he opened it tremblingly and poured all its contents on the\nsurface of the crystal. The red liquid ran over the stone like blood,\ncrumbling it as it ran and extinguishing its brilliancy,--eating its\nsubstance away as rapidly as vitriol eats away the human\nskin,--blistering it and withering it visibly before Karl\u2019s astonished\neyes,--till, as El-R\u00e2mi had said, it was hardly distinguishable from\nthe dust and mortar around it. One piece lasted just a little longer\nthan the rest--it curled and writhed like a living thing under the\nabsolutely noiseless and terribly destructive influence of that\nblood-like liquid that seemed to sink into it as water sinks into a\nsponge,--Karl watched it, fascinated--till all at once it broke into a\nsparkle like flame, gleamed, smouldered, leaped high ...\nand--disappeared. The wondrous Dial, with its \u201cperpetual motion\u201d and\nits measured rhythm, was as if it had never been,--it had vanished as\nutterly as a destroyed Planet,--and the mighty Problem reflected on\nits surface remained ... and will most likely still remain ... a\nmystery unsolved.\n\n\n\n\n XXXII.\n\nFor two or three weeks after he had received the news of Kremlin\u2019s\ndeath, El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s mind was somewhat troubled and uneasy. He continued\nhis abstruse studies ardently, yet with less interest than usual,--and\nhe spent hour after hour in Lilith\u2019s room, sitting beside the couch on\nwhich she reposed, saying nothing, but simply watching her, himself\nabsorbed in thought. Days went by and he never roused her,--never\nasked her to reply to any question concerning the deep things of time\nand of eternity with which her a\u00ebrial spirit seemed conversant. He\nwas more impressed by the suddenness and terror of Kremlin\u2019s end than\nhe cared to admit to himself,--and the \u201cLight-Maps\u201d and other papers\nbelonging to his deceased old friend, all of which had now come into\nhis possession, were concise enough in many marvellous particulars to\nhave the effect of leading him almost imperceptibly to believe that\nafter all there was a God,--an actual Being whose magnificent\nattributes baffled the highest efforts of the imagination, and who\nindeed, as the Bible grandly hath it--\u201cholds the Universe in the\nhollow of His hand.\u201d And he began to go back to the Bible for\ninformation;--for he, like most students versed in Eastern\nphilosophies, knew that all that was ever said or will be said on the\nmysteries of life and death is to be found in that Book, which, though\nfull of much matter that does not pertain to its actual teaching,\nremains the one chief epitome of all the wisdom of the world. When it\nis once remembered that the Deity of Moses and Aaron was their own\ninvented hobgoblin, used for the purpose of terrifying and keeping the\nJews in order, much becomes clear that is otherwise impossible to\naccept or comprehend. Historians, priests, lawgivers, prophets and\npoets have all contributed to the Bible,--and when we detach class\nfrom class and put each in its proper place, without confounding them\nall together in an inextricable jumble as \u201cDivine inspiration,\u201d we\nobtain a better view of the final intention of the whole. El-R\u00e2mi\nconsidered Moses and Aaron in the light of particularly clever Eastern\nconjurers,--and not only conjurers, but tacticians and diplomatists,\nwho had just the qualities necessary to rule a barbarous, ignorant,\nand rebellious people. The thunders of Mount Sinai, the graving of the\ncommandments on tablets of stone,--the serpent in the wilderness,--the\nbringing of water out of a rock,--the parting of the sea to let an\narmy march through; he, El-R\u00e2mi, knew how all these things were done,\nand was perfectly cognisant of the means and appliances used to\ncompass all these seemingly miraculous events.\n\n\u201cWhat a career I could make if I chose!\u201d he thought--\u201cWhat wealth I\ncould amass,--what position! I who know how to quell the wildest waves\nof the sea,--I who, by means of a few drops of liquid, can corrode a\nname or a device so deeply on stone that centuries shall not efface\nit--I who can do so many things that would astonish the vulgar and\nmake them my slaves,--why am I content to live as I do, when I could\nbe greater than a crowned king? Why, because I scorn to trick the\nignorant by scientific skill which I have neither the time nor the\npatience to explain to them--and again--because I want to fathom the\nImpossible;--I want to prove if indeed there is any Impossible. What\n_can_ be done and proved, when once it _is_ done and proved, I regard\nas nothing,--and because I know how to smooth the sea, call down the\nrain, and evoke phantoms out of the atmosphere, I think such\nmanifestations of power trifling and inadequate. These things are all\n_provable_; and the performance of them is attained through a familiar\nknowledge of our own earth elements and atmosphere, but to find out\nthe subtle Something that is not of earth, and has not yet been made\nprovable,--that is the aim of my ambition. The Soul! What is it? Of\nwhat ethereal composition? of what likeness? of what feeling? of what\ncapacity? This, and this alone, is the Supreme Mystery,--when once we\nunderstand it, we shall understand God. The preachers waste their time\nin urging men and women to save their souls, so long as we remain in\ntotal ignorance as to what the Soul is. We cannot be expected to\ntake any trouble to \u201csave\u201d or even regard anything so vague and\ndubious as the Soul under its present conditions. What is visible and\nprovable to our eyes is that our friends die, and, to all intents and\npurposes, disappear. We never know them as they were any more, ...\nand, ... what is still more horrible to think of, but is nevertheless\ntrue,--our natural tendency is to forget them,--indeed, after three or\nfour years, perhaps less, we should find it difficult, without the aid\nof a photograph or painted picture, to recall their faces to our\nmemories. And it is curious to think of it, but we really remember\ntheir ways, their conversation, and their notions of life better than\ntheir actual physiognomies. All this is very strange and very\nperplexing too,--and it is difficult to imagine the reason for such\nperpetual tearing down of affections, and such bitter loss and\nharassment, unless there is some great Intention behind it all,--an\nIntention of which it is arranged we shall be made duly cognisant. If\nwe are _not_ to be made cognisant,--if we are _not_ to have a full and\nperfect Explanation,--then the very fact of Life being lived at all is\na mere cruelty,--a senseless jest which lacks all point,--and the very\ngrandeur and immensity of the Universe becomes nothing but the meanest\ndisplay of gigantic Force remorselessly put forth to overwhelm\ncreatures who have no power to offer resistance to its huge tyranny.\nIf I could but fathom that ultimate purpose of things!--if I could but\nseize the subtle clue--for I believe it is something very slight and\ndelicate which by its very fineness we have missed,--something which\nhas to do with the Eternal Infinitesimal--that marvellous power which\ncreates animated and regularly organised beings, many thousands of\nwhose bodies laid together would not extend _one inch_. It is not to\nthe Infinitely Great one must look for the secret of creation, but to\nthe Infinitely Little.\u201d\n\nSo he mused, as he sat by the couch of Lilith and watched her sleeping\nthat enchanted sleep of death-in-life. Old Zaroba, though now\nperfectly passive and obedient, and fulfilling all his commands with\nscrupulous exactitude, was not without her own ideas and hopes as she\nwent about her various duties connected with the care of the beautiful\ntranced girl. She seldom spoke to F\u00e9raz now except on ordinary\nhousehold matters, and he understood and silently respected her\nreserve. She would sit in her accustomed corner of Lilith\u2019s regal\napartment, weaving her thread-work mechanically, but ever and anon\nlifting her burning eyes to look at El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s absorbed face and note\nthe varied expressions she saw, or fancied she saw there.\n\n\u201cThe feverish trouble has begun\u201d--she muttered to herself on one\noccasion, as she heard her master sigh deeply--\u201cThe stir in the\nblood,--the restlessness--the wonder--the desire. And out of heart\u2019s\npain comes heart\u2019s peace;--and out of desire, accomplishment; and\nshall not the old gods of the world rejoice to see love born again of\nflames and tears and bitter-sweet as in the ancient days? For there is\nno love now such as there used to be--the pale Christ has killed\nit,--and the red rose aglow with colour and scent is now but a dull\nweed on a tame shore, washed by the salt sea, but never warmed by the\nsun. In the days of old, in the nights when Ashtaroth was queen of the\nsilver hours, the youths and maidens knew what it was to love in the\nvery breath of Love!--and the magic of all Nature, the music of the\nwoods and waters, the fire of the stars, the odours of the\nflowers--all these were in the dance and beat of the young blood, and\nin the touch of the soft red lips as they met and clung together in\nkisses sweeter than honey in wine. But now--now the world has grown\nold and cold, and dreary and joyless,--it is winter among men and the\nsummer is past.\u201d\n\nSo she would murmur to herself in her wild half-poetical jargon of\nlanguage--her voice never rising above an inarticulate whisper.\nEl-R\u00e2mi never heard her or seemed to regard her--he had no eyes\nexcept for the drowsing Lilith.\n\nIf he had been asked, at this particular time, why he went to that\nroom day after day, to stare silently at his beautiful \u201csubject\u201d and\nponder on everything connected with her, he could not have answered\nthe question. He did not himself know why. Something there was in him,\nas in every portion of created matter, which remained\ninexplicable,--something of his own nature which he neither understood\nnor cared to analyse. He who sought to fathom the last depth of\nresearch concerning God and the things divine would have been\ncompelled to own, had he been cross-examined on the matter, that he\nfound it impossible to fathom himself. The clue to his own Ego was as\ndesperately hard to seize, as curiously subtle and elusive, as the\nclue to the riddle of Creation. He was wont to pride himself on his\nconsistency--yet in his heart of hearts he knew that in many things he\nwas inconsistent,--he justly triumphed in his herculean\nWill-force,--yet now he was obliged to admit to himself that there was\nsomething in the silent placid aspect of Lilith as she lay before him,\nsubservient to his command, that quite unnerved him and scattered his\nthoughts. It had not used to be so--but now,--it _was_ so. And he\ndated the change, whether rightly or wrongly, from the day on which\nthe monk from Cyprus had visited him, and this thought made him\nrestless and irritable, and full of unjust and unreasonable\nsuspicions. For had not the \u201cMaster,\u201d as he was known in the community\nto which he belonged, said that he had _seen_ the Soul of Lilith,\nwhile he, El-R\u00e2mi, had never attained to so beatific an altitude of\nvision? Then was it not possible that, notwithstanding his rectitude\nand steadfastness of purpose, the \u201cMaster,\u201d great and Christ-like in\nself-denial though he was, might influence Lilith in some unforeseen\nway? Then there was F\u00e9raz--F\u00e9raz, whose supplications and\nprotestations had won a smile from the tranced girl, and who therefore\nmust assuredly have roused in her some faint pleasure and interest.\nSuch thoughts as these rankled in his mind and gave him no peace--for\nthey conveyed to him the unpleasing idea that Lilith was not all his\nown as he desired her to be,--others had a share in her thoughts.\nCould he have nothing entirely to himself? he would demand angrily of\nhis own inner consciousness--not even this life which he had, as it\nwere, robbed from death? And an idea, which had at first been the\nmerest dim suggestion, now deepened into a passionate resolve--he\nwould _make_ her his own so thoroughly and indissolubly that neither\ngods nor devils should snatch her from him.\n\n\u201cHer life is mine!\u201d he said--\u201cAnd she shall live as long as I please.\nHer body shall sleep, ... if I still choose, ... or ... it shall\n_wake_. But whether awake, or sleeping in the flesh, her spirit shall\nobey me always--like the satellite of a planet, that disembodied Soul\nshall be mine for ever!\u201d\n\nWhen he spoke thus to himself, he was sitting in his usual\ncontemplative attitude by the couch where Lilith lay;--he rose up\nsuddenly and paced the room, drawing back the velvet porti\u00e8re and\nsetting open the door of the ante-chamber as though he craved for\nfresh air. Music sounded through the house, ... it was F\u00e9raz singing.\nHis full pure tenor voice came floating up, bearing with it the words\nhe sang:\n\n \u201cAnd neither the angels in heaven above,\n  Nor the demons down under the sea,\n Can ever dissever my soul from the soul\n  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee!\n\n \u201cFor the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes\n  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee,--\n And the moon never beams without bringing me dreams\n  Of the beautiful Annabel Lee--\n And so all the night-tide I lie down by the side\n Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,\n  In her tomb by the sounding sea!\u201d\n\nWith a shaking hand El-R\u00e2mi shut the door more swiftly than he had\nopened it, and dragged the heavy porti\u00e8re across it to deaden the\nsound of that song!--to keep it out from his ears ... from his heart,\n... to stop its passionate vibration from throbbing along his nerves\nlike creeping fire. ...\n\n \u201cAnd so all the night-tide I lie down by the side\n Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride.\u201d ...\n\n\u201cGod!--my God!\u201d he muttered incoherently--\u201cWhat ails me? ... Am I\ngoing mad that I should dream thus?\u201d\n\nHe gazed round the room wildly, his hand still clutching the velvet\nporti\u00e8re,--and met the keenly watchful glance of Zaroba. Her hands\nwere mechanically busy with her thread-work,--but her eyes, black,\npiercing and brilliant, were fixed on him steadfastly. Something in\nher look compelled his attention,--something in his compelled hers.\nThey stared across the room at each other, as though a Thought had\nsprung between them like an armed soldier with drawn sword, demanding\nfrom each the pass-word to a mystery. In and out, across and across\nwent the filmy glistening threads in Zaroba\u2019s wrinkled hands, but her\neyes never moved from El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s face, and she looked like some weird\nsorceress weaving a web of destiny.\n\n\u201cFor you were the days of Ashtaroth!\u201d she said in a low, monotonous,\nyet curiously thrilling tone--\u201cYou are born too late, El-R\u00e2mi,--the\nyouth of the world has departed and the summer seasons of the heart\nare known on earth no more. You are born too late--too late!--the\nChrist claims all,--the body, the blood, the nerve and the\nspirit,--every muscle of His white limbs on the cross must be atoned\nfor by the dire penance and torture of centuries of men. So that now\neven love is a thorn in the flesh and its prick must be paid with a\nprice,--these are the hours of woe preceding the end. The blood that\nruns in your veins, El-R\u00e2mi, has sprung from kings and strong rulers\nof men,--and the pale faint spirits of this dull day have naught to do\nwith its colour and glow. And it rebels, O El-R\u00e2mi!--as God liveth,\nit rebels!--it burns in your heart--the proud, strong heart,--like\nruddy wine in a ruby cup; it rebels, El-R\u00e2mi!--it rises to passion as\nrise the waves of the sea to the moon, by a force and an impulse in\nNature stronger than yours! Ay, ay!--for you were the days of\nAshtaroth\u201d--and her voice sank into a wailing murmur--\u201cbut\nnow--now--the Christ claims all.\u201d\n\nHe heard her as one may hear incoherencies in a nightmare\nvision;--only a few weeks ago he would have been angry with her for\nwhat he would then have termed her foolish jargon,--but he was not\nangry now. Why should he be angry? he wondered dully--had he time to\neven think of anger while thus unnerved by that keen tremor that\nquivered through his frame--a tremor he strove in vain to calm? His\nhand fell from the curtain,--the sweet distracting song of Poe\u2019s\n\u201cAnnabel Lee\u201d had ceased,--and he advanced into the room again, his\nheart beating painfully still, his head a little drooped as though\nwith a sense of conscious shame. He moved slowly to where the roses in\nthe Venetian vase exhaled their odours on the air, and breaking one\noff its branch toyed with it aimlessly, letting its pale pink leaves\nflutter down one by one on the violet carpet at his feet. Suddenly, as\nthough he had resolved a doubt and made up his mind to something, he\nturned towards Zaroba, who watched him fixedly,--and with a mute\nsignal bade her leave the apartment. She rose instantly, and crossing\nher hands upon her breast made her customary obeisance and\nwaited,--for he looked at her with a meditative expression which\nimplied that he had not yet completed his instructions. Presently, and\nwith some hesitation, he made her another sign--a sign which had the\neffect of awakening a blaze of astonishment in her dark sunken eyes.\n\n\u201cNo more to-night!\u201d she repeated aloud--\u201cIt is your will that I return\nhere no more to-night?\u201d\n\nHe gave a slow but decided gesture of assent,--there was no mistaking\nit.\n\nZaroba paused an instant, and then with a swift noiseless step went to\nthe couch of Lilith and bent yearningly above that exquisite sleeping\nform.\n\n\u201cStar of my heart!\u201d she muttered--\u201cChild whose outward fairness I have\never loved, unheedful of the soul within,--may there still be strength\nenough left in the old gods to bid thee wake!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi caught her words, and a faint smile, proud yet bitter, curved\nhis delicate lips.\n\n\u201cThe old gods or the new--does it matter which?\u201d he mused\nvaguely.--\u201cAnd what is their strength compared with the Will of Man by\nwhich the very elements are conquered and made the slaves of his\nservice? \u2018My Will is God\u2019s Will\u2019 should be every strong man\u2019s motto.\nBut I--am I strong--or the weakest of the weak? ... and ... shall the\nChrist claim all?\u201d\n\nThe soft fall of the velvet porti\u00e8re startled him as it dropped\nbehind the retreating figure of Zaroba--she had left the room, and he\nwas alone,--alone with Lilith.\n\n\n\n\n XXXIII.\n\nHe remained quite still, standing near the tall vase that held the\nclustered roses,--in his hand he grasped unconsciously the stalk of\nthe one he had pulled to pieces. He was aware of his own strange\npassiveness,--it was a sort of inexplicable inertia which like\ntemporary paralysis seemed to incapacitate him from any action. It\nwould have appeared well and natural to him that he should stay there\nso, dreamily, with the scented rose-stalk in his hand, for any length\nof time. A noise in the outer street roused him a little,--the\nwhistling, hooting, and laughing of drunken men reeling\nhomewards,--and, lifting his eyes from their studious observation of\nthe floor, he sighed deeply.\n\n\u201cThat is the way the great majority of men amuse themselves,\u201d--he\nmused. \u201cDrink, stupidity, brutality, sensuality--all blatant proofs of\nmiserable unresisted weakness,--can it be possible that God can care\nfor such? Could even the pity of Christ pardon such wilful workers of\ntheir own ruin? The pity of Christ, said I?--nay, at times even He was\npitiless. Did He not curse a fig-tree because it was barren?--though\ntruly we are not told the cause of its barrenness. Of course the\nlesson is that Life--the fig-tree--has no right to be barren of\nresults,--but why curse it, if it is? What is the use of a curse at\nany time? And what, may equally be asked, is the use of a blessing?\nNeither are heard; the curse is seldom, if ever, wreaked,--and the\nblessing, so the sorrowful say, is never granted.\u201d\n\nThe noise and the laughter outside died away,--and a deep silence\nensued. He caught sight of himself in the mirror, and noted his own\nreflective attitude,--his brooding visage; and studied himself\ncritically as he would have studied a picture.\n\n\u201cYou are no Antinous, my friend\u201d--he said aloud, addressing his own\nreflection with some bitterness--\u201cA mere suntanned Oriental with a\npair of eyes in which the light is more of hell than heaven. What\nshould you do with yourself, frowning at Fate? You are a superb\negoist,--no more.\u201d\n\nAs he spoke, the roses in the vase beside him swayed lightly to and\nfro, as though a faint wind had fanned them, and their perfume stole\nupon the air like the delicate breath of summer wafted from some\ndistant garden.\n\nThere was no window open--and El-R\u00e2mi had not stirred, so that no\nmovement on his part could have shaken the vase,--and yet the roses\nquivered on their stalks as if brushed by a bird\u2019s wing. He watched\nthem with a faint sense of curiosity--but with no desire to discover\nwhy they thus nodded their fair heads to an apparently causeless\nvibration. He was struggling with an emotion that threatened to\noverwhelm him,--he knew that he was not master of himself,--and\ninstinctively he kept his face turned away from the tranced Lilith.\n\n\u201cI must not look upon her--I dare not;\u201d he whispered to the\nsilence--\u201cNot yet--not yet.\u201d\n\nThere was a low chair close by, and he dropped into it wearily,\ncovering his eyes with one hand. He tried to control his thoughts--but\nthey were rebellious, and ran riot in spite of him. The words of\nZaroba rang in his ears--\u201cFor you were the days of Ashtaroth.\u201d The\ndays of Ashtaroth!--for what had they been renowned? For Jove and the\nfeasts of love,--for mirth and song and dance--for crowns of flowers,\nfor shouting of choruses and tinkling of cymbals, for exquisite luxury\nand voluptuous pleasures,--for men and women who were not ashamed of\nlove and took delight in loving;--were there not better, warmer ways\nof life in those old times than now--now when cautious and timid souls\nmake schemes for marriage as they scheme for wealth,--when they\nsnigger at \u201clove\u201d as though it were some ludicrous defect in mortal\ncomposition, and when real passion of any kind is deemed downright\nimproper, and not to be spoken of before cold and punctilious society?\n\n\u201cAy, but the passion is there all the same;\u201d--thought El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cUnder\nthe ice burns the fire,--all the fiercer and the more dangerous for\nits repression.\u201d\n\nAnd he still kept his hand over his eyes, thinking.\n\n\u201cThe Christ claims all\u201d--had said Zaroba. Nay, what has Christ done\nthat He should claim all? \u201cHe died for us!\u201d cry the preachers.\nWell,--others can die also. \u201cHe was Divine!\u201d proclaim the churches. We\nare all Divine, if we will but let the Divinity in us have way. And\nmoved by these ideas, El-R\u00e2mi rose up and crossed to a niche in the\npurple-pavilioned walls of the room, before which hung a loose breadth\nof velvet fringed with gold,--this he drew aside, and disclosed a\npicture very finely painted, of Christ standing near the sea,\nsurrounded by His disciples--underneath it were inscribed the\nwords--\u201cWhom say ye that I am?\u201d\n\nThe dignity and beauty of the face and figure were truly marvellous,\nthe expression of the eyes had something of pride as well as\nsweetness, and El-R\u00e2mi confronted it as he had confronted it many\ntimes before, with a restless inquisitiveness.\n\n\u201cWhom say ye that I am?\u201d\n\nThe painted Christ seemed to audibly ask the question.\n\n\u201cO noble Mystery of a Man, I cannot tell!\u201d exclaimed El-R\u00e2mi suddenly\nand aloud--\u201cI cannot say who you are, or who you were. A riddle for\nall the world to wonder at,--a white Sphinx with a smile\ninscrutable,--all the secrets of Egypt are as nothing to your secret,\nO simple, pure-souled Nazarene! You, born in miserable plight in\nmiserable Bethlehem, changed the aspect of the world, altered and\npurified the modes of civilisation, and thrilled all life with higher\nmotives for work than it had ever been dowered with before. All this\nin three years\u2019 work, ending in a criminal\u2019s death! Truly, if there\nwas not something Divine in you, then God Himself is an error!\u201d\n\nThe grand face seemed to smile upon him with a deep and solemn pity,\nand \u201cWhom say ye that I am?\u201d sounded in his ears as though it were\nspoken by some one in the room.\n\n\u201cI must be getting nervous;\u201d--he muttered, drawing the curtain softly\nover the picture again, and looking uneasily round about him, \u201cI think\nI cannot be much more than the weakest of men,--after all.\u201d\n\nA faint tremor seized him as he turned slowly but resolutely round\ntowards the couch of Lilith, and let his eyes rest on her enchanting\nloveliness. Step by step he drew nearer and nearer till he bent\nclosely over her, but he did not call her by name. A loose mass of her\nhair lay close to his arm,--with an impetuous suddenness he gathered\nit in his hands and kissed it.\n\n\u201cA sheaf of sunbeams!\u201d--he whispered, his lips burning as they\ncaressed the shining wealth of silken curls--\u201cA golden web in which\nkisses might be caught and killed! Ah Heaven, have pity on me!\u201d and he\nsank by the couch, stifling his words beneath his breath--\u201cIf I love\nthis girl--if all this mad tumult in my soul is Love--let her never\nknow it, O merciful Fates!--or she is lost, and so am I. Let me be\nbound,--let her be free,--let me fight down my weakness, but let her\nnever know that I am weak, or I shall lose her long obedience. No, no!\nI will not summon her to me now--it is best she should be\nabsent,--this body of hers, this fair fine casket of her spirit is but\na dead thing when that spirit is elsewhere. She cannot hear me,--she\ndoes not see me--no, not even when I lay this hand--this \u2018shadow of a\nhand,\u2019 as she once called it, here, to quell my foolish murmurings.\u201d\n\nAnd, lifting Lilith\u2019s hand as he spoke, he pressed its roseate palm\nagainst his lips,--then on his forehead. A strange sense of relief and\npeace came upon him with the touch of those delicate fingers--it was\nas though a cool wind blew, bringing freshness from some quiet\nmountain lake or river. Silently he knelt,--and presently, somewhat\ncalmed, lifted his eyes again to look at Lilith,--she smiled in her\ndeep trance--she was the very picture of some happy angel sleeping.\nHis arm sank in the soft satin coverlet as he laid back the little\nhand he held upon her breast,--and with eager scrutiny he noted every\ntint and every line in her exquisite face;--the lovely long lashes\nthat swept the blush-rose of her cheeks,--the rounded chin, dimpled in\nits curve,--the full white throat, the perfect outline of the whole\nfair figure as it rested like a branched lily in a bed of snow,--and,\nas he looked, he realised that all this beauty was his--his, if he\nchose to take Love and let Wisdom go. If he chose to resign the chance\nof increasing his knowledge of the supernatural,--if he were content\nto accept earth for what it is, and heaven for what it may be, Lilith,\nthe bodily incarnation of loveliness, purity and perfect womanhood,\nwas his--his only. He grew dizzy at the thought,--then by an effort\nconquered the longing of his heart. He remembered what he had sworn to\ndo,--to discover the one great secret before he seized the joy that\ntempted him,--to prove the actual, individual, conscious existence of\nthe Being that is said to occupy a temporary habitation in flesh. He\nknew and he saw the body of Lilith,--he must know, and he must _see_\nher Soul. And while he leaned above her couch, entranced, a sudden\nstrain of music echoed through the stillness,--music solemn and sweet,\nthat stirred the air into rhythmic vibrations as of slow and sacred\npsalmody. He listened, perplexed but not afraid,--he was not afraid of\nanything in earth or heaven save--himself. He knew that man has his\nworst enemy in his own Ego,--beyond that, there is very little in life\nthat need give cause for alarm. He had, till now, been able to\npractise the stoical philosophy of an Epictetus while engaged in\nresearches that would have puzzled the brain of a Plato,--but his\nphilosophy was just now at fault and his self-possession gone to the\nfour winds of heaven--and why? He knew not--but he was certain the\nfault lay in himself, and not in others. Of an arrogant temper and a\nself-reliant haughty disposition he had none of that low cowardice\nwhich people are guilty of, who, finding themselves in a dilemma, cast\nthe blame at once on others, or on \u201ccircumstances\u201d which, after all,\nwere most probably of their own creating. And the strange music that\nebbed and flowed in sonorous pulsations through the air around him\ntroubled him not at all,--he attributed it at once to something or\nother that was out of order in his own mental perceptions. He knew\nhow, in certain conditions of the brain, some infinitesimal trifle\ngone wrong in the aural nerves will persuade one that trumpets are\nblowing, violins playing, birds singing or bells ringing in the\ndistance,--just as a little disorder of the visual organs will help to\nconvince one of apparitions. He knew how to cast a \u201cglamour\u201d better\nthan any so-called \u201ctheosophist\u201d in full practice of his\ntrickery,--and, being thus perfectly aware how the human sense can be\ndeceived, listened to the harmonious sounds he heard with speculative\ninterest, wondering how long this \u201cfancy\u201d of his would last. Much more\nstartled was he when amid the rising and falling of the mysterious\nmelody he heard the voice of Lilith saying softly in her usual\nmanner--\n\n\u201cI am here!\u201d\n\nHis heart beat rapidly, and he rose slowly from his kneeling position\nby her side. \u201cI did not call you, Lilith!\u201d he said tremblingly.\n\n\u201cNo!\u201d and her sweet lips smiled--\u201cyou did not call, ... I came!\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy did you come?\u201d he asked, still faintly.\n\n\u201cFor my own joy and yours!\u201d she answered in thrilling tones--\u201cSweeter\nthan all the heavens is Love, and Love is here!\u201d\n\nAn icy cold crept through him as he heard the rapture in her\naccents,--such rapture!--like that of a lark singing in the sunlight\non a fresh morning of May. And like the dim sound of a funeral bell\ncame the words of the monk, tolling solemnly across his memory, in\nspite of his efforts to forget them, \u201cWith Lilith\u2019s love comes\nLilith\u2019s freedom.\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d he muttered within himself--\u201cIt cannot be,--it shall not\nbe!--she is mine, mine only. Her fate is in my hands; if there be\njustice in Heaven, who else has so much right to her body or her soul\nas I?\u201d\n\nAnd he stood, gazing irresolutely at the girl, who stirred restlessly\nand flung her white arms upward on her pillows, while the music he had\nheard suddenly ceased. He dared not speak,--he was afraid to express\nany desire or impose any command upon this \u201cfine sprite\u201d which had for\nsix years obeyed him, but which might now, for all he could tell, be\nfluttering vagrantly on the glittering confines of realms far beyond\nhis ken.\n\nHer lips moved,--and presently she spoke again.\n\n\u201cWonderful are the ways of Divine Law!\u201d she murmured softly--\u201cand\ninfinite are the changes it works among its creatures! An old man,\ndespised and poor, by friends rejected, perplexed in mind, but pure in\nsoul; such Was the Spirit that now Is. Passing me flame-like on its\nswift way heavenward,--saved and uplifted, not by Wisdom, but by\nLove.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi listened, awed and puzzled. Her words surely seemed to bear\nsome reference to Kremlin?\n\n\u201cOf the knowledge of the stars and the measuring of light there is\nmore than enough in the Universe;\u201d--went on Lilith dreamily--\u201cbut of\nfaithful love, such as keeps an Angel for ever by one\u2019s side, there is\nlittle; therefore the Angels on earth are few.\u201d\n\nHe could no longer restrain his curiosity.\n\n\u201cDo you speak of one who is dead, Lilith?\u201d he asked--\u201cOne whom I\nknew----\u201d\n\n\u201cI speak of one who is living,\u201d--she replied--\u201cand one whom you\n_know_. For none are dead; and Knowledge has no Past, but is all\nPresent.\u201d\n\nHer voice sank into silence. El-R\u00e2mi bent above her, studying her\ncountenance earnestly--her lashes trembled as though the eyelids were\nabout to open,--but the tremor passed and they remained shut. How\nlovely she looked!--how more than lovely!\n\n\u201cLilith!\u201d he whispered, suddenly oblivious of all his former\nforebodings, and unconscious of the eager passion vibrating in his\ntone--\u201cSweet Lilith!\u201d\n\nShe turned slightly towards him, and, lifting her arms from their\nindolently graceful position on the pillows, she clasped her hands\nhigh above her head in apparent supplication.\n\n\u201cLove me!\u201d she cried, with such a thrill in her accent that it rang\nthrough the room like a note of music--\u201cOh my Belov\u00ebd, love me!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi grew faint and dizzy,--his thoughts were all in a whirl, ...\nwas he made of marble or ice that he should not respond? Scarcely\naware of what he did, he took her clasped hands in his own.\n\n\u201cAnd do I not, Lilith?\u201d he murmured, half anguished, half\nentranced--\u201cDo I not love you?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d said Lilith with passionate emphasis--\u201cNot me,--not me,\nMyself! Oh my Belov\u00ebd! love Me, not my Shadow!\u201d\n\nHe loosened her hands, and recoiled, awed and perplexed. Her appeal\nstruck at the core of all his doubts,--and for one moment he was\ndisposed to believe in the actual truth of the Immortal Soul without\nthose \u201cproofs\u201d for which he constantly searched,--the next he rallied\nhimself on his folly and weakness. He dared not trust himself to\nanswer her, so he was silent,--but she soon spoke again with such\nconvincing earnestness of tone that almost ... almost he believed--but\nnot quite.\n\n\u201cTo love the Seeming and not the Real,\u201d--she said--\u201cis the curse of\nall sad Humanity. It is the glamour of the air,--the barrier between\nEarth and Heaven. The Body is the Shadow--the Soul is the Substance.\nThe Reflection I cast on Earth\u2019s surface for a little space is but a\nReflection only,--it is not Me:--I am beyond it!\u201d\n\nFor a moment El-R\u00e2mi stood irresolute,--then gathering up his\nscattered thoughts, he began to try and resolve them into order and\nconnection. Surely the time was ripe for his great Experiment?--and,\nas he considered this, his nerves grew more steady,--his self-reliance\nreturned--all his devotion to scientific research pressed back its\nclaim upon his mind,--if he were to fail now, he thought, after all\nhis patience and study,--fail to obtain any true insight into the\nspiritual side of humanity, would he not be ashamed, ay, and degraded\nin his own eyes? He resolved to end all his torture of pain and doubt\nand disquietude,--and, sitting on the edge of Lilith\u2019s couch, he drew\nher delicate hands down from their uplifted position, and laid them\none above the other cross-wise on his own breast.\n\n\u201cThen you must teach me, Lilith\u201d--he said softly and with tender\npersuasiveness--\u201cyou must teach me to know you. If I see but your\nReflection here,--let me behold your Reality. Let me love you as you\nare, if now I only love you as you seem. Show yourself to me in all\nyour spiritual loveliness, Lilith!--it may be I shall die of the\nglory,--or--if there is no death as you say,--I shall not die, but\nsimply pass away into the light which gives you life. Lift the veil\nthat is between us, Lilith, and let me see you face to face. If this\nthat _seems_ you\u201d--and he pressed the little hands he held--\u201cis\nnaught, let me realise the nothingness of so much beauty beside the\ngreater beauty that engenders it. Come to me as you _are_,\nLilith!--come!\u201d\n\nAs he spoke, his heart beat fast with a nervous thrill of expectancy;\nwhat would she answer? ... what would she do? He could not take his\neyes from her face--he half fancied he should see some change there;\nfor the moment he even thought it possible that she might transform\nherself into some surpassing Being, which, like the gods of the Greek\nmythology, should consume by its flame-like splendour whatever of\nmortality dared to look upon it. But she remained unaltered, and\nsculpturally calm,--only her breathing seemed a little quicker, and\nthe hands that he held trembled against his breast.\n\nHer next words, however, startled him--\n\n\u201cI will come!\u201d she said, and a faint sigh escaped her lips--\u201cBe ready\nfor me. Pray!--pray for the blessing of Christ,--for, if Christ be\nwith us, all is well.\u201d\n\nAt this, his brow clouded,--his eyes drooped gloomily.\n\n\u201cChrist!\u201d he muttered more to himself than to her--\u201cWhat is He to me?\nWho is He that He should be with us?\u201d\n\n\u201cThis world\u2019s rescue and all worlds\u2019 glory!\u201d\n\nThe answer rang out like a silver clarion, with something full and\ntriumphant in the sound, as though not only Lilith\u2019s voice had uttered\nit, but other voices had joined in a chorus. At the same moment, her\nhands moved, as if in an effort to escape from his hold. But he held\nthem closely in a jealous and masterful grasp.\n\n\u201cWhen will you come to me, Lilith?\u201d he demanded in low but eager\naccents--\u201cWhen shall I see you and know you as Lilith? ... _my_\nLilith, my own for ever?\u201d\n\n\u201cGod\u2019s Lilith--God\u2019s own for ever!\u201d murmured Lilith dreamily, and then\nwas silent.\n\nAn angry sense of rebellion began to burn in El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s mind.\nSummoning up all the force of his iron will, he unclasped her hands\nand laid them back on each side of her, and placed his own hand on her\nbreast, just where the ruby talisman shone and glowed.\n\n\u201cAnswer me, Lilith!\u201d he said, with something of the old sternness\nwhich he had used to employ with her on former occasions--\u201cWhen will\nyou come to me?\u201d\n\nHer limbs trembled violently as though some inward cold convulsed her,\nand her answer came slowly, though clearly--\n\n\u201cWhen you are ready.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am ready now!\u201d he cried recklessly.\n\n\u201cNo--no!\u201d she murmured, her voice growing fainter and fainter--\u201cNot\nyet ... not yet! Love is not strong enough, high enough, pure enough.\nWait, watch and pray. When the hour has come, a sign will be\ngiven--but O my Belov\u00ebd, if you would know me, love Me--love Me! not\nmy Shadow!\u201d\n\nA pale hue fell on her face, robbing it of its delicate\ntint,--El-R\u00e2mi knew what that pallor indicated.\n\n\u201cLilith! Lilith!\u201d he exclaimed, \u201cwhy leave me thus if you love me?\nStay with me yet a little!\u201d\n\nBut Lilith--or rather the strange Spirit that made the body of Lilith\nspeak,--was gone. And all that night not another sound, either of\nmusic or speech, stirred the silence of the room. Dawn came, misty and\ngray, and found the proud El-R\u00e2mi kneeling before the unveiled\npicture of the Christ,--not praying, for he could not bring himself\ndown to the necessary humiliation for prayer,--but simply wondering\nvaguely as to what _could_ be and what _might_ be the one positive\nreply to that question propounded of old--\n\n\u201cWhom Say Ye That I Am?\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XXXIV.\n\nOf what avail is it to propound questions that no one can answer? Of\nwhat use is it to attempt to solve the mystery of life which must for\never remain mysterious? Thus may the intelligent critic ask, and, in\nasking, may declare that the experiments, researches, and anxieties of\nEl-R\u00e2mi, together with El-R\u00e2mi himself, are mistaken conceptions all\nround. But it is necessary to remind the intelligent critic that the\neager desire of El-R\u00e2mi to prove what appears unprovable is by no\nmeans an uncommon phase of human nature,--it is in fact the very\nkey-note and pulse of the present time. Every living creature who is\nnot too stunned by misery for thought craves to know positively\nwhether the Soul,--the Immortal, Individual Ego, be Fable or Fact.\nNever more than in this, our own period, did people search with such\nunabated feverish yearning into the things that seem\nsupernatural;--never were there bitterer pangs of recoil and\ndisappointment when trickery and imposture are found to have even\ntemporarily passed for truth. If the deepest feeling in every human\nheart to-day were suddenly given voice, the shout \u201cExcelsior!\u201d would\nrend the air in mighty chorus. For we know all the old earth\nstories;--of love, of war, of adventure, of wealth, we know pretty\nwell the beginning and the end,--we read in our histories of nations\nthat were, but now are not, and we feel that we shall in due time go\nthe same way with them,--that the wheel of Destiny spins on in the\nsame round always, and that nothing--nothing can alter its relentless\nand monotonous course. We tread in the dust and among the fallen\ncolumns of great cities and we vaguely wonder if the spirits of the\nmen that built them are indeed no more,--we gaze on the glorious pile\nof the Duomo at Milan and think of the brain that first devised and\nplanned its majestic proportions, and ask ourselves--Is it possible\nthat this, the creation, should be Here, and its creator Nowhere?\nWould such an arrangement be reasonable or just? And so it happens\nthat when the wielders of the pen essay to tell us of wars, of\nshipwrecks, of hair-breadth escapes from danger, of love and politics\nand society, we read their pages with merely transitory pleasure and\nfrequent indifference, but when they touch upon subjects beyond\nearthly experience,--when they attempt, however feebly, to lift our\ninspirations to the possibilities of the Unseen, then we give them our\neager attention and almost passionate interest. Critics look upon this\ntendency as morbid, unwholesome and pernicious; but nevertheless the\ntendency is there,--the demand for \u201cLight! more light!\u201d is in the very\nblood and brain of the people. It would seem as though this world has\ngrown too narrow for the aspirations of its inhabitants;--and some of\nus instinctively feel that we are on the brink of strange discoveries\nrespecting the powers unearthly, whether for good or evil we dare not\npresume to guess. The nonsensical tenets of \u201cTheosophy\u201d would not gain\nground with a single individual man or woman were not this feeling\nvery strong among many,--the tricky \u201cmediums\u201d and \u201cspiritualists\u201d\nwould not have a chance of earning a subsistence out of the\ngullibility of their dupes, and the preachers of new creeds and new\nforms would obtain no vestige of attention if it were not for the fact\nthat there is a very general impression all over the world that the\ntime is ripe for a clearer revelation of God and the things of God\nthan we have ever had before. \u201cGive us something that will endure!\u201d is\nthe exclamation of weary humanity--\u201cThe things we have, pass; and, by\nreason of their ephemeral nature, are worthless. Give us what we can\nkeep and call our own for ever!\u201d This is why we try and test all\nthings that _appear_ to give proof of the super-sensual element in\nman,--and when we find ourselves deceived by impostors and conjurers\nour disgust and disappointment are too bitter to ever find vent in\nwords. The happiest are those who, in the shifting up and down of\nfaiths and formulas, ever cling steadfastly to the one pure example of\nembodied Divinity in Manhood as seen in Christ. When we reject Christ,\nwe reject the Gospel of Love and Universal Brotherhood, without which\nthe ultimate perfection and progress of the world must ever remain\nimpossible.\n\nA few random thoughts such as these occurred to El-R\u00e2mi now and then\nas he lived his life from day to day in perpetual expectation of the\n\u201csign\u201d promised by Lilith, which as yet was not forthcoming. He\nbelieved she would keep her word, and that the \u201csign\u201d whatever it was\nwould be unmistakable; and,--as before stated--this was the nearest\napproach to actual faith he had ever known. His was a nature which was\noriginally disposed to faith, but which had persistently fought with\nits own inclination till that inclination had been conquered. He had\nbeen able to prove as purely natural much that had _seemed_\nsupernatural, and he now viewed everything from two\npoints--Possibility and Impossibility. His various confusions and\nperplexities, however, generally arose from the frequent discovery he\nmade that what he had once thought the Impossible suddenly became,\nthrough some small chance clue, the Possible. So many times had this\noccurred that he often caught himself wondering whether anything in\nvery truth could be strictly declared as \u201cimpossible.\u201d And yet, ...\nwith the body of Lilith under his observation for six years, and an\nabsolute ignorance as to _how_ her intelligence had developed, or\n_where_ she obtained the power to discourse with him as she did, he\nalways had the lurking dread that her utterances might be the result\nof _his own brain unconsciously working upon hers_, and that there was\nno \u201csoul\u201d or \u201cspirit\u201d in the matter. This, too, in spite of the fact\nthat she had actually given him a concise description of certain\nplanets, their laws, their government, and their inhabitants,\nconcerning which _he_ could know nothing,--and that she spoke with a\nsure conviction of the existence of a personal God, an idea that was\nentirely unacceptable to _his_ nature. He was at a loss to explain her\n\u201cseparated consciousness\u201d in any scientific way, and, afraid of\nhimself lest he should believe too easily, he encouraged the presence\nof every doubt in his mind, rather than give entrance to more than the\npalest glimmer of faith.\n\nAnd so time went on, and May passed into June, and June deepened into\nits meridian glow of bloom and sunlight, and he remained shut up\nwithin the four walls of his house, seeing no one, and displaying a\ntotal indifference to the fact that the \u201cseason\u201d with all its bitter\nfroth and frivolity was seething on in London in its usual monotonous\nmanner. Unlike pretenders to \u201cspiritualistic\u201d powers, he had no\ninclination for the society of the rich and great,--\u201ctitled\u201d people\nhad no attraction for him save in so far as they were cultured, witty,\nor amiable,--\u201cposition\u201d in the world was a very miserable trifle in\nhis opinion, and, though many a gorgeous flunkied carriage at this\ntime found its way into the unfashionable square where he had his\ndomicile, no visitors were admitted to see him,--and \u201ctoo busy to\nreceive any one\u201d was the formula with which young F\u00e9raz dismissed any\nwould-be intruder. Yet F\u00e9raz himself wondered all the while how it\nwas that, as a matter of fact, El-R\u00e2mi seemed to be just now less\nabsorbed in actual study than he had ever been in his whole life. He\nread no books save the old Arabic vellum-bound volume which held the\nexplanatory key to so many curious phenomena palmed off as \u201cspiritual\nmiracles\u201d by the theosophists, and he wrote a good deal,--but he\nanswered no letters, accepted no invitations, manifested no wish to\nleave the house even for an hour\u2019s stroll, and seemed mentally\nengrossed by some great secret subject of meditation. He was uniformly\nkind to F\u00e9raz, exacting no duties from him save those prompted by\ninterest and affection,--he was marvellously gentle too with Zaroba,\nwho, agitated, restless and perplexed as to his ultimate intentions\nwith respect to the beautiful Lilith, was vaguely uneasy and\nmelancholy, though she deemed it wisest to perform all his commands\nwith exactitude, and, for the present, to hold her peace. She had\nexpected something--though she knew not what--from his last interview\nwith her beautiful charge--but all was unchanged,--Lilith slept on,\nand the cherished wish of Zaroba\u2019s heart, that she should wake, seemed\nas far off realisation as ever. Day after day passed, and El-R\u00e2mi\nlived like a hermit amidst the roar and traffic of mighty\nLondon,--watching Lilith for long and anxious hours, but never\nventuring to call her down to him from wherever she might\nbe,--waiting, waiting for _her_ summons, and content for once to sink\nhimself in the thought of _her_ identity. All his ambitions were now\ncentred on the one great object, ... to see the Soul, _as_ it is, _if_\nit is indeed existent, conscious and individual. For, as he argued,\nwhat is the use of a \u201cSoul\u201d whose capacities we are not permitted to\nunderstand?--and if it be no more to us than the intelligent faculty\nof brain? The chief proof of a possible something behind Man\u2019s inner\nconsciousness was, he considered, the quality of Discontent, and,\nprimarily, because Discontent is so universal. No one is contented in\nall the world from end to end. From the powerful Emperor on his throne\nto the whining beggar in the street, all chafe under the goading prick\nof the great Necessity,--a something better,--a something lasting. Why\nshould this resonant key-note of Discontent be perpetually resounding\nthrough space, if this life is all? No amount of philosophy or\nargument can argue away Discontent--it is a god-like disquietude ever\nfermenting changes among us, ever propounding new suggestions for\nhappiness, ever restless, never satisfied. And El-R\u00e2mi would ask\nhimself--Is Discontent the voice of the Soul?--not only the Universal\nSoul of things, but the Soul of each individual? Then, if individual,\nwhy should not the individual be made manifest, if manifestation be\npossible? And if not possible, why should we be called upon to believe\nin what cannot be manifested?\n\nThus he argued, not altogether unwisely; he had studied profoundly all\nthe divers conflicting theories of religion, and would at one time\nhave become an obstinately confirmed Positivist, had it not been for\nthe fact that the further his researches led him the more he became\naware that there was nothing positive,--that is to say, nothing so\napparently fixed and unalterable that it might not, under different\nconditions, prove capable of change. Perhaps there is no better test\nexample of this truth than the ordinary substance known as iron. We\nuse in common parlance unthinkingly the phrase \u201cas hard as\niron\u201d--while to the smith and engineer, who mould and twist it in\nevery form, it proves itself soft and malleable as wax. Again, to the\nsurface observer, it might and does seem an incombustible metal,--the\nchemist knows it will burn with the utmost fury. How then form a\n_universal_ decision as to its various capabilities when it has so\nmany variations of use all in such contrary directions? The same\nexample, modified or enlarged, will be found to apply to all things,\nwherefore the word \u201cPositivism\u201d seems out of place in merely mortal\nlanguage. God may be \u201cpositive,\u201d but we and our surroundings have no\nsuch absolute quality.\n\nDuring this period of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s self-elected seclusion and meditation\nhis young brother F\u00e9raz was very happy. He was in the midst of\nwriting a poem which he fondly fancied might perhaps--only\nperhaps--find a publisher to take it and launch it on its own\nmerits,--it is the privilege of youth to be over-sanguine. Then, too,\nhis brain was filled with new musical ideas,--and many an evening\u2019s\nhour he beguiled away by delicious improvisations on the piano, or\nexquisite songs to the mandoline. El-R\u00e2mi, when he was not upstairs\nkeeping anxious vigil by the tranced Lilith\u2019s side, would sit in his\nchair, leaning back with half-closed eyes, listening to the entrancing\nmelodies like another Saul to a new David, soothed by the sweetness of\nthe sounds he heard, yet conscious that he took too deep and ardent a\npleasure in hearing, when the songs F\u00e9raz chose were of love. One\nnight F\u00e9raz elected to sing the wild and beautiful \u201cCanticle of Love\u201d\nwritten by the late Lord Lytton, when as \u201cOwen Meredith\u201d he promised\nto be one of the greatest poets of our century, and who would have\nfulfilled more than that promise if diplomacy had not claimed his\nbrilliant intellectual gifts for the service of his country,--a\ncountry which yet deplores his untimely loss. But no fatality had as\nyet threatened that gallant and noble life in the days when F\u00e9raz\nsmote the chords of his mandoline and sang:\n\n \u201cI once heard an angel by night in the sky\n  Singing softly a song to a deep golden lute;\n The pole-star, the seven little planets and I\n  To the song that he sang listened mute,\n For the song that he sang was so strange and so sweet,\n  And so tender the tones of his lute\u2019s golden strings,\n That the seraphs of heaven sat hush\u2019d at his feet\n  And folded their heads in their wings.\n And the song that he sang to the seraphs up there\n Is called \u2018Love\u2019! But the words ... I had heard them elsewhere.\n\n \u201cFor when I was last in the nethermost Hell,\n  On a rock \u2019mid the sulphurous surges I heard\n A pale spirit sing to a wild hollow shell;\n  And his song was the same, every word,\n And so sad was his singing, all Hell to the sound\n  Moaned, and wailing, complained like a monster in pain\n While the fiends hovered near o\u2019er the dismal profound\n  With their black wings weighed down by the strain;\n And the song that was sung to the Lost Ones down there\n Is called \u2018Love\u2019! But the spirit that sang was Despair!\u201d\n\nThe strings of the mandoline quivered mournfully in tune with the\npassionate beauty of the verse, and from El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s lips there came\ninvoluntarily a deep and bitter sigh.\n\nF\u00e9raz ceased playing and looked at him.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he asked anxiously.\n\n\u201cNothing!\u201d replied his brother in a tranquil voice--\u201cWhat should there\nbe? Only the poem is very beautiful, and out of the common,--though,\nto me, terribly suggestive of--a mistake somewhere in creation. Love\nto the Saved--Love to the Lost!--naturally it would have different\naspects,--but it is an anomaly--Love, to be true to its name, should\nhave no \u2018lost\u2019 ones in its chronicle.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz was silent.\n\n\u201cDo you believe\u201d--continued El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cthat there is a \u2018nethermost\nHell\u2019?--a place or a state of mind resembling that \u2018rock \u2019mid the\nsulphurous surges\u2019?\u201d\n\n\u201cI should imagine,\u201d replied F\u00e9raz with some diffidence, \u201cthat there\nmust be a condition in which we are bound to look back and see where\nwe were wrong,--a condition, too, in which we have time to be\nsorry----\u201d\n\n\u201cUnfair and unreasonable!\u201d exclaimed his brother hotly. \u201cFor, suppose\nwe did not _know_ we were wrong? We are left absolutely without\nguidance in this world to do as we like.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not think you can quite say that\u201d--remonstrated F\u00e9raz\ngently--\u201cWe _do_ know when we are wrong--generally; some instinct\ntells us so--and, while we have the book of Nature, we are not left\nwithout guidance. As for looking back and seeing our former mistakes,\nI think that is unquestionable,--for as I grow older I begin to see\nwhere I failed in my former life, and how I deserved to lose my\nstar-kingdom.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked impatient.\n\n\u201cYou are a dreamer\u201d--he said decisively--\u201cand your star-kingdom is a\ndream also. You cannot tell me truthfully that you remember anything\nof a former existence?\u201d\n\n\u201cI am beginning to remember,\u201d said F\u00e9raz steadily.\n\n\u201cMy dear boy, anybody but myself hearing you would say you were\nmad--hopelessly mad!\u201d\n\n\u201cThey would be at perfect liberty to say so\u201d--and F\u00e9raz smiled a\nlittle--\u201cEvery one is free to have his own opinion--I have mine. My\nstar exists; and I once existed in it--so did you.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, I know nothing about it then,\u201d declared El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cI have\nforgotten it utterly.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh no! You think you have forgotten\u201d--said F\u00e9raz mildly--\u201cBut the\ntruth is, your very knowledge of science and other things is\nonly--_memory_.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi moved in his chair impatiently.\n\n\u201cLet us not argue;\u201d--he said--\u201cWe shall never agree. Sing to me\nagain!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz thought a moment, and then laid aside his mandoline and went to\nthe piano, where he played a rushing rapid accompaniment like the\nsound of the wind among trees, and sang the following:\n\n \u201cWinds of the mountain, mingle with my crying,\n Clouds of the tempest, flee as I am flying,\n Gods of the cloudland, Christus and Apollo,\n     Follow, O follow!\n\n \u201cThrough the dark valleys, up the misty mountains,\n Over the black wastes, past the gleaming fountains,\n Praying not, hoping not, resting nor abiding,\n     Lo, I am riding!\n\n \u201cClangour and anger of elements are round me,\n Torture has clasped me, cruelty has crown\u2019d me,\n Sorrow awaits me, Death is waiting with her,\n     Fast speed I thither.\n\n * * * * * *\n\n \u201cGods of the storm-cloud, drifting darkly yonder,\n Point fiery hands and mock me as I wander;\n Gods of the forest glimmer out upon me,\n     Shrink back and shun me.\n\n \u201cGods, let them follow!--gods, for I defy them!\n They call me, mock me, but I gallop by them;\n If they would find me, touch me, whisper to me,\n     Let them pursue me!\u201d\n\nHe was interrupted in the song by a smothered cry from El-R\u00e2mi, and\nlooking round, startled, he saw his brother standing up and staring at\nhim with something of mingled fear and horror. He came to an abrupt\nstop, his hands resting on the piano-keys.\n\n\u201cGo on, go on!\u201d cried El-R\u00e2mi irritably. \u201cWhat wild chant of the gods\nand men have you there? Is it your own?\u201d\n\n\u201cMine!\u201d echoed F\u00e9raz--\u201cNo indeed! Why? Do you not like it?\u201d\n\n\u201cOf course, of course I like it;\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi, sitting down again,\nangry with himself for his own emotion--\u201cIs there more of it?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes, but I need not finish it,\u201d--and F\u00e9raz made as though he would\nrise from the piano.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi suddenly began to laugh.\n\n\u201cGo on, I tell you, F\u00e9raz\u201d--he said carelessly--\u201cThere is a tempest\nof agitation in the words and in your music that leaves one hurried\nand breathless, but the sensation is not unpleasant,--especially when\none is prepared, ... go on!--I want to hear the end of this ...\nthis--defiance.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz looked at him to see if he were in earnest, and, perceiving he\nhad settled down to give his whole attention to the rest of the\nballad, he resumed his playing, and again the rush of the music filled\nthe room.\n\n \u201cFaster, O faster! Darker and more dreary\n Groweth the pathway, yet I am not weary--\n Gods, I defy them! gods, I can unmake them,\n     Bruise them and break them!\n\n \u201cWhite steed of wonder with thy feet of thunder,\n Find out their temples, tread their high-priests under--\n Leave them behind thee--if their gods speed after,\n     Mock them with laughter.\n\n * * * * * *\n\n \u201cShall a god grieve me? shall a phantom win me?\n Nay!--by the wild wind around and o\u2019er and in me--\n Be his name Vishnu, Christus or Apollo--\n     Let the god follow!\n\n \u201cClangour and anger of elements are round me,\n Torture has clasped me, cruelty has crown\u2019d me,\n Sorrow awaits me, Death is waiting with her,\n     Fast speed I thither!\u201d\n\nThe music ceased abruptly with a quick clash as of jangling\nbells,--and F\u00e9raz rose from the piano.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi was sitting quite still.\n\n\u201cA mad outburst!\u201d he remarked presently, seeing that his young brother\nwaited for him to speak--\u201c_Do you believe it?_\u201d\n\n\u201cBelieve what?\u201d asked F\u00e9raz, a little surprised.\n\n\u201cThis----\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi quoted slowly--\n\n \u201c\u2018Shall a god grieve me? shall a phantom win me?\n Nay!--by the wild wind around and o\u2019er and in me--\n Be his name Vishnu, Christus or Apollo--\n     Let the god follow!\u2019\n\n\u201cDo you think\u201d--he continued, \u201cthat in the matter of life\u2019s leadership\nthe \u2018god\u2019 should follow, or we the god?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz lifted his delicately-marked eyebrows in amazement.\n\n\u201cWhat an odd question!\u201d he said--\u201cThe song is _only_ a song,--part of\na long epic poem. And we do not receive a mere poem as a gospel. And,\nif you speak of life\u2019s leadership, it is devoutly to be hoped that God\nnot only leads but rules us all.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy should you hope it?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi gloomily--\u201cMyself, I fear\nit!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz came to his side and rested one hand affectionately on his arm.\n\n\u201cYou are worried and out of sorts, my brother,\u201d--he said gently--\u201cWhy\ndo you not seek some change from so much indoor life? You do not even\nget the advantages I have of going to and fro on the household\nbusiness. I breathe the fresh air every day,--surely it is necessary\nfor you also?\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear boy, I am perfectly well\u201d--and El-R\u00e2mi regarded him\nsteadily--\u201cWhy should you doubt it? I am only--a little tired. Poor\nhuman nature cannot always escape fatigue.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz said no more,--but there was a certain strangeness in his\nbrother\u2019s manner that filled him with an indefinable uneasiness. In\nhis own quiet fashion he strove to distract El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s mind from the\npersistent fixity of whatever unknown purpose seemed to so\nmysteriously engross him,--and whenever they were together at meals or\nat other hours of the day he talked in as light and desultory a way as\npossible on all sorts of different topics in the hope of awakening his\nbrother\u2019s interest more keenly in external affairs. He read much and\nthought more, and was a really brilliant conversationalist when he\nchose, in spite of his dreamy fancies--but he was obliged to admit to\nhimself that his affectionate endeavours met with very slight success.\nTrue, El-R\u00e2mi _appeared_ to give his attention to all that was said,\nbut it was only an appearance,--and F\u00e9raz saw plainly enough that he\nwas not really moved to any sort of feeling respecting the ways and\ndoings of the outer world. And when, one morning, F\u00e9raz read aloud\nthe account of the marriage of Sir Frederick Vaughan, Bart., with\nIdina, only daughter of Jabez Chester of New York, he only smiled\nindifferently and said nothing.\n\n\u201cWe were invited to that wedding;\u201d--commented F\u00e9raz.\n\n\u201cWere we?\u201d El-R\u00e2mi shrugged his shoulders and seemed totally\noblivious of the fact.\n\n\u201cWhy of course we were\u201d--went on F\u00e9raz cheerfully--\u201cAnd at your\nbidding I opened and read the letter Sir Frederick wrote you, which\nsaid that as you had prophesied the marriage he would take it very\nkindly if you would attend in person the formal fulfilment of your\nprophecy. And all you did in reply was to send a curt refusal on plea\nof other engagements. Do you think that was quite amiable on your\npart?\u201d\n\n\u201cFortunately for me I am not called upon to be amiable;\u201d--said\nEl-R\u00e2mi, beginning to pace slowly up and down the room--\u201cI want no\nfavours from society, so I need not smile to order. That is one of the\nchief privileges of complete independence. Fancy having to grin and\nlie and skulk and propitiate people all one\u2019s days!--I could not\nendure it,--but most men can--and do!\u201d\n\n\u201cBesides\u201d--he added after a pause--\u201cI cannot look on with patience at\nthe marriage of fools. Vaughan is a fool, and his baronetage will\nscarcely pass for wisdom,--the little Chester girl is also a\nfool,--and I can see exactly what they will become in the course of a\nfew years.\u201d\n\n\u201cDescribe them, _in futuro_!\u201d laughed F\u00e9raz.\n\n\u201cWell--the man will be \u2018turfy\u2019; the woman, a blind slave to her\ndressmaker. That is all. There can be nothing more. They will never do\nany good or any harm--they are simply--nonentities. These are the sort\nof folk that make me doubt the immortal soul,--for Vaughan is less\n\u2018spiritual\u2019 than a well-bred dog, and little Chester less mentally\ngifted than a well-instructed mouse.\u201d\n\n\u201cSevere!\u201d--commented F\u00e9raz, smiling--\u201cBut, man or woman,--mouse or\ndog, I suppose they are quite happy just now?\u201d\n\n\u201cHappy?\u201d echoed El-R\u00e2mi satirically--\u201cWell--I dare say they\nare,--with the only sort of happiness their intelligences can grasp.\nShe is happy because she is now \u2018my lady\u2019 and because she was able to\nwear a wedding-gown of marvellous make and cost, to trail and rustle\nand sweep after her little person up to God\u2019s altar with, as though\nshe sought to astonish the Almighty, before whom she took her vows,\nwith the exuberance of her millinery. He is happy because his debts\nare paid out of old Jabez Chester\u2019s millions. There the \u2018happiness\u2019\nends. A couple of months is sufficient to rub the bloom off such\nwedlock.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you really prophesied the marriage?\u201d queried F\u00e9raz.\n\n\u201cIt was easy enough\u201d--replied his brother carelessly--\u201cGiven two\nuninstructed, unthinking bipeds of opposite sexes--the male with\ndebts, the female with dollars, and an urbanely obstinate schemer to\npull them together like Lord Melthorpe, and the thing is done. Half\nthe marriages in London are made up like that,--and of the after-lives\nof those so wedded, \u2018there needs no ghost from the grave\u2019 to tell\nus,--the divorce courts give every information.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d exclaimed F\u00e9raz quickly--\u201cThat reminds me,--do you know I saw\nsomething in the evening paper last night that might have interested\nyou?\u201d\n\n\u201cReally! You surprise me!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi laughed--\u201cThat is strange\nindeed, for papers of all sorts, whether morning or evening, are to me\nthe dullest and worst-written literature in the world.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, for literature one does not go to them\u201d--answered F\u00e9raz. \u201cBut\nthis was a paragraph about a man who came here not very long ago to\nsee you--a clergyman. He is up as a co-respondent in some very\nscandalous divorce case. I did not read it all--I only saw that his\nBishop had caused him to be \u2018unfrocked,\u2019 whatever that means--I\nsuppose he is expelled from the ministry?\u201d\n\n\u201cYes. \u2018Unfrocked\u2019 means literally a stripping-off of clerical\ndignity,\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi. \u201cBut, if it is the man who came here, he was\nalways naked in that respect. Francis Anstruther was his name?\u201d\n\n\u201cExactly--that is the man. He is disgraced for life, and seems to be\none of the most consummate scoundrels that ever lived. He has deserted\nhis wife and eight children...\u201d\n\n\u201cSpare me and yourself the details!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi gave an expressively\ncontemptuous gesture--\u201cI know all about him and told him what I knew\nwhen he came here. But he\u2019ll do very well yet--he\u2019ll get on capitally\nin spite of his disgrace.\u201d\n\n\u201cHow is that possible?\u201d exclaimed F\u00e9raz.\n\n\u201cEasily! He can \u2018boom\u2019 himself as a new \u2018General\u2019 Booth, or he can\nbecome a \u2018Colonel\u2019 under Booth\u2019s orders--as long as people support\nBooth with money. Or he can go to America or Australia and start a new\ncreed--he\u2019s sure to fall on his feet and make his fortune--pious\nhypocrites always do. One would almost fancy there must be a special\nDeity to protect the professors of Humbug. It is only the sincerely\nhonest folk who get wronged in this admirably-ordered world!\u201d\n\nHe spoke with bitterness; and F\u00e9raz glanced at him anxiously.\n\n\u201cI do not quite agree with you\u201d--he said; \u201cSurely honest folk always\nhave their reward?--though perhaps superficial observers may not be\nable to perceive where it comes in. I believe in \u2018walking uprightly\u2019\nas the Bible says--it seems to me easier to keep along a straight open\nroad than to take dark by-ways and dubious short cuts.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhat do you mean by your straight open road?\u201d demanded El-R\u00e2mi,\nlooking at him.\n\n\u201cNature,\u201d--replied F\u00e9raz promptly--\u201cNature leads us up to God.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi broke into a harsh laugh.\n\n\u201cO credulous beautiful lad!\u201d he exclaimed; \u201cYou know not what you say!\nNature! Consider her methods of work--her dark and cunning and cruel\nmethods! Every living thing preys on some other living\nthings;--creatures wonderful, innocent, simple or complex, live\napparently but to devour and be devoured;--every inch of ground we\nstep upon is the dust of something dead. In the horrible depths of the\nearth, Nature,--this generous kindly Nature!--hides her dread volcanic\nfires,--her streams of lava, her boiling founts of sulphur and molten\nlead, which at any unexpected moment may destroy whole continents\ncrowded with unsuspecting humanity. This is NATURE,--nothing but\nNature! She hides her treasures of gold, of silver, of diamonds and\nrubies, in the deepest and most dangerous recesses, where human beings\nare lost in toiling for them,--buried in darkness and slain by\nthousands in the difficult search;--diving for pearls, the unwary\nexplorer is met by the remorseless monsters of the deep,--in fact, in\nall his efforts towards discovery and progress, Man, the most\nnaturally defenceless creature upon earth, is met by death or blank\ndiscouragement. Suppose he were to trust to Nature alone, what would\nNature do for him? He is sent into the world naked and helpless;--and\nall the resources of his body and brain have to be educated and\nbrought into active requisition to enable him to live at all,--lions\u2019\nwhelps, bears\u2019 cubs have a better \u2018natural\u2019 chance than he;--and then,\nwhen he has learned how to make the best of his surroundings, he is\nturned out of the world again, naked and helpless as he came in, with\nall his knowledge of no more use to him than if he had never attained\nit. This is NATURE, if Nature be thus reckless and unreasonable as the\n\u2018reflex of God\u2019--how reckless and unreasonable must be God Himself!\u201d\n\nThe beautiful stag-like eyes of F\u00e9raz darkened slowly, and his slim\nhand involuntarily clenched.\n\n\u201cAy, if God were so,\u201d he said--\u201cthe veriest pigmy among men might\nboast of nobler qualities than He! But God is not so, El-R\u00e2mi! Of\ncourse you can argue any and every way, and I cannot confute your\nreasoning. Because you reason with the merely mortal intelligence; to\nanswer you rightly I should have to reply as a Spirit,--I should need\nto be out of the body before I could tell you where you are wrong.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell!\u201d said his brother curiously--\u201cThen why do you not do so? Why do\nyou not come to me out of the body, and enlighten me as to what you\nknow?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz looked troubled.\n\n\u201cI cannot!\u201d he said sadly--\u201cWhen I go--away yonder--I seem to have so\nlittle remembrance of earthly things--I am separated from the world by\nthousands of air-spaces. I am always conscious that you exist on\nearth,--but it is always as of some one who will join _me_\npresently--not of one whom _I_ am compelled to join. There is the\nstrangeness of it. That is why I have very little belief in the notion\nof ghosts and spirits appearing to men--because I know positively that\nno detached soul willingly returns to or remains on earth. There is\nalways the upward yearning. If it returns, it does so simply because\nit is, for some reason, _commanded_, not because of its own desire.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd who do you suppose commands it?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi.\n\n\u201cThe Highest of all Powers,\u201d--replied F\u00e9raz reverently--\u201cwhom we all,\nwhether spirit or mortal, obey.\u201d\n\n\u201cI do not obey,\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi composedly--\u201cI enforce obedience.\u201d\n\n\u201cFrom whom?\u201d cried F\u00e9raz with agitation--\u201cO my brother, from whom?\nFrom mortals perhaps--yes,--so long as it is permitted to you--but\nfrom Heaven--no! No, not from Heaven can you win obedience. For God\u2019s\nsake do not boast of _such_ power!\u201d\n\nHe spoke passionately, and in anxious earnest.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi smiled.\n\n\u201cMy good fellow, why excite yourself? I do not \u2018boast\u2019--I am\nsimply--strong! If I am immortal, God Himself cannot slay me,--if I am\nmortal only, I can but die. I am indifferent either way. Only I will\nnot shrink before an imaginary Divine terror till I prove what right\nit has to my submission. Enough!--we have talked too much on this\nsubject, and I have work to do.\u201d\n\nHe turned to his writing-table as he spoke and was soon busy there.\nF\u00e9raz took up a book and tried to read, but his heart beat quickly,\nand he was overwhelmed by a deep sense of fear. The daring of his\nbrother\u2019s words smote him with a chill horror,--from time immemorial,\nhad not the forces divine punished pride as the deadliest of sins? His\nthoughts travelled over the great plain of History, on which so many\nspectres of dead nations stand in our sight as pale warnings of our\nown possible fate, and remembered how surely it came to pass that when\nmen became too proud and defiant and absolute,--rejecting God and\nserving themselves only, then they were swept away into desolation and\noblivion. As with nations, so with individuals--the Law of\nCompensation is just, and as evenly balanced as the symmetrical motion\nof the Universe. And the words, \u201cExcept ye become as little children\nye shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven,\u201d rang through his ears, as\nhe sat heavily silent, and wondering, wondering _where_ the researches\nof his brother would end, and _how_?\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi himself meanwhile was scanning the last pages of his dead\nfriend Kremlin\u2019s private journal. This was a strange book,--kept with\nexceeding care, and written in the form of letters which were all\naddressed \u201cTo the Beloved Maroussia in Heaven\u201d--and amply proved that,\nin spite of the separated seclusion and eccentricity of his life,\nKremlin had not only been faithful to the love of his early days, the\ngirl who had died self-slain in her Russian prison,--but he had been\nfirm in his acceptance of and belief in the immortality of the soul\nand the reunion of parted spirits. His last \u201cletter\u201d ran thus--it was\nunfinished and had been written the night before the fatal storm which\nhad made an end of his life and learning together,--\n\n \u201cI seem to be now on the verge of the discovery for which I have\n yearned. Thou knowest, O heart of my heart, how I dream that these\n brilliant and ceaseless vibrations of light may perchance carry to the\n world some message which it were well and wise we should know. Oh, if\n this \u2018Light,\u2019 which is my problem and mystery, could but transmit to\n my earthly vision one flashing gleam of thy presence, my beloved\n child! But thou wilt guide me, so that I presume not too far;--I feel\n thou art near me, and that thou wilt not fail me at the last. If in\n the space of an earthly ten minutes this marvellous \u2018Light\u2019 can travel\n 111,600,000 miles, thou as a \u2018spirit of light\u2019 canst not be very far\n away. Only till my work for poor humanity is done, do I choose to be\n parted from thee--be the time long or short--we shall meet. ...\u201d\n\nHere the journal ended.\n\n\u201cAnd have they met?\u201d thought El-R\u00e2mi, as closing the book he locked\nit away in his desk--\u201cAnd do they remember they were ever mortal? And\n_what_ are they--and _where_ are they?\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XXXV.\n\nIn the midst of the strange \u201csummer\u201d weather which frequently falls\nto the lot of England,--weather alternating between hot and cold, wet\nand dry, sun and cloud with the most distracting rapidity and\nirregularity,--there came at last one perfect night towards the end of\nJune,--a night which could have met with no rival even in the sunniest\nclimes of the sunniest south. A soft tranquillity hovered dove-like in\nthe air,--a sense of perfect peace seemed to permeate all visible and\ncreated things. The sky was densely blue and thickly strewn with\nstars, though these glimmered but faintly, their light being put to\nshame by the splendid brilliancy of the full moon which swam aloft\nairily like a great golden bubble. El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s windows were all set\nopen; a big bunch of heliotrope adorned the table, and the subtle\nfragrance of it stole out delicately to mingle with the\nfaintly-stirring evening breeze. F\u00e9raz was sitting alone,--his\nbrother had just left the room,--and he was indulging himself in the\n_dolce far niente_ as only the Southern or Eastern temperament can do.\nHis hands were clasped lightly behind his head, and his eyes were\nfixed on the shabby little trees in the square which had done their\nbest to look green among the whirling smuts of the metropolis and had\nfailed ignominiously in the attempt, but which now, in the ethereal\nlight of the moon, presented a soft outline of gray and silver like\nolive-boughs seen in the distance. He was thinking, with a certain\nserious satisfaction, of an odd circumstance that had occurred to\nhimself that day. It had happened in this wise: Since the time Zaroba\nhad taken him to look upon the beautiful creature who was the\n\u201csubject\u201d of his brother\u2019s experiments, he had always kept the memory\nof her in his mind without speaking of her, save that whenever he said\na prayer or offered up a thanksgiving he had invariably used the\nphrase--\u201cGod defend her!\u201d He could only explain \u201cHer\u201d to himself by\nthe simple pronoun, because, as El-R\u00e2mi had willed, he had utterly\nand hopelessly forgotten her name. But now, strange to say, he\nremembered it!--it had flashed across his mind like a beam of light or\na heaven-sent signal,--he was at work, writing at his poem, when some\nsudden inexplicable instinct had prompted him to lift his eyes and\nmurmur devoutly--\u201cGod defend Lilith!\u201d Lilith!--how soft the sound of\nit!--how infinitely bewitching! After having lost it for so long, it\nhad come back to him in a moment--how or why, he could not imagine. He\ncould only account for it in one way--namely, that El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s\nwill-forces were so concentrated on some particularly absorbing object\nthat his daily influence on his brother\u2019s young life was thereby\nmaterially lessened. And F\u00e9raz was by no means sorry that this should\nbe so.\n\n\u201cWhy should it matter that I remember her name?\u201d he mused--\u201cI shall\nnever speak of her--for I have sworn I will not. But I can think of\nher to my heart\u2019s content,--the beautiful Lilith!\u201d\n\nThen he fell to considering the old legend of that Lilith who it is\nsaid was Adam\u2019s first wife,--and he smiled as he thought what a name\nof evil omen it was to the Jews, who had charms and talismans\nwherewith to exorcise the supposed evil influence connected with\nit,--while to him, F\u00e9raz, it was a name sweeter than honey-sweet\nsinging. Then there came to his mind stray snatches of\npoesy,--delicate rhymes from the rich and varied stores of one of his\nfavourite poets, Dante Gabriel Rossetti,--rhymes that sounded in his\nears just now like the strophes of a sibylline chant or spell:\n\n \u201cIt was Lilith the wife of Adam:\n       (_Sing Eden Bower!_)\n Not a drop of her blood was human,\n But she was made like a soft sweet woman.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd that is surely true!\u201d said F\u00e9raz to himself, a little\nstartled,--\u201cFor--if she is _dead_, as El-R\u00e2mi asserts, and her\nseeming life is but the result of his art, then indeed in the case of\nthis Lilith \u2018not a drop of her blood is human.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnd the poem ran on in his mind--\n\n \u201cLilith stood on the skirts of Eden:\n       (_Alas, the hour!_)\n She was the first that thence was driven:\n With her was hell, and with Eve was heaven.\u201d\n\n\u201cNay, I should transpose that,\u201d--murmured the young man drowsily,\nstaring out on the moonlit street--\u201cI should say, \u2018With Eve was hell,\nand with Lilith heaven.\u2019 How strange it is I should never have thought\nof this poem before!--and I have often turned over the pages of\nRossetti\u2019s book,--since--since I saw her;--I must have actually seen\nthe name of Lilith printed there, and yet it never suggested itself to\nme as being familiar or offering any sort of clue.\u201d\n\nHe sighed perplexedly,--the heliotrope odours floated around him, and\nthe gleam of the lamp in the room seemed to pale in the wide splendour\nof the moon-rays pouring through the window,--and still the delicate\nsprite of Poesy continued to remind him of familiar lines and verses\nhe loved, though all the while he thought of Lilith, and kept on\nwondering vaguely and vainly what would be, what could be, the end of\nhis brother\u2019s experiment (whatever that was, for he, F\u00e9raz, did not\nknow) on the lovely, apparently living girl who yet was dead. It was\nvery strange--and surely, it was also very terrible!\n\n \u201cThe day is dark and the night\n  To him that would search their heart;\n  No lips of cloud that will part,\n Nor morning song in the light:\n  Only, gazing alone\n  To him wild shadows are shown,\n  Deep under deep unknown\n And height above unknown height.\n Still we say as we go,--\n  \u2018Strange to think by the way,\n Whatever there is to know,\n  That shall we know one day.\u2019\u201d\n\nThis passage of rhyme sang itself out with a monotonous musical\ngentleness in his brain,--he closed his eyes restfully,--and\nthen--lying back thus in his chair by the open window, with the\nmoonlight casting a wide halo round him and giving a pale spiritual\nbeauty to his delicate classic features,--he passed away out of his\nbody, as _he_ would have said, and was no more on earth; or rather, as\n_we_ should say, he fell asleep and dreamed. And the \u201cdream\u201d or the\n\u201cexperience\u201d was this:--\n\nHe found himself walking leisurely upon the slopes of a majestic\nmountain, which seemed not so much mountain as garden, for all the\nwinding paths leading to its summit were fringed with flowers. He\nheard the silvery plashing of brooks and fountains, and the rustling\nof thickly-foliaged trees,--he knew the place well, and realised that\nhe was in his \u201cstar\u201d again,--the mystic Sphere he called his \u201chome.\u201d\nBut he was evidently an exile or an alien in it,--he had grown to\nrealise this fact and was sorry it should be so, yet his sorrow was\nmingled with hope, for he felt it would not always be so. He wandered\nalong aimlessly and alone, full of a curiously vague happiness and\nregret, and as he walked he was passed by crowds of beautiful youths\nand maidens, who were all pressing forward eagerly as to some high\nfestival or great assembly. They sang blithe songs,--they scattered\nflowers,--they talked with each other in happy-toned voices,--and he\nstood aside gazing at them wistfully while they went on rejoicing.\n\n\u201cO land where life never grows old and where love is eternal!\u201d he\nmused--\u201cWhy am I exiled from thy glory? Why have I lost thy joy?\u201d\n\nHe sighed;--he longed to know what had brought together so bright a\nmultitude of these lovely and joyous beings,--his own \u201cdear people\u201d as\nhe felt they were; and yet--yet he hesitated to ask one of them the\nleast question, feeling himself unworthy. At last he saw a girl\napproaching,--she was singing to herself and tying flowers in a\ngarland as she came,--her loose golden hair streamed behind her, every\nglistening tress seeming to flash light as she moved. As she drew near\nhim she glanced at him kindly and paused as though waiting to be\naddressed,--seeing this, he mustered up his courage and spoke.\n\n\u201cWhither are you all going?\u201d he asked, with a sad gentleness--\u201cI may\nnot follow you, I know,--but will you tell me why, in this kingdom of\njoy, so much fresh joy seems added?\u201d\n\nShe pointed upwards, and as his eyes obeyed her gesture he saw, in the\nopal-coloured sky that bent above them, a dazzling blaze of gold and\ncrimson glory towards the south.\n\n\u201cAn Angel passes!\u201d she replied--\u201cBelow that line of light the Earth\nswings round in its little orbit, and from the Earth She comes! We go\nto watch her flight heavenward, and win the benediction that her\npassing presence gives. For look you!--all that splendour in the sky\nis not light, but wings!\u201d\n\n\u201cWings!\u201d echoed F\u00e9raz dreamily, yet nothing doubting what she said.\n\n\u201cWings or rays of glory,--which you will\u201d--said the maiden, turning\nher own beautiful eyes towards the flashing brilliancy; \u201cThey are\nwaiting there,--those who come from the farthest Divine world,--they\nare the friends of Lilith.\u201d\n\nShe bent her head serenely, and passed onward and upward, and F\u00e9raz\nstood still, his gaze fixed in the direction of that southern light\nwhich he now perceived was never still, but quivered as with a million\nshafts of vari-coloured fire.\n\n\u201cThe friends of Lilith!\u201d he repeated to himself--\u201cAngels then,--for\nshe is an Angel.\u201d\n\nAngels!--angels waiting for Lilith in the glory of the South! How\nlong--how long would they wait?--when would Lilith herself\nappear?--and would the very heavens open to receive her, soaring\nupward? He trembled,--he tried to realise the unimaginable scene,--and\nthen, ... then he seemed to be seized and hurried away somewhere\nagainst his will ... and all that was light grew dark. He shuddered as\nwith icy cold, and felt that earth again encompassed him,--and\npresently he woke--to find his brother looking at him.\n\n\u201cWhy in the world do you go to sleep with the window wide open?\u201d asked\nEl-R\u00e2mi--\u201cHere I find you, literally bathed in the moonlight--and\nmoonlight drives men mad, they say,--so fast too in the land of Nod\nthat I could hardly waken you. Shut the window, my dear boy, if you\n_must_ sleep.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz sprang up quickly,--his eyes felt dazzled still with the\nremembrance of that \u201cglory of the angels in the South.\u201d\n\n\u201cI was not asleep,\u201d--he said--\u201cBut certainly I was not here.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!--In your Star again of course!\u201d murmured El-R\u00e2mi with the\nfaintest trace of mockery in his tone. But F\u00e9raz took no offence--his\none anxiety was to prevent the name of \u201cLilith\u201d springing to his lips\nin spite of himself.\n\n\u201cYes--I was there\u201d--he answered slowly. \u201cAnd do you know all the\npeople in the land are gathering together by thousands to see an Angel\npass heavenward? And there is a glory of her sister-angels, away in\nthe Southern horizon like the splendid circle described by Dante in\nhis _Paradiso_. Thus--\n\n \u201c\u2018There is a light in heaven whose goodly shine\n Makes the Creator visible to all\n Created, that in seeing Him alone\n Have peace. And in a circle spreads so far\n That the circumference were too loose a zone\n To girdle in the sun!\u2019\u201d\n\nHe quoted the lines with strange eagerness and fervour,--and El-R\u00e2mi\nlooked at him curiously.\n\n\u201cWhat odd dreams you have!\u201d he said, not unkindly--\u201cAlways fantastic\nand impossible, but beautiful in their way. You should set them down\nin black and white, and see how earth\u2019s critics will bespatter your\nheaven with the ink of their office pens! Poor boy!--how limply you\nwould fall from \u2018Paradise\u2019!--with what damp dejected wings!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz smiled.\n\n\u201cI do not agree with you\u201d--he said--\u201cIf you speak of\nimagination,--only in this case I am not imagining,--no one can shut\nout that Paradise from me at any time--neither pope nor king, nor\ncritic. Thought is free, thank God!\u201d\n\n\u201cYes--perhaps it is the only thing we have to be really thankful\nfor,\u201d--returned El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cWell--I will leave you to resume your\n\u2018dreams\u2019--only don\u2019t sleep with the windows open. Summer evenings are\ntreacherous,--I should advise you to get to bed.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you?\u201d asked F\u00e9raz, moved by a sudden anxiety which he could not\nexplain.\n\n\u201cI shall not sleep to-night,\u201d--said his brother moodily--\u201cSomething\nhas occurred to me--a suggestion--an idea which I am impatient to work\nout without loss of time. And, F\u00e9raz,--if I succeed in it--you shall\nknow the result to-morrow.\u201d\n\nThis promise, which implied such a new departure from El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s\ncustomary reticence concerning his work, really alarmed F\u00e9raz more\nthan gratified him.\n\n\u201cFor Heaven\u2019s sake be careful!\u201d he exclaimed--\u201cYou attempt so\nmuch,--you want so much,--perhaps more than can in law and justice be\ngiven. El-R\u00e2mi, my brother, leave something to God--you cannot, you\ndare not take all!\u201d\n\n\u201cMy dear visionary,\u201d replied El-R\u00e2mi gently--\u201cYou alarm yourself\nneedlessly, I assure you. I do not want to take anything except what\nis my own,--and, as for leaving something to God, why, He is welcome\nto what He makes of me in the end--a pinch of dust!\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is more than dust in your composition--\u201d cried F\u00e9raz\nimpetuously--\u201cThere is divinity! And the divinity belongs to God, and\nto God you must render it up, pure and perfect. He claims it from you,\nand you are bound to give it.\u201d\n\nA tremor passed through El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s frame, and he grew paler.\n\n\u201cIf that be true, F\u00e9raz,\u201d he said slowly and with emphasis--\u201cif it\nindeed be true that there _is_ divinity in me,--which I doubt!--why,\nthen let God claim and take his own particle of fire when He will, and\nas He will! Good-night!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz caught his hands and pressed them tenderly in his own.\n\n\u201cGood-night!\u201d he murmured--\u201cGod does all things well, and to His care\nI commend you, my dearest brother.\u201d\n\nAnd as El-R\u00e2mi turned away and left the room he gazed after him with\na chill sense of fear and desolation,--almost as if he were doomed\nnever to see him again. He could not reason his alarm away, and yet he\nknew not why he should feel any alarm,--but, truth to tell, his\ninterior sense of vision seemed still to smart and ache with the\nradiance of the light he had seen in his \u201cstar\u201d and that roseate\nsunset-flush of \u201cglory in the south\u201d created by the clustering angels\nwho were \u201cthe friends of Lilith.\u201d Why were they there?--what did they\nwait for?--how should Lilith know them or have any intention of\njoining them, when she was here,--here on the earth, as he, F\u00e9raz,\nknew,--here under the supreme dominance of his own brother? He dared\nnot speculate too far; and, trying to dismiss all thought from his\nmind, he was proceeding towards his own room, there to retire for the\nnight, when he met Zaroba coming down the stairs. Her dark withered\nface had a serene and almost happy expression upon it,--she smiled as\nshe saw him.\n\n\u201cIt is a night for dreams,--\u201d she said, sinking her harsh voice to a\nsoft almost musical cadence--\u201cAnd as the multitude of the stars in\nheaven, so are the countless heart-throbs that pulsate in the world at\nthis hour to the silver sway of the moon. All over the world!--all\nover the world!--\u201d and she swung her arms to and fro with a slow\nrhythmical movement, so that the silver bangles on them clashed softly\nlike the subdued tinkling of bells;--then, fixing her black eyes upon\nF\u00e9raz with a mournful yet kindly gaze she added--\u201cNot for you--not\nfor you, gentlest of dreamers! not for you! It is destined that you\nshould dream,--and, for you, dreaming is best,--but for _me_--I would\nrather _live_ one hour than dream for a century!\u201d\n\nHer words were vague and wild as usual,--yet somehow F\u00e9raz chafed\nunder the hidden sense of them, and he gave a slight petulant gesture\nof irritation. Zaroba, seeing it, broke into a low laugh.\n\n\u201cAs God liveth,--\u201d she muttered--\u201cThe poor lad fights bravely! He\nhates the world without ever having known it,--and recoils from love\nwithout ever having tasted it! He chooses a thought, a rhyme, a song,\nan art, rather than a passion! Poor lad--poor lad! Dream on,\nchild!--but pray that you may never wake. For to dream of love may be\nsweet, but to wake without it is bitter.\u201d\n\nLike a gliding wraith she passed him and disappeared. F\u00e9raz had a\nmind to follow her down stairs to the basement where she had the sort\nof rough sleeping accommodation her half-savage nature preferred,\nwhenever she slept at all out of Lilith\u2019s room, which was but\nseldom,--yet on second thoughts he decided he would let her alone.\n\n\u201cShe only worries me--\u201d he said to himself half vexedly as he went to\nhis own little apartment--\u201cIt was she who first disobeyed El-R\u00e2mi,\nand made me disobey him also, and though she did take me to see the\nwonderful Lilith, what was the use of it? Her matchless beauty\ncompelled my adoration, my enthusiasm, my reverence, almost my\nlove--but who could dare to love such a removed angelic creature? Not\neven El-R\u00e2mi himself,--for he must know, even as I feel, that she is\nbeyond all love, save the Love Divine.\u201d\n\nHe cast off his loose Eastern dress, and prepared to lie down, when he\nwas startled by a faint far sound of singing. He listened\nattentively;--it seemed to come from outside, and he quickly flung\nopen his window, which only opened upon a little narrow backyard such\nas is common to London houses. But the moonlight transfigured its\nugliness, making it look like a square white court set in walls of\nsilver. The soft rays fell caressingly too on the bare bronze-tinted\nshoulders of F\u00e9raz, as half undressed, he leaned out, his eyes\nupturned to the halcyon heavens. Surely, surely there was singing\nsomewhere,--why, he could distinguish words amid the sounds!\n\n       Away, away!\n Where the glittering planets whirl and swim\n And the glory of the sun grows dim\n       Away, away!\n To the regions of light and fire and air\n Where the spirits of life are everywhere\n Come, oh come away!\n\nTrembling in every limb, F\u00e9raz caught the song distinctly, and held\nhis breath in fear and wonder.\n\n       Away, away!\n Come, oh come! we have waited long\n And we sing thee now a summoning song\n       Away, away!\n Thou art freed from the world of the dreaming dead,\n And the splendours of Heaven are round thee spread--\n       Come away!--away!\n\nThe chorus grew fainter and fainter--yet still sounded like a distant\nmusical hum on the air.\n\n\u201cIt is my fancy\u201d--murmured F\u00e9raz at last, as he drew in his head and\nnoiselessly shut the window--\u201cIt is the work of my own imagination, or\nwhat is perhaps more probable, the work of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s will. I have\nheard such music before,--at his bidding--no, not _such_ music, but\nsomething very like it.\u201d\n\nHe waited a few minutes, then quietly knelt down to pray,--but no\nwords suggested themselves, save the phrase that once before had risen\nto his lips that day,--\u201cGod defend Lilith!\u201d\n\nHe uttered it aloud,--then sprang up confused and half afraid, for the\nname had rung out so clearly that it seemed like a call or a command.\n\n\u201cWell!\u201d he said, trying to steady his nerves--\u201cWhat if I did say it?\nThere is no harm in the words \u2018God defend her.\u2019 If she is dead, as\nEl-R\u00e2mi says, she needs no defence, for her soul belongs to God\nalready.\u201d\n\nHe paused again,--the silence everywhere was now absolutely unbroken\nand intense, and repelling the vague presentiments that threatened to\noppress his mind, he threw himself on his bed and was soon sound\nasleep.\n\n\n\n\n XXXVI.\n\nAnd what of the \u201csign\u201d promised by Lilith? Had it been given?\nNo,--but El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s impatience would brook no longer delay, and he had\ndetermined to put an end to his perplexities by violent means if\nnecessary, and take the risk of whatever consequences might ensue. He\nhad been passing through the strangest phases of thought and\nself-analysis during these latter weeks,--trying, reluctantly enough,\nto bend his haughty spirit down to an attitude of humility and\npatience which ill suited him. He was essentially masculine in his\ncomplete belief in himself,--and more than all things he resented any\ninterference with his projects, whether such interference were human\nor Divine. When therefore the tranced Lilith had bidden him \u201cwait,\nwatch and pray,\u201d she had laid upon him the very injunctions he found\nmost difficult to follow. He could wait and watch if he were certain\nof results,--but where there was the slightest glimmer of\n_un_certainty, he grew very soon tired of both waiting and watching.\nAs for \u201cpraying\u201d--he told himself arrogantly that to ask for what he\ncould surely obtain by the exerted strength of his own will was not\nonly superfluous, but implied great weakness of character. It was\nthen, in the full-armed spirit of pride and assertive dominance that\nhe went up that night to Lilith\u2019s chamber, and dismissing Zaroba with\nmore than usual gentleness of demeanour towards her, sat down beside\nthe couch on which his lovely and mysterious \u201csubject\u201d lay, to all\nappearances inanimate save for her quiet breathing. His eyes were\nsombre, yet glittered with a somewhat dangerous lustre under their\ndrooping lids;--he was to be duped no longer, he said to himself,--he\nhad kept faithful vigil night after night, hoping against hope,\nbelieving against belief, and not the smallest movement or hint that\ncould be construed into the promised \u201csign\u201d had been vouchsafed to\nhim. And all his old doubts returned to chafe and fret his\nbrain,--doubts as to whether he had not been deceiving himself all\nthis while in spite of his boasted scepticism,--and whether Lilith,\nwhen she spoke, was not merely repeating like a mechanical automaton,\nthe stray thoughts of his own mind reflected upon hers? He had\n\u201cproved\u201d the possibility of that kind of thing occurring between human\nbeings who were scarcely connected with each other even by a tie of\nordinary friendship--how much more likely then that it should happen\nin such a case as that of Lilith,--Lilith who had been under the sole\ndominance of his will for six years! Yet while he thus teased himself\nwith misgivings, he knew it was impossible to account for the mystic\ntendency of her language, or the strange and super-sensual character\nof the information she gave or feigned to give. It was not from\nhimself or his own information that he had obtained a description of\nthe landscapes in Mars,--its wondrous red fields,--its rosy foliage\nand flowers,--its great jagged rocks ablaze with amethystine\nspar,--its huge conical shells, tall and light, that rose up like\nfairy towers, fringed with flags and garlands of marine blossom, out\nof oceans the colour of jasper and pearl. Certainly too, it was not\nfrom the testimony of _his_ inner consciousness that he had evoked the\nfaith that seemed so natural to her; _her_ belief in a Divine\nPersonality, and _his_ utter rejection of any such idea, were two\nthings wider asunder than the poles, and had no possible sort of\nconnection. Nevertheless what he could not account for, wearied him\nout and irritated him by its elusiveness and unprovable\ncharacter,--and finally, his long, frequent, and profitless\nreflections on the matter had brought him this night up to a point of\ndetermination which but a few months back would have seemed to him\nimpossible. _He had resolved to waken Lilith_. What sort of a being\nshe would seem when once awakened, he could not quite imagine. He knew\nshe had died in his arms as a child,--and that her seeming life now,\nand her growth into the loveliness of womanhood was the result of\nartificial means evolved from the wonders of chemistry,--but he\npersuaded himself that though her existence was the work of science\nand not nature, it was better than natural, and would last as long. He\ndetermined he would break that mysterious trance of body in which the\ndeparting Intelligence had been, by his skill, detained and held in\nconnection with its earthly habitation,--he would transform the\nsleeping visionary into a living woman, for--he loved her. He could no\nlonger disguise from himself that her fair face with its heavenly\nsmile, framed in the golden hair that circled it like a halo, haunted\nhim in every minute of time,--he could not and would not deny that his\nwhole being ached to clasp with a lover\u2019s embrace that exquisite\nbeauty which had so long been passively surrendered to his\nexperimentings,--and with the daring of a proud and unrestrained\nnature, he frankly avowed his feeling to himself and made no pretence\nof hiding it any longer. But it was a far deeper mystery than his\n\u201csearch for the Soul of Lilith,\u201d to find out when and how this passion\nhad first arisen in him. He could not analyse himself so thoroughly as\nto discover its vague beginnings. Perhaps it was germinated by\nZaroba\u2019s wild promptings,--perhaps by the fact that a certain\nunreasonable jealousy had chafed his spirit when he knew that his\nbrother F\u00e9raz had won a smile of attention and response from the\ntranced girl,--perhaps it was owing to the irritation he had felt at\nthe idea that his visitor, the monk from Cyprus, seemed to know more\nof her than he himself did,--at any rate, whatever the cause, he who\nhad been sternly impassive once to the subtle attraction of Lilith\u2019s\noutward beauty, madly adored that outward beauty now. And as is usual\nwith very self-reliant and proud dispositions, he almost began to\nglory in a sentiment which but a short time ago he would have repelled\nand scorned. What was _for_ himself and _of_ himself was good in his\nsight--_his_ knowledge, _his_ \u201cproved\u201d things, _his_ tested\ndiscoveries, all these were excellent in his opinion, and the \u201cEgo\u201d of\nhis own ability was the pivot on which all his actions turned. He had\nlaid his plans carefully for the awakening of Lilith,--but in one\nlittle trifle they had been put out by the absence from town of Madame\nIrene Vassilius. She, of all women he had ever met, was the one he\nwould have trusted with his secret, because he knew that her life,\nthough lived in the world, was as stainless as though it were lived in\nheaven. He had meant to place Lilith in her care,--in order that with\nher fine perceptions, lofty ideals, and delicate sense of all things\nbeautiful and artistic, she might accustom the girl to look upon the\nfairest and noblest side of life, so that she might not regret the\n\u201cvisions\u201d--yes, he would call them \u201cvisions\u201d--she had lost. But Irene\nwas among the mountains of the Austrian Tyrol, enjoying a holiday in\nthe intimate society of the fairest Queen in the world, Margherita of\nItaly, one of the few living Sovereigns who really strive to bestow on\nintellectual worth its true appreciation and reward. And her house in\nLondon was shut up, and under the sole charge of the happy Karl,\nformer servant to Dr. Kremlin, who had now found with the fair and\nfamous authoress a situation that suited him exactly. \u201cWild horses\nwould not tear him from his lady\u2019s service\u201d he was wont to say, and he\nguarded her household interests jealously, and said \u201cNot at home\u201d to\nundesired visitors like Roy Ainsworth for example, with a gruffness\nthat would have done credit to a Russian bear. To Irene Vassilius,\ntherefore, El-R\u00e2mi could not turn for the help he had meant to ask,\nand he was sorry and disappointed, for he had particularly wished to\nremove his \u201csleeper awakened\u201d out of the companionship of both Zaroba\nand F\u00e9raz,--and there was no other woman like Irene,--at once so pure\nand proud, so brilliantly gifted, and so far removed from the touch\nand taint of modern social vulgarity. However, her aid was now\nunattainable, and he had to make up his mind to do without it. And so\nhe resolutely put away the thought of the after-results of Lilith\u2019s\nawakening,--he, who was generally so careful to calculate\nconsequences, instinctively avoided the consideration of them in the\npresent instance.\n\nThe little silver timepiece ticked with an aggressive loudness as he\nsat now at his usual post, his black eyes fixed half tenderly, half\nfiercely on Lilith\u2019s white beauty,--beauty which was, as he told\nhimself, all his own. Her arms were folded across her breast,--her\nfeatures were pallid as marble, and her breathing was very light and\nlow. The golden lamp burned dimly as it swung from the\npurple-pavilioned ceiling--the scent of the roses that were always set\nfresh in their vase every day, filled the room, and though the windows\nwere closed against the night, a dainty moonbeam strayed in through a\nchink where the draperies were not quite drawn, and mingled its\nemerald glitter with the yellow lustre shed by the lamp on the\ndarkly-carpeted floor.\n\n\u201cI will risk it,\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi in a whisper,--a whisper that sounded\nloud in the deep stillness--\u201cI will risk it--why not? I have proved\nmyself capable of arresting life, or the soul--for life _is_ the\nsoul--in its flight from hence into the Nowhere,--I must needs also\nhave the power to keep it indefinitely here for myself in whatever\nform I please. These are the rewards of science,--rewards which I am\nfree to claim,--and what I have done, that I have a right to do again.\nNow let me ask myself the question plainly;--Do I believe in the\nsupernatural?\u201d\n\nHe paused, thinking earnestly,--his eyes still fixed on Lilith.\n\n\u201cNo, I do not,\u201d--he answered himself at last--\u201cFrankly and honestly, I\ndo not. I have no proofs. I am, it is true, puzzled by Lilith\u2019s\nlanguage,--but when I know her as she is, a woman, sentient and\nconscious of my presence, I may find out the seeming mystery. The\ndreams of F\u00e9raz are only dreams,--the vision I saw on that one\noccasion\u201d--and a faint tremor came over him as he remembered the sweet\nyet solemn look of the shining One he had seen standing between him\nand his visitor the monk--\u201cthe vision was of course _his_ work--the\nwork of that mystic master of a no less mystic brotherhood. No--I have\nno proofs of the supernatural, and I must not deceive myself. Even the\npromise of Lilith fails. Poor child!--she sleeps like the daughter of\nJairus, but when I, in my turn, pronounce the words \u2018Maiden, I say\nunto thee, arise\u2019--she will obey;--she will awake and live indeed.\u201d\n\n\u201cShe will awake and live indeed!\u201d\n\nThe words were repeated after him distinctly--but by whom? He started\nup,--looked round--there was no one in the room,--and Lilith was\nimmovable as the dead. He began to find something chill and sad in the\nintense silence that followed,--everything about him was a harmony of\nglowing light and purple colour,--yet all seemed suddenly very dull\nand dim and cold. He shivered where he stood, and pressed his hands to\nhis eyes,--his temples throbbed and ached, and he felt curiously\nbewildered. Presently, looking round the room again, he saw that the\npicture of \u201cChrist and His Disciples\u201d was unveiled;--he had not\nnoticed the circumstance before. Had Zaroba inadvertently drawn aside\nthe curtain which ordinarily hid it from view? Slowly his eyes\ntravelled to it and dwelt upon it--slowly they followed the letters of\nthe inscription beneath:\n\n \u201cWHOM SAY YE THAT I AM?\u201d\n\nThe question seemed to him for the moment all-paramount, he could not\nshake off the sense of pertinacious demand with which it impressed\nhim.\n\n\u201cA good Man,\u201d--he said aloud, staring fixedly at the divine Face and\nFigure, with its eloquent expression of exalted patience, grandeur and\nsweetness. \u201cA good Man, misled by noble enthusiasm and unselfish\ndesire to benefit the poor. A man with a wise knowledge of human\nmagnetism and the methods of healing in which it can be employed,--a\nman, too, somewhat skilled in the art of optical illusion. Yet when\nall is said and done, a _good_ Man--too good and wise and pure for the\npeace of the rulers of the world,--too honest and clear-sighted to\ndeserve any other reward but death. Divine?--No!--save in so far as in\nour highest moments we are all divine. Existing now?--a Prince of\nHeaven, a Pleader against Punishment? Nay, nay!--no more existing than\nthe Soul of Lilith,--that soul for which I search, but which I feel I\nshall never find!\u201d\n\nAnd he drew nearer to the ivory-satin couch on which lay the lovely\nsleeping wonder and puzzle of his ambitious dreams. Leaning towards\nher he touched her hands,--they were cold, but as he laid his own upon\nthem they grew warm and trembled. Closer still he leaned, his eyes\ndrinking in every detail of her beauty with eager, proud and masterful\neyes.\n\n\u201cLilith!--_my_ Lilith!\u201d he murmured--\u201cAfter all, why should we put off\nhappiness for the sake of everlastingness, when happiness can be had,\nat any rate for a few years. One can but live and die and there an\nend. And Love comes but once, ... Love!--how I have scoffed at it and\nmade a jest of it as if it were a plaything. And even now while my\nwhole heart craves for it, I question whether it is worth having! Poor\nLilith!--only a woman after all,--a woman whose beauty will soon\npass--whose days will soon be done,--only a woman--not an immortal\nSoul,--there is, there can be, no such thing as an immortal Soul.\u201d\n\nBending down over her, he resolutely unclasped the fair crossed arms,\nand seized the delicate small hands in a close grip.\n\n\u201cLilith! Lilith!\u201d he called imperiously.\n\nA long and heavy pause ensued,--then the girl\u2019s limbs quivered\nviolently as though moved by a sudden convulsion, and her lips parted\nin the utterance of the usual formula--\n\n\u201cI am here.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere at last, but you have been absent long\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi with some\nreproach, \u201cToo long. And you have forgotten your promise.\u201d\n\n\u201cForgotten!\u201d she echoed--\u201cO doubting spirit! Do such as I am, ever\nforget?\u201d\n\nHer thrilling accents awed him a little, but he pursued his own way\nwith her, undauntedly.\n\n\u201cThen why have you not fulfilled it?\u201d he demanded--\u201cThe strongest\npatience may tire. I have waited and watched, as you bade me--but\nnow--now I am weary of waiting.\u201d\n\nOh, what a sigh broke from her lips!\n\n\u201cI am weary too\u201d--she said--\u201cThe angels are weary. God is weary. All\nCreation is weary--of Doubt.\u201d\n\nFor a moment he was abashed,--but only for a moment; in himself he\nconsidered Doubt to be the strongest part of his nature,--a positive\nshield and buckler against possible error.\n\n\u201cYou cannot wait,\u201d--went on Lilith, speaking slowly and with evident\nsadness--\u201cNeither can we. We have hoped,--in vain! We have watched--in\nvain! The strong man\u2019s pride will not bend, nor the stubborn spirit\nturn in prayer to its Creator. Therefore what is not bent must be\nbroken,--and what voluntarily refuses Light must accept Darkness. I am\nbidden to come to you, my beloved,--to come to you as I am, and as I\never shall be,--I will come--but how will you receive me?\u201d\n\n\u201cWith ecstasy, with love, with welcome beyond all words or thoughts!\u201d\ncried El-R\u00e2mi in passionate excitement. \u201cO Lilith, Lilith! you who\nread the stars, cannot you read my heart? Do you not see that I--I who\nhave recoiled from the very thought of loving,--I, who have striven to\nmake of myself a man of stone and iron rather than flesh and blood, am\nconquered by your spells, victorious Lilith!--conquered in every fibre\nof my being by some subtle witchcraft known to yourself alone. Am I\nweak!--am I false to my own beliefs? I know not,--I am only conscious\nof the sovereignty of beauty which has mastered many a stronger man\nthan I. What is the fiercest fire compared with this fever in my\nveins? I worship you, Lilith! I love you!--more than the world, life,\ntime and hope of heaven, I love you!\u201d\n\nFlushed with eagerness and trembling with his own emotion, he rained\nkisses on the hands he held, but Lilith strove to withdraw them from\nhis clasp. Pale as alabaster she lay as usual with fast-closed eyes,\nand again a deep sigh heaved her breast.\n\n\u201cYou love my Shadow,\u201d--she said mournfully--\u201cnot Myself.\u201d\n\nBut El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s rapture was not to be chilled by these words. He\ngathered up a glittering mass of the rich hair that lay scattered on\nthe pillow and pressed it to his lips.\n\n\u201cOh Lilith mine, is this \u2018Shadow\u2019?\u201d he asked--\u201cAll this gold in which\nI net my heart like a willingly-caught bird, and make an end of my\nboasted wisdom? Are these sweet lips, these fair features, this\nexquisite body, all \u2018shadow\u2019? Then blessed must be the light that\ncasts so gracious a reflection! Judge me not harshly, my Sweet,--for\nif indeed you are divine, and this beauty I behold is the mere reflex\nof Divinity, let me see the divine form of you for once, and have a\nguarantee for faith through love! If there is another and a fairer\nLilith than the one whom I now behold, deny me not the grace of so\nmarvellous a vision! I am ready!--I fear nothing--to-night I could\nface God Himself undismayed!\u201d\n\nHe paused abruptly--he knew not why. Something in the chill and solemn\nlook of Lilith\u2019s face checked his speech.\n\n\u201cLilith--Lilith!\u201d he began again whisperingly--\u201cDo I ask too much?\nSurely not!--not if you love me! And you do love me--I feel, I know\nyou do!\u201d\n\nThere was a long pause,--Lilith might have been made of marble for all\nthe movement she gave. Her breathing was so light as to be scarcely\nperceptible, and when she answered him at last, her voice sounded\nstrangely faint and far-removed. \u201cYes, I love you\u201d--she said--\u201cI love\nyou as I have loved you for a thousand ages, and as you have never\nloved me. To win your love has been _my_ task--to repel my love has\nbeen _yours_.\u201d\n\nHe listened, smitten by a vague sense of compunction and regret.\n\n\u201cBut you have conquered, Lilith\u201d--he answered--\u201cyours is the victory.\nAnd have I not surrendered, willingly, joyfully? O my beautiful\nDreamer, what would you have me do?\u201d\n\n\u201cPray!\u201d said Lilith, with a sudden passionate thrill in her\nvoice--\u201cPray! Repent!\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi drew himself backward from her couch, impatient and angered.\n\n\u201cRepent!\u201d he cried aloud--\u201cAnd why should I repent? What have I done\nthat calls for repentance? For what sin am I to blame? For doubting a\nGod who, deaf to centuries upon centuries of human prayer and worship,\nwill not declare Himself? and for striving to perceive Him through the\ncruel darkness by which we are surrounded? What crime can be\ndiscovered there? The world is most infinitely sad,--and life is most\ninfinitely dreary,--and may I not strive to comfort those amid the\nstruggle who fain would \u2018prove\u2019 and hold fast to the things beyond?\nNay!--let the heavens open and cast forth upon me their fiery\nthunderbolts, I will _not_ repent! For, vast as my doubt is, so vast\nwould be my faith, if God would speak and say to His creatures but\nonce--\u2018Lo! I am here!\u2019 Tortures of hell-pain would not terrify me, if\nin the end His Being were made clearly manifest--a cross of endless\nwoe would I endure, to feel and see Him near me at the last, and more\nthan all, to make the world feel and see Him--to prove to wondering,\ntrembling, terror-stricken, famished, heart-broken human beings that\nHe exists,--that He is aware of their misery,--that He cares for them,\nthat it is all well for them,--that there _is_ Eternal Joy hiding\nitself somewhere amid the great star-thickets of this monstrous\nuniverse--that we are not desolate atoms whirled by a blind fierce\nForce into life against our will, and out of it again without a shadow\nof reason or a glimmer of hope. Repent for such thoughts as these? I\nwill not! Pray to a God of such inexorable silence? I will not! No,\nLilith--my Lilith whom I snatched from greedy death--even you may fail\nme at the last,--you may break your promise,--the promise that I\nshould see with mortal eyes your own Immortal Self--who can blame you\nfor the promise of a dream, poor child! You may prove yourself nothing\nbut woman; woman, poor, frail, weak, helpless woman to be loved and\ncherished and pitied and caressed in all the delicate limbs, and\nkissed in all the dainty golden threads of hair, and then--then--to be\nlaid down like a broken flower in the tomb that has grudged me your\nbeauty all this while,--all this may be, Lilith, and yet I will not\npray to an unproved God, nor repent of an unproved sin!\u201d\n\nHe uttered his words with extraordinary force and eloquence--one would\nhave thought he was addressing a multitude of hearers instead of that\none tranced girl, who, though beautiful as a sculptured saint on a\nsarcophagus, appeared almost as inanimate, save for the slow parting\nof her lips when she spoke.\n\n\u201cO superb Angel of the Kingdom!\u201d she murmured--\u201cIt is no marvel that\nyou fell!\u201d\n\nHe heard her, dimly perplexed; but strengthened in his own convictions\nby what he had said, he was conscious of power,--power to defy, power\nto endure, power to command. Such a sense of exhilaration and high\nconfidence had not possessed him for many a long day, and he was about\nto speak again, when Lilith\u2019s voice once more stole musically on the\nsilence.\n\n\u201cYou would reproach God for the world\u2019s misery. Your complaint is\nunjust. There is a Law,--a Law for the earth as for all worlds; and\nGod cannot alter one iota of that Law without destroying Himself and\nHis Universe. Shall all Beauty, all Order, all Creation come to an end\nbecause wilful Man is wilfully miserable? Your world trespasses\nagainst the Law in almost everything it does--hence its suffering.\nOther worlds accept the Law and fulfil it,--and with them, all is\nwell.\u201d\n\n\u201cWho is to know this Law?\u201d demanded El-R\u00e2mi impatiently. \u201cAnd how can\nthe world trespass against what is not explained?\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is explained;\u201d--said Lilith--\u201cThe explanation is in every soul\u2019s\ninmost consciousness. You all know the Law and feel it--but knowing,\nyou ignore it. Men were intended by Law--God\u2019s Law--to live in\nbrotherhood; but your world is divided into nations all opposed to\neach other,--the result is Evil. There is a Law of Health, which men\ncan scarcely be forced to follow--the majority disobey it; again, the\nresult is Evil. There is a Law of \u2018Enough\u2019--men grasp more than\nenough, and leave their brother with less than enough,--the result is\nEvil. There is a Law of Love--men make it a Law of Lust,--the result\nis Evil. All sin, all pain, all misery, are results of the Law\u2019s\ntransgression,--and God cannot alter the Law, He Himself being part of\nit and its fulfilment.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd is Death also the Law?\u201d asked El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cWise Lilith!--Death,\nwhich concludes all things, both in Law and Order?\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is no death,\u201d responded Lilith--\u201cI have told you so. What you\ncall by that name is Life.\u201d\n\n\u201cProve it!\u201d exclaimed El-R\u00e2mi excitedly, \u201cProve it, Lilith! Show me\nYourself! If there is another You than this beloved beauty of your\nvisible form, let me behold it, and then--then will I repent of\ndoubt,--then will I pray for pardon!\u201d\n\n\u201cYou will repent indeed,\u201d--said Lilith sorrowfully--\u201cAnd you will pray\nas children pray when first they learn \u2018Our Father.\u2019 Yes, I will come\nto you; watch for me, O my erring Belov\u00ebd!--watch!--for neither my\nlove nor my promise can fail. But O remember that you are not\nready--that your will, your passion, your love, forces me hither ere\nthe time,--that, if I come, it is but to depart again--for ever!\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d cried El-R\u00e2mi desperately--\u201cNot to depart, but to\nremain!--to stay with me, my Lilith, my own--body and soul,--for\never!\u201d\n\nThe last words sounded like a defiance flung at some invisible\nopponent. He stopped, trembling--for a sudden and mysterious wave of\nsound filled the room, like a great wind among the trees, or the last\ngrand chord of an organ-symphony. A chill fear assailed him,--he kept\nhis eyes fixed on the beautiful form of Lilith with a strained\neagerness of attention that made his temples ache. She grew paler and\npaler,--and yet, ... absorbed in his intent scrutiny he could not move\nor speak. His tongue seemed tied to the roof of his mouth,--he felt as\nthough he could scarcely breathe. All life appeared to hang on one\nsupreme moment of time, which like a point of light wavered between\nearth and heaven, mortality and infinity. He,--one poor atom in the\nvast Universe,--stood, audaciously waiting for the declaration of\nGod\u2019s chiefest Secret. Would it be revealed at last?--or still\nwithheld?\n\n\n\n\n XXXVII.\n\nAll at once, while he thus closely watched her, Lilith, with a\nviolent effort, sat up stiffly erect and turned her head slowly\ntowards him. Her features were rigidly statuesque, and white as\nsnow,--the strange gaunt look of her face terrified him, but he could\nnot cry out or utter a word--he was stricken dumb by an excess of\nfear. Only his black eyes blazed with an anguish of expectation,--and\nthe tension of his nerves seemed almost greater than he could endure.\n\n\u201cIn the great Name of God and by the Passion of Christ,\u201d--said Lilith\nsolemnly, in tones that sounded far-off and faint and hollow--\u201cdo not\nlook at this Shadow of Me! Turn, turn away from this dust of Earth\nwhich belongs to the Earth alone,--and watch for the light of Heaven\nwhich comes from Heaven alone! O my love, my belov\u00ebd!--if you are\nwise, if you are brave, if you are strong, turn away from beholding\nthis Image of Me, which is not Myself,--and look for me where the\nroses are--there will I stand and wait!\u201d\n\nAs the last word left her lips she sank back on her pillows, inert,\nand deathly pale; but El-R\u00e2mi, dazed and bewildered though he was,\nretained sufficient consciousness to understand vaguely what she\nmeant,--he was not to look at her as she lay there,--he was to forget\nthat such a Lilith as he knew existed,--he was to look for another\nLilith there--\u201cwhere the roses are.\u201d Mechanically, and almost as if\nsome invisible power commanded and controlled his volition, he turned\nsideways round from the couch, and fixed his gaze on the branching\nflowers, which from the crystal vase that held them lifted their\npale-pink heads daintily aloft as though they took the lamp that swung\nfrom the ceiling for some little new sun, specially invented for their\npleasure. Why,--there was nothing there ... \u201cNothing there!\u201d he half\nmuttered with a beating heart, rubbing his eyes and staring hard\nbefore him, ... nothing--nothing at all, but the roses themselves, and\n... and ... yes!--a Light behind them!--a light that wavered round\nthem and began to stretch upward in wide circling rings!\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi gazed and gazed, ... saying over and over again to himself\nthat it was the reflection of the lamp, ... the glitter of that stray\nmoonbeam there, ... or something wrong with his own faculty of vision,\n... and yet he gazed on, as though for the moment all his being were\nmade of eyes. The roses trembled and swayed to and fro delicately as\nthe strange Light widened and brightened behind their blossoming\nclusters,--a light that seemed to palpitate with all the wondrous\nliving tints of the rising sun when it shoots forth its first golden\nrays from the foaming green hollows of the sea. Upward, upward and\never upward the deepening glory extended, till the lamp paled and grew\ndimmer than the spark of a feeble match struck as a rival to a flash\nof lightning,--and El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s breath came and went in hard panting\ngasps as he stood watching it in speechless immobility.\n\nSuddenly, two broad shafts of rainbow luminance sprang, as it seemed,\nfrom the ground, and blazed against the purple hangings of the room\nwith such a burning dazzle of prismatic colouring in every glittering\nline that it was well-nigh impossible for human sight to bear it, and\nyet El-R\u00e2mi would rather have been stricken stone-blind than move.\nHad he been capable of thought, he might have remembered the beautiful\nold Greek myths which so truthfully and frequently taught the lesson\nthat to look upon the purely divine meant death to the purely human;\nbut he could not think,--all his own mental faculties were for the\ntime rendered numb and useless. His eyes ached and smarted as though\nred-hot needles were being plunged into them, but though he was\nconscious of, he was indifferent to, the pain. His whole mind was\nconcentrated on watching the mysterious radiance of those wing-shaped\nrays in the room,--and now ... now while he gazed, he began to\nperceive an outline between the rays, ... a Shape, becoming every\nsecond more and more distinct, as though some invisible heavenly\nartist were drawing the semblance of Beauty in air with a pencil\ndipped in morning-glory. ... O wonderful, ineffable Vision!--O\nmarvellous breaking-forth of the buds of life that are hid in the\nquiet ether!--where, where in the vast wealth and reproduction of\ndeathless and delicate atoms, is the Beginning of things?--where the\nEnd? ...\n\nPresently appeared soft curves, and glimmers of vapoury white flushed\nwith rose, suggestive of fire seen through mountain-mist,--then came a\nglittering flash of gold that went rippling and ever rippling\nbackward, like the flowing fall of lovely hair; and the dim Shape grew\nstill more clearly visible, seeming to gather substance and solidity\nfrom the very light that encircled it. Had it any human likeness?\nYes;--yet the resemblance it bore to humanity was so far away, so\nexalted and ideal, as to be no more like our material form than the\nactual splendour of the sun is like its painted image. The stature and\nmajesty and brilliancy of it increased,--and now the unspeakable\nloveliness of a Face too fair for any mortal fairness began to suggest\nitself dimly; ... El-R\u00e2mi, growing faint and dizzy, thought he\ndistinguished white outstretched arms, and hands uplifted in an\necstasy of prayer;--nay,--though he felt himself half swooning in the\nstruggle he made to overcome his awe and fear, he would have sworn\nthat two star-like eyes, full-orbed and splendid with a radiant blue\nas of Heaven\u2019s own forget-me-nots, were turned upon him with a\nquestioning appeal, a hope, a supplication, a love beyond all\neloquence! ... But his strength was rapidly failing him;--unsupported\nby faith, his mere unassisted flesh and blood could endure no more of\nthis supernatural sight, and ... all suddenly, ... the tension of his\nnerves gave way, and morbid terrors shook his frame. A blind frenzied\nfeeling that he was sinking,--sinking out of sight and sense into a\ndrear profound, possessed him, and, hardly knowing what he did, he\nturned desperately to the couch where Lilith, the Lilith he knew best,\nlay, and looking,----\n\n\u201cAh God!\u201d he cried, pierced to the heart by the bitterest anguish he\nhad ever known,--Lilith--_his_ Lilith was withering before his very\neyes! The exquisite Body he had watched and tended was shrunken and\nyellow as a fading leaf,--the face, no longer beautiful, was gaunt and\npinched and skeleton-like--the lips were drawn in and blue,--and\nstrange convulsions shook the wrinkling and sunken breast!\n\nIn one mad moment he forgot everything,--forgot the imperishable Soul\nfor the perishing Body,--forgot his long studies and high\nambitions,--and could think of nothing, except that this human\ncreature he had saved from death seemed now to be passing into death\u2019s\nlong-denied possession,--and throwing himself on the couch he clutched\nat his fading treasure with the desperation of frenzy.\n\n\u201cLilith!--Lilith!\u201d he cried hoarsely, the extremity of his terror\nchoking his voice to a smothered wild moan--\u201cLilith! My love, my idol,\nmy spirit, my saint! Come back!--come back!\u201d\n\nAnd clasping her in his arms he covered with burning kisses the thin\npeaked face--the shrinking flesh,--the tarnished lustre of the once\nbright hair.\n\n\u201cLilith! Lilith!\u201d he wailed, dry-eyed and fevered with agony--\u201cLilith,\nI love you! Has love no force to keep you? Lilith, love Lilith! You\nshall not leave me,--you are mine--mine! I stole you from death--I\nkept you from God!--from all the furies of heaven and earth!--you\n_shall_ come back to me--I love you!\u201d\n\nAnd lo! ... as he spoke the body he held to his heart grew warm,--the\nflesh filled up and regained its former softness and roundness--the\nfeatures took back their loveliness--the fading hair brightened to its\nwonted rich tint and rippled upon the pillows in threads of gold--the\nlips reddened,--the eyelids quivered, the little hands, trembling\ngently like birds\u2019 wings, nestled round his throat with a caress that\nthrilled his whole being and calmed the tempest of his grief as\nsuddenly as when of old the Master walked upon the raging sea of\nGalilee and said to it \u201cPeace, be still!\u201d\n\nYet this very calmness oppressed him heavily,--like a cold hand laid\non a fevered brow it chilled his blood even while it soothed his pain.\nHe was conscious of a sense of irreparable loss,--and moreover he felt\nhe had been a coward,--a coward physically and morally. For, instead\nof confronting the Supernatural, or what seemed the Supernatural,\ncalmly, and with the inquisitorial research of a scientist, he had\nallowed himself to be overcome by It, and had fled back to the\nconsideration of the merely human, with all the delirious speed of a\nlover and fool. Nevertheless he had his Lilith--his own Lilith,--and,\nholding her jealously to his heart, he presently turned his head\ntremblingly and in doubt to where the roses nodded drowsily in their\ncrystal vase;--only the roses now were there! The marvellous Wing\u00ebd\nBrightness had fled, and the place it had illumined seemed by contrast\nvery dark. The Soul,--the Immortal Self--had vanished;--the subtle\nBeing he had longed to see, and whose existence and capabilities he\nhad meant to \u201cprove\u201d; and he, who had consecrated his life and labour\nto the attainment of this one object, had failed to grasp the full\nsolution of the mystery at the very moment when it might have been\nhis. By his own weakness he had lost the Soul,--by his own strength he\nhad gained the Body, or so he thought, and his mind was torn between\ntriumph and regret. He was not yet entirely conscious of what had\nchanced to him--he could formulate no idea,--all he distinctly knew\nwas that he held Lilith, warm and living, in his arms, and that he\nfelt her light breath upon his cheek.\n\n\u201cLove is enough!\u201d he murmured, kissing the hair that lay in golden\nclusters against his breast--\u201cWaken, my Lilith!--waken!--and in our\nperfect joy we will defy all gods and angels!\u201d\n\nShe stirred in his clasp,--he bent above her, eager, ardent,\nexpectant,--her long eyelashes trembled,--and then,--slowly, slowly,\nlike white leaves opening to the sun, the lids upcurled, disclosing\nthe glorious eyes beneath, eyes that had been closed to earthly things\nfor six long years,--deep, starry violet-blue eyes that shone with the\ncalm and holy lustre of unspeakable purity and peace,--eyes that in\ntheir liquid softness held all the appeal, hope, supplication and\neloquent love, he had seen (or fancied he had seen) in the strange\neyes of the only half-visible Soul! The Soul indeed was looking\nthrough its earthly windows for the last time, had he known it,--but\nhe did not know it. Raised to a giddy pinnacle of delight as suddenly\nas he had been lately plunged into an abyss of grief and terror, he\ngazed into those newly-opened wondrous worlds of mute expression with\nall a lover\u2019s pride, passion, tenderness and longing.\n\n\u201cFear nothing, Lilith!\u201d he said--\u201cIt is I! I whose voice you have\nanswered and obeyed,--I, your lover and lord! It is I who claim you,\nmy belov\u00ebd!--I who bid you waken from death to life!\u201d\n\nOh, what a smile of dazzling rapture illumined her face!--it was as if\nthe sun in all his glory had suddenly broken out of a cloud to\nbrighten her beauty with his purest beams. Her childlike, innocent,\nwondering eyes remained fixed upon El-R\u00e2mi,--lifting her white arms\nlanguidly she closed them round about him with a gentle fervour that\nseemed touched by compassion,--and he, thrilled to the quick by that\nsilent expression of tenderness, straightway ascended to a heaven of\nblind, delirious ecstasy. He wanted no word from her ... what use of\nwords!--her silence was the perfect eloquence of love! All her beauty\nwas his own--his very own! ... he had willed it so,--and his will had\nwon its way,--the iron Will of a strong wise man without a God to help\nhim!--and all he feared was that he might die of his own excess of\ntriumph and joy! ... Hush! ... hush! ... Music again!--that same deep\nsound as of the wind among trees, or the solemn organ-chord that\ncloses the song of departing choristers. It was strange,--very\nstrange!--but, though he heard, he scarcely heeded it; unearthly\nterrors could not shake him now,--not now, while he held Lilith to his\nheart, and devoured her loveliness with his eyes, curve by curve, line\nby line, till with throbbing pulses, and every nerve tingling in his\nbody, he bent his face down to hers, and pressed upon her lips a long,\nburning, passionate kiss! ...\n\nBut, even as he did so, she was wrenched fiercely out of his hold by a\nsudden and awful convulsion,--her slight frame writhed and twisted\nitself away from his clasp with a shuddering recoil of muscular\nagony--once her little hands clutched the air, ... and then, ... then,\nthe brief struggle over, her arms dropped rigidly at her sides, and\nher whole body swerved and fell backward heavily upon the pillows of\nthe couch, stark, pallid and pulseless! ... And he,--he, gazing upon\nher thus with a vague and stupid stare, wondered dimly whether he were\nmad or dreaming? ...\n\nWhat ... what was this sudden ailment? ... this ... this strange\nswoon? What bitter frost had stolen into _her_ veins? ... what\ninsatiable hell-fire was consuming _his_? Those eyes, ... those just\nunclosed, innocent lovely eyes of Lilith, ... was it possible, could\nit be true that all the light had gone out of them?--gone, utterly\ngone? And what was that clammy film beginning to cover them over with\na glazing veil of blankness? ... God! ... God! ... he must be in a\nwild nightmare, he thought! ... he should wake up presently and find\nall this seeming disaster unreal,--the fantastic fear of a sick brain\n... the \u201cclangour and anger of elements\u201d imaginative, not actual, ...\nand here his reeling terror found voice in a hoarse, smothered cry--\n\n\u201cLilith! ... Lilith! ...\u201d\n\nBut stop, stop! ... was it Lilith indeed whom he thus called? ...\n_That_? ... that gaunt, sunken, rigid form, growing swiftly hideous!\n... yes--hideous, with those dull marks of blue discoloration coming\nhere and there on the no longer velvety fair skin!\n\n\u201cLilith! ... Lilith!\u201d\n\nThe name was lost and drowned in the wave of solemn music that rolled\nand throbbed upon the air, and El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s distorted mind, catching at\nthe dread suggestiveness of that unearthly harmony, accepted it as a\nsort of invisible challenge.\n\n\u201cWhat, good Death! brother Death, are you there?\u201d he muttered\nfiercely, shaking his clenched fist at vacancy--\u201cAre you here, and are\nyou everywhere? Nay, we have crossed swords before now in desperate\ncombat ... and I have won! ... and I will win again! Hands off, rival\nDeath! Lilith is mine!\u201d\n\nAnd, snatching from his breast a phial of the liquid with which he had\nso long kept Lilith living in a trance, he swiftly injected it into\nher veins, and forced some drops between her lips ... in vain ... in\nvain! No breath came back to stir that silent breast--no sign whatever\nof returning animation evinced itself, only ... at the expiration of\nthe few moments which generally sufficed the vital fluid for its\nworking, there chanced a strange and terrible thing. Wherever the\nliquid had made its way, there the skin blistered, and the flesh\nblackened, as though the whole body were being consumed by some fierce\ninward fire; and El-R\u00e2mi, looking with strained wild eyes at this\ndestructive result of his effort to save, at last realised to the full\nall the awfulness, all the dire agony of his fate! The Soul of Lilith\nhad departed for ever; ... even as the Cyprian monk had said, it had\noutgrown its earthly tenement, ... its cord of communication with the\nbody had been mysteriously and finally severed,--and the Body itself\nwas crumbling into ashes before his very sight, helped into swifter\ndissolution by the electric potency of his own vaunted \u201clife-elixir\u201d!\nIt was horrible ... horrible! ... was there _no_ remedy?\n\nStaring himself almost blind with despair, he dashed the phial on the\nground, and stamped it under his heel in an excess of impotent fury,\n... the veins in his forehead swelled with a fulness of aching blood\nalmost to bursting, ... he could do nothing, ... nothing! His science\nwas of no avail;--his Will,--his proud inflexible Will was \u201cas a reed\nshaken in the wind!\u201d ... Ha! ... the old stock phrase! ... it had been\nsaid before, in old times and in new, by canting creatures who\nbelieved in Prayer. Prayer!--would it bring back beauty and vitality\nto that blackening corpse before him? ... that disfigured, withering\nclay he had once called Lilith! ... How ghastly It looked! ...\nShuddering violently he turned away,--turned,--to meet the grave sweet\neyes of the pictured Christ on the wall, ... to read again the words,\n\u201cWhom say ye that I am?\u201d The letters danced before him in characters\nof flame, ... there seemed a great noise everywhere as of clashing\nsteam-hammers and great church-bells,--the world was reeling round him\nas giddily as a spun wheel.\n\n\u201cRobber of the Soul of Lilith!\u201d he muttered between his set\nteeth--\u201cWhoever you be, whether God or Devil, I will find you out! I\nwill pursue you to the uttermost ends of vast infinitude! I will\ncontest her with you yet, for surely she is mine! What right have you,\nO Force Unknown, to steal my love from me? Answer me! prove yourself\nGod, as I prove myself Man! Declare _something_, O mute Inflexible!\n_Do_ something other than mechanically grind out a reasonless,\nunexplained Life and Death for ever! O Lilith!--faithless Angel!--did\nyou not say that love was sweet?--and could not love keep you\nhere,--here, with me, your lover, Lilith?\u201d\n\nInvoluntarily and with cowering reluctance, his eyes turned again\ntowards the couch,--but now--now ... the horror of that decaying\nbeauty, interiorly burning itself away to nothingness, was more than\nhe could bear ... a mortal sickness seized him,--and he flung up his\narms with a desperate gesture as though he sought to drag down some\ncovering wherewith to hide himself and his utter misery.\n\n\u201cDefeated, baffled, befooled!\u201d he exclaimed frantically--\u201cConquered by\nthe Invisible and Invincible after all! Conquered! I! ... Who would\nhave thought it! Hear me, earth and heaven!--hear me, O rolling world\nof human Wretchedness, hear me!--for I have proved a Truth! There is\na God!--a jealous God--jealous of the Soul of Lilith!--a God\ntyrannical, absolute, and powerful--a God of infinite and inexorable\nJustice. O God, I know you!--I own you--I meet you! I am part of you\nas the worm is!--and you can change me, but you cannot destroy me! You\nhave done your worst,--you have fought against your own Essence in me,\ntill light has turned to darkness and love to bitterness;--you have\nleft me no help, no hope, no comfort; what more remains to do, O\nterrible God of a million Universes! ... what more? Gone--gone is the\nSoul of Lilith--but Where? Where in the vast Unknowable shall I find\nmy love again? ... Teach me _that_, O God! ... give me that one small\nclue through the million million intricate webs of star-systems, and I\ntoo will fall blindly down and adore an Imaginary Good in visible and\nall-paramount Evil! ... I too will sacrifice reason, pride, wisdom and\npower and become as a fool for Love\u2019s sake! ... I too will grovel\nbefore an unproved Symbol of Divinity as a savage grovels before his\nstone fetish, ... I will be weak, not strong, I will babble prayers\nwith the children, ... only take me where Lilith is, ... bring me to\nLilith ... angel Lilith! ... love Lilith! ... my Lilith! ... ah God!\nGod! Have mercy ... mercy! ...\u201d\n\nHis voice broke suddenly in a sharp jarring shriek of delirious\nlaughter,--blood sprang to his mouth,--and with a blind movement of\nhis arms, as of one in thick darkness seeking light, he fell heavily\nface forward, insensible on the couch where the Body he had loved,\ndeprived of its Soul, lay crumbling swiftly away into hideous\ndisfigurement and ashes.\n\n\n\n\n XXXVIII.\n\n\u201c_Awake, F\u00e9raz! To-day dreams end, and Life begins._\u201d\n\nThe words sounded so distinctly in his ears that the half-roused\nF\u00e9raz turned drowsily on his pillows and opened his eyes, fully\nexpecting to see the speaker of them in his room. But there was no\none. It was early morning,--the birds were twittering in the outer\nyard, and bright sunshine poured through the window. He had had a long\nand refreshing sleep,--and sitting up in his bed he stretched himself\nwith a sense of refreshment and comfort, the while he tried to think\nwhat had so mysteriously and unpleasantly oppressed him with\nforebodings on the previous night. By and by he remembered the singing\nvoices in the air and smiled.\n\n\u201cAll my fancy of course!\u201d he said lightly, springing up and beginning\nto dash the fresh cold water of his morning bath over his polished\nbronze-like skin, till all his nerves tingled with the pleasurable\nsensation--\u201cI am always hearing music of some sort or other. I believe\nmusic is pent up in the air, and loosens itself at intervals like the\nrain. Why not? There must be such a wealth of melody aloft,--all the\nsongs of all the birds,--all the whisperings of all the leaves;--all\nthe dash and rush of the rivers, waterfalls and oceans,--it is all in\nthe air, and I believe it falls in a shower sometimes and penetrates\nthe brains of musicians like Beethoven, Schumann and Wagner.\u201d\n\nAmused with his own fantastic imaginings he hummed a tune _sotto voce_\nas he donned his easy and picturesque attire,--then he left his room\nand went to his brother\u2019s study to set it in order for the day, as was\nhis usual custom.\n\nHe opened the door softly and with caution, because El-R\u00e2mi often\nslept there on the hard soldier\u2019s couch that occupied one corner,--but\nthis morning all was exactly as it had been left at night,--the books\nand papers were undisturbed,--and, curiously enough, the little\nsanctum presented a vacant and deserted appearance, as though it would\ndumbly express a fear that its master was gone from it for ever. How\nsuch a notion suggested itself to F\u00e9raz, he could not tell,--but he\nwas certainly conscious of a strange sinking at the heart, as he\npaused in the act of throwing open one of the windows, and looked\nround the quiet room. Had anything been moved or displaced during the\nnight that he should receive such a general impression of utter\nemptiness? Nothing--so far as he could judge;--there was his brother\u2019s\nebony chair wheeled slightly aside from the desk,--there were the\ngreat globes, terrestrial and celestial,--there were the various\nvolumes lately used for reference,--and, apart from these, on the\ntable, was the old vellum book in Arabic that F\u00e9raz had once before\nattempted to read. It was open,--a circumstance that struck F\u00e9raz\nwith some surprise, for he could not recall having seen it in that\nposition last evening. Perhaps El-R\u00e2mi had come down in the night to\nrefer to it and had left it there by accident? F\u00e9raz felt he must\nexamine it more nearly, and, approaching, he rested his elbows on the\ntable and fixed his eyes on the Arabic page before him which was\nheaded in scrolled lettering \u201cThe Mystery of Death.\u201d As he read the\nwords, a beautiful butterfly flew in through the open window and\ncircled joyously round his head, till, presently espying the bunch of\nheliotrope in the glass where F\u00e9raz had set it the previous day, it\nfluttered off to that, and settled on the scented purple bloom, its\npretty wings quivering with happiness. Mechanically F\u00e9raz watched its\nflight,--then his eyes returned and dwelt once more on the\ntime-stained lettering before him; \u201cThe Mystery of Death,\u201d--and\nfollowing the close lines with his forefinger, he soon made out the\nensuing passages. \u201cThe Mystery of Death. Whereas, of this there is no\nmystery at all, as the ignorant suppose, but only a clearing up of\nmany intricate matters. When the body dies,--or to express it with\nmore pertinacious exactitude, when the body resolves itself into the\nliving organisms of which earth is composed, it is because the Soul\nhas outgrown its mortal habitation and can no longer endure the\ncramping narrowness of the same. We speak unjustly of the aged,\nbecause by their taciturnity and inaptitude for worldly business, they\nseem to us foolish, and of a peevish weakness; it should however be\nremembered that it is a folly to complain of the breaking of the husk\nwhen the corn is ripe. In old age the Soul is weary of and indifferent\nto earthly things, and makes of its tiresome tenement a querulous\nreproach,--it has exhausted earth\u2019s pleasures and surpassed earth\u2019s\nneeds, and palpitates for larger movement. When this is gained, the\nhusk falls, the grain sprouts forth--the Soul is freed,--and all\nNature teaches this lesson. To call the process \u2018death\u2019 and a\n\u2018mystery\u2019 is to repeat the error of barbarian ages,--for once the Soul\nhas no more use for the Body, you cannot detain it,--you cannot\ncompress its wings,--you cannot stifle its nature,--and, being\nEternal, it demands Eternity.\u201d\n\n\u201cAll that is true enough;\u201d--murmured F\u00e9raz--\u201cAs true as any truth\npossible, and yet people will not accept or understand it. All the\nreligions, all the preachers, all the teachers seem to avail them\nnothing,--and they go on believing in death far more than in life.\nWhat a sad and silly world it is!--always planning for itself and\nnever for God, and only turning to God in imminent danger like a\ncoward schoolboy who says he is sorry because he fears a whipping.\u201d\n\nHere he lifted his eyes from the book, feeling that some one was\nlooking at him, and, true enough, there in the doorway stood Zaroba.\nHer withered face had an anxious expression and she held up a warning\nfinger.\n\n\u201cHush! ...\u201d she said whisperingly. ... \u201cNo noise! ... where is\nEl-R\u00e2mi?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz replied by a gesture, indicating that he was still upstairs at\nwork on his mysterious \u201cexperiment.\u201d\n\nZaroba advanced slowly into the room, and seated herself on the\nnearest chair.\n\n\u201cMy mind misgives me;\u201d--she said in low awe-stricken tones,--\u201cMy mind\nmisgives me; I have had dreams--_such_ dreams! All night I have tossed\nand turned,--my head throbs here,\u201d--and she pressed both hands upon\nher brow,--\u201cand my heart--my heart aches! I have seen strange\ncreatures clad in white,--ghostly faces of the past have stared at\nme,--my dead children have caressed me,--my dead husband has kissed me\non the lips,--a kiss of ice, freezing me to the marrow. What does it\nbode? No good--no good!--but ill! Like the sound of the flying feet of\nthe whirlwind that brings death to the sons of the desert, there is a\nsound in my brain which says--\u2018Sorrow! Sorrow!\u2019 again and yet again\n\u2018Sorrow!\u2019\u201d\n\nSighing, she clasped her hands about her knees and rocked herself to\nand fro, as though she were in pain. F\u00e9raz stood gazing at her\nwistfully and with a somewhat troubled air,--her words impressed him\nuncomfortably,--her very attitude suggested misery. The sunlight\nbeaming across her bent figure, flashed on the silver bangles that\ncircled her brown arms, and touched her rough gray hair to flecks of\nbrightness,--her black eyes almost hid themselves under their tired\ndrooping lids,--and when she ceased speaking her lips still moved as\nthough she inwardly muttered some weird incantation. Growing impatient\nwith her, he knew not why, the young man paced slowly up and down the\nroom; her deafness precluded him from speaking to her, and he just now\nhad no inclination to communicate with her in the usual way by\nwriting. And while he thus walked about, she continued her rocking\nmovement, and peered at him dubiously from under her bushy gray brows.\n\n\u201cIt is ill work meddling with the gods;\u201d--she began again\npresently--\u201cIn old time they were vengeful,--and have they changed\nbecause the times are new? Nay, nay! The nature of a man may alter\nwith the course of his passions,--but the nature of a god!--who shall\nmake it otherwise than what it has been from the beginning? Cruel,\ncruel are the ways of the gods when they are thwarted;--there is no\nmercy in the blind eyes of Fate! To tempt Destiny is to ask the\nthunderbolt to fall and smite you,--to oppose the gods is as though a\nbabe\u2019s hand should essay to lift the Universe. Have I not prayed the\nMaster, the wise and the proud El-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos, to submit and not\ncontend? As God liveth, I say, let us submit while we can like the\nslaves that we are, for in submission alone is safety!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz heard her with increasing irritation,--why need she come to him\nwith all this melancholy jabbering, he thought angrily. He leaned far\nout of the open window and looked at the ugly houses of the little\nsquare,--at the sooty trees, the sparrows hopping and quarrelling in\nthe road, the tradesmen\u2019s carts that every now and again dashed to and\nfrom their various customers\u2019 doors in the aggravatingly mad fashion\nthey affect, and tried to realise that he was actually in busy\npractical London, and not, as seemed at the moment more likely, in\nsome cavern of an Eastern desert, listening to an ancient sibyl\ncroaking misfortune. Just then a neighbouring clock struck nine, and\nhe hastily drew in his head from the outer air, and, making language\nwith his eloquent fingers, he mutely asked Zaroba if she were going\nupstairs now, or whether she meant to wait till El-R\u00e2mi himself came\ndown?\n\nShe left off rocking to and fro, and half rose from her chair,--then\nshe hesitated.\n\n\u201cI have never waited\u201d--she said--\u201cbefore,--and why? Because the voice\nof the Master has roused me from my deepest slumbers,--and, like a\nfinger of fire laid on my brain, his very thought has summoned my\nattendance. But this morning no such voice has called,--no such\nburning touch has stirred my senses,--how should I know what I must\ndo? If I go unbidden, will he not be angered?--and his anger works\nlike a poison in my blood! ... yet ... it is late, ... and his silence\nis strange----\u201d\n\nShe paused, passing her hand wearily across her eyes,--then stood up,\napparently resolved.\n\n\u201cI will obey the voices that whisper to me,\u201d--she said, with a certain\nmajestic resignation and gravity--\u201cThe voices that cry to my heart\n\u2018Sorrow! Sorrow!\u2019 and yet again \u2018Sorrow!\u2019 If grief must come, then\nwelcome, grief!--one cannot gainsay the Fates. I will go hence and\nprove the message of the air,--for the air holds invisible tongues\nthat do not lie.\u201d\n\nWith a slow step she moved across the room,--and on a sudden impulse\nF\u00e9raz sprang towards her exclaiming, \u201cZaroba!--stay!\u201d--then\nrecollecting she could not hear a word, he checked himself and drew\naside to let her pass, with an air of indifference which he was far\nfrom feeling. He was in truth wretched and ill at ease,--the\nexhilaration with which he had arisen from sleep had given way to\nintense depression, and he could not tell what ailed him.\n\n\u201c_Awake, F\u00e9raz! To-day dreams end, and life begins._\u201d Those were the\nstrange words he had heard the first thing on awaking that\nmorning,--what could they mean, he wondered rather sadly? If dreams\nwere indeed to end, he would be sorry,--and if life, as mortals\ngenerally lived it, were to begin for him, why then, he would be\nsorrier still. Troubled and perplexed, he began to set the breakfast\nin order, hoping by occupation to divert his thoughts and combat the\nmiserable feeling of vague dread which oppressed him, and which,\nthough he told himself how foolish and unreasonable it was, remained\nincreasingly persistent. All at once such a cry rang through the house\nas almost turned his blood to ice,--a cry wild, despairing and full of\nagony. It was repeated with piercing vehemence,--and F\u00e9raz, his heart\nbeating furiously, cleared the space of the room with one breathless\nbound and rushed upstairs, there to confront Zaroba tossing her arms\ndistractedly and beating her breast like a creature demented.\n\n\u201cLilith!\u201d she gasped,--\u201cLilith has gone ... gone! ... and El-R\u00e2mi is\ndead!\u201d\n\n\n\n\n XXXIX.\n\nPushing the panic-stricken woman aside, F\u00e9raz dashed back the\nvelvet curtains, and for the second time in his life penetrated the\nmysterious chamber. Once in the beautiful room, rich with its purple\ncolour and warmth, he stopped as though he were smitten with sudden\nparalysis,--every artery in his body pulsated with terror,--it was\ntrue! ... true that Lilith was no longer there! This was the first\nastounding fact that bore itself in with awful conviction on his dazed\nand bewildered mind;--the next thing he saw was the figure of his\nbrother, kneeling motionless by the vacant couch. Hushing his steps\nand striving to calm his excitement, F\u00e9raz approached more nearly,\nand throwing his arms round El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s shoulders endeavoured to raise\nhim,--but all his efforts made no impression on that bent and rigid\nform. Turning his eyes once more to the ivory blankness of the satin\ncouch on which the maiden Lilith had so long reclined, he saw with awe\nand wonder the distinct impression of where her figure had been,\nmarked and hollowed out into deep curves and lines, which in their\nturn were outlined by a tracing of fine grayish-white dust, like\nsifted ashes. Following the track of this powdery substance, he still\nmore clearly discerned the impress of her vanished shape; and,\nshuddering in every limb, he asked himself--Could that--that dust--be\nall--all that was left of ... of Lilith? ... What dire tragedy had\nbeen enacted during the night?--what awful catastrophe had chanced to\n_her_--to _him_, his beloved brother, whom he strove once more to lift\nfrom his kneeling position, but in vain. Zaroba stood beside him,\nshivering, wailing, staring, and wringing her hands, till F\u00e9raz\ndry-eyed and desperate, finding his own strength not sufficient, bade\nher, by a passionate gesture, assist him. Trembling violently, she\nobeyed, and between them both they at last managed to drag El-R\u00e2mi up\nfrom the ground and get him to a chair, where F\u00e9raz chafed his hands,\nbathed his forehead, and used every possible means to restore\nanimation. Did his heart still beat? Yes, feebly and irregularly;--and\npresently one or two faint gasping sighs came from the labouring\nbreast.\n\n\u201cThank God!\u201d muttered F\u00e9raz--\u201cWhatever has happened, he lives!--Thank\nGod he lives! When he recovers, he will tell me all;--there can be no\nsecrets now between him and me.\u201d\n\nAnd he resumed his quick and careful ministrations, while Zaroba still\nwailed and wrung her hands, and stared miserably at the empty couch,\nwhereon her beautiful charge had lain, slumbering away the hours and\ndays for six long years. She too saw the little heaps and trackings of\ngray dust on the pillows and coverlid, and her feeble limbs shook with\nsuch terror that she could scarcely stand.\n\n\u201cThe gods have taken her!\u201d she whispered faintly through her pallid\nlips--\u201cThe gods are avenged! When did they ever have mercy! They have\nclaimed their own with the breath and the fire of lightning, and the\ndust of a maiden\u2019s beauty is no more than the dust of a flower! The\ndreadful, terrible gods are avenged--at last ... at last!\u201d\n\nAnd sinking down upon the floor, she huddled herself together, and\ndrew her yellow draperies over her head, after the Eastern manner of\nexpressing inconsolable grief, and covered her aged features from the\nvery light of day.\n\nF\u00e9raz heeded her not at all, his sole attention being occupied in the\ncare of his brother, whose large black eyes now opened suddenly and\nregarded him with a vacant expression like the eyes of a blind man. A\ngreat shudder ran through his frame,--he looked curiously at his own\nhands as F\u00e9raz gently pressed and rubbed them,--and he stared all\nround the room in vaguely-inquiring wonderment. Presently his\nwandering glance came back to F\u00e9raz, and the vacancy of his\nexpression softened into a certain pleased mildness,--his lips parted\nin a little smile, but he said nothing.\n\n\u201cYou are better, El-R\u00e2mi, my brother?\u201d murmured F\u00e9raz caressingly,\ntrembling and almost weeping in the excess of his affectionate\nanxiety, the while he placed his own figure so that it might obstruct\na too immediate view of Lilith\u2019s vacant couch, and the covered\ncrouching form of old Zaroba beside it--\u201cYou have no pain? ... you do\nnot suffer?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi made no answer for the moment;--he was looking at F\u00e9raz with\na gentle but puzzled inquisitiveness. Presently his dark brows\ncontracted slightly, as though he were trying to connect some\nperplexing chain of ideas,--then he gave a slight gesture of fatigue\nand indifference.\n\n\u201cYou will excuse me, I hope,--\u201d he then said with plaintive\ncourtesy--\u201cI have forgotten your name. I believe I met you once, but I\ncannot remember where.\u201d\n\nThe heart of poor F\u00e9raz stood still, ... a great sob rose in his\nthroat. But he checked it bravely,--he would not, he could not, he\ndared not give way to the awful fear that began to creep like a frost\nthrough his warm young blood.\n\n\u201cYou cannot remember F\u00e9raz?\u201d he said gently--\u201cYour own F\u00e9raz? ...\nyour little brother, to whom you have been life, hope, joy,\nwork--everything of value in the world!\u201d Here his voice failed him,\nand he nearly broke down.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi looked at him in grave surprise.\n\n\u201cYou are very good!\u201d he murmured, with a feebly polite wave of his\nhand;--\u201cYou overrate my poor powers. I am glad to have been useful to\nyou--very glad!\u201d\n\nHere he paused;--his head sank forward on his breast, and his eyes\nclosed.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi!\u201d cried F\u00e9raz, the hot tears forcing their way between his\neyelids--\u201cOh, my belov\u00ebd brother!--have you no thought for me?\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi opened his eyes and stared;--then smiled.\n\n\u201cNo thought?\u201d he repeated--\u201cOh, you mistake!--I have thought very\nmuch,--very much indeed, about many things. Not about you\nperhaps,--but then I do not know you. You say your name is\nF\u00e9raz,--that is very strange; it is not at all a common name. I only\nknew one F\u00e9raz,--he was my brother, or seemed so for a time,--but I\nfound out afterwards, ... hush! ... come closer! ...\u201d and he lowered\nhis voice to a whisper,--\u201cthat he was not a mortal, but an angel,--the\nangel of a Star. The Star knew him better than I did.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz turned away his head,--the tears were falling down his\ncheeks--he could not speak. He realised the bitter truth,--the\ndelicate overstrained mechanism of his brother\u2019s mind had given way\nunder excessive pain and pressure,--that brilliant, proud, astute,\ncold and defiant intellect was all unstrung and out of gear, and\nrendered useless, perchance for ever.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi however seemed to have some glimmering perception of F\u00e9raz\u2019s\ngrief, for he put out a trembling hand and turned his brother\u2019s face\ntowards him with gentle concern.\n\n\u201cTears?\u201d he said in a surprised tone--\u201cWhy should you weep? There is\nnothing to weep for;--God is very good.\u201d\n\nAnd with an effort, he rose from the chair in which he had sat, and\nstanding upright, looked about him. His eye at once lighted on the\nvase of roses at the foot of the couch and he began to tremble\nviolently. F\u00e9raz caught him by the arm,--and then he seemed startled\nand afraid.\n\n\u201cShe promised, ... she promised!\u201d he began in an incoherent rambling\nway--\u201cand you must not interfere,--you must let me do her bidding.\n\u2018Look for me where the roses are; there will I stand and wait!\u2019 She\nsaid that,--and she will wait, and I will look, for she is sure to\nkeep her word--no angel ever forgets. You must not hinder me;--I have\nto watch and pray,--you must help me, not hinder me. I shall die if\nyou will not let me do what she asks;--you cannot tell how sweet her\nvoice is;--she talks to me and tells me of such wonderful\nthings,--things too beautiful to be believed, yet they are true. I\nknow so well my work;--work that must be done,--you will not hinder\nme?\u201d\n\n\u201cNo, no!\u201d--said F\u00e9raz, in anguish himself, yet willing to say\nanything to soothe his brother\u2019s trembling excitement--\u201cNo, no! You\nshall not be hindered,--I will help you,--I will watch with you,--I\nwill pray ...\u201d and here again the poor fellow nearly broke down into\nwomanish sobbing.\n\n\u201cYes!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, eagerly catching at the word--\u201cPray! You will\npray--and so will I;--that is good,--that is what I need,--prayer,\nthey say, draws all Heaven down to earth. It is strange,--but so it\nis. You know\u201d--he added, with a faint gleam of intelligence lighting\nup for a moment his wandering eyes--\u201cLilith is not here! Not here, nor\nthere, ... she is Everywhere!\u201d\n\nA terrible pallor stole over his face, giving it almost the livid hue\nof death,--and F\u00e9raz, alarmed, threw one arm strongly and resolutely\nabout him. But El-R\u00e2mi crouched and shuddered, and hid his eyes as\nthough he strove to shelter himself from the fury of a whirlwind.\n\n\u201cEverywhere!\u201d he moaned--\u201cIn the flowers, in the trees, in the winds,\nin the sound of the sea, in the silence of the night, in the slow\nbreaking of the dawn,--in all these things is the Soul of Lilith!\nBeautiful, indestructible, terrible Lilith! She permeates the world,\nshe pervades the atmosphere, she shapes and unshapes herself at\npleasure,--she floats, or flies, or sleeps at will;--in substance, a\ncloud;--in radiance, a rainbow! She is the essence of God in the\ntransient shape of an angel--never the same, but for ever immortal.\nShe soars aloft--she melts like mist in the vast Unseen!--and I--I--I\nshall never find her, never know her, never see her, never, never\nagain!\u201d\n\nThe harrowing tone of voice in which he uttered these words pierced\nF\u00e9raz to the heart, but he would not give way to his own emotion.\n\n\u201cCome, El-R\u00e2mi!\u201d he said very gently--\u201cDo not stay here,--come with\nme. You are weak,--rest on my arm; you must try and recover your\nstrength,--remember, you have work to do.\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue, true!\u201d said El-R\u00e2mi, rousing himself--\u201cYes, you are\nright,--there is much to be done. Nothing is so difficult as patience.\nTo be left all alone, and to be patient, is very hard,--but I will\ncome,--I will come.\u201d\n\nHe suffered himself to be led towards the door,--then, all at once he\ncame to an abrupt standstill, and looking round, gazed full on the\nempty couch where Lilith had so long been royally enshrined. A sudden\npassion seemed to seize him--his eyes sparkled luridly,--a sort of\ninward paroxysm convulsed his features, and he clutched F\u00e9raz by the\nshoulder with a grip as hard as steel.\n\n\u201cRoses and lilies and gold!\u201d he muttered thickly--\u201cThey were all\nthere, those delicate treasures, those airy nothings of which God\nmakes woman! Roses for the features, lilies for the bosom, gold for\nthe hair!--roses, lilies, and gold! They were mine,--but I have burned\nthem all!--I have burned the roses and lilies, and melted the gold.\nDust!--dust and ashes! But the dust is not Lilith. No!--it is only the\ndust of the roses, the dust of the lilies, the dust of gold. Roses,\nlilies, and gold! So sweet they are and fair to the sight, one would\nalmost take them for real substance; but they are Shadows!--shadows\nthat pass as we touch them,--shadows that always go, when most we\nwould have them stay!\u201d\n\nHe finished with a deep shuddering sigh, and then, loosening his grasp\nof F\u00e9raz, began to stumble his way hurriedly out of the apartment,\nwith the manner of one who is lost in a dense fog and cannot see\nwhither he is going. F\u00e9raz hastened to assist and support him,\nwhereupon he looked up with a pathetic and smiling gratefulness.\n\n\u201cYou are very good to me,\u201d he said, with a gentle courtesy, which in\nhis condition was peculiarly touching--\u201cI thought I should never need\nany support;--but I was wrong--quite wrong,--and it is kind of you to\nhelp me. My eyes are rather dim,--there was too much light among the\nroses, ... and I find this place extremely dark, ... it makes me feel\na little confused _here_;\u201d--and he passed his hand across his forehead\nwith a troubled gesture, and looked anxiously at F\u00e9raz, as though he\nwould ask him for some explanation of his symptoms.\n\n\u201cYes, yes!\u201d murmured F\u00e9raz soothingly--\u201cYou must be tired--you will\nrest, and presently you will feel strong and well again. Do not\nhurry,--lean on me,\u201d--and he guided his brother\u2019s trembling limbs\ncarefully down the stairs, a step at a time, thinking within himself\nin deep sorrow--Could this be the proud El-R\u00e2mi, clinging to him thus\nlike a weak old man afraid to move? Oh, what a wreck was here!--what a\nchange had been wrought in the few hours of the past night!--and ever\nthe fateful question returned again and again to trouble him--What had\nbecome of Lilith? That she was gone was self-evident,--and he gathered\nsome inkling of the awful truth from his brother\u2019s rambling words. He\nremembered that El-R\u00e2mi had previously declared Lilith to be _dead_,\nso far as her body was concerned, and only kept _apparently_ alive by\nartificial means;--he could easily imagine it possible for those\nartificial means to lose their efficacy in the end, ... and then, ...\nfor the girl\u2019s beautiful body to crumble into that dissolution which\nwould have been its fate long ago, had Nature had her way. All this he\ncould dimly surmise,--but he had been kept so much in the dark as to\nthe real aim and intention of his brother\u2019s \u201cexperiment\u201d that it was\nnot likely he would ever understand everything that had occurred;--so\nthat Lilith\u2019s mysterious evanishment seemed to him like a horrible\ndelusion;--it could not be! he kept on repeating over and over again\nto himself, and yet it was!\n\nMoving with slow and cautious tread, he got El-R\u00e2mi at last into his\nown study, wondering whether the sight of the familiar objects he was\ndaily accustomed to, would bring him back to a reasonable perception\nof his surroundings. He waited anxiously, while his brother stood\nstill, shivering slightly and looking about the room with listless,\nunrecognising eyes. Presently, in a voice that was both weary and\npetulant, El-R\u00e2mi spoke.\n\n\u201cYou will not leave me alone, I hope?\u201d he said; \u201cI am very old and\nfeeble, and I have done you no wrong,--I do not see why you should\nleave me to myself. I should be glad if you would stay with me a\nlittle while, because everything is at present so strange to me;--I\nshall no doubt get more accustomed to it in time. You are perhaps not\naware that I wished to live through a great many centuries--and my\nwish was granted;--I have lived longer than any man, especially since\nShe left me,--and now I am growing old, and I am easily tired. I do\nnot know this place at all--is it a World or a Dream?\u201d\n\nAt this question, it seemed to F\u00e9raz that he heard again, like a\nsilver clarion ringing through silence, the mysterious voice that had\nroused him that morning saying, \u201c_Awake, F\u00e9raz! To-day dreams end,\nand life begins!_\u201d ... He understood, and he bent his head\nresignedly,--he knew now what the \u201clife\u201d thus indicated meant;--it\nmeant a sacrificing of all his poetic aspirations, his music, and his\nfantastic happy visions,--a complete immolation of himself and his own\ndesires, for the sake of his brother. His brother, who had once ruled\nhim absolutely, was now to be ruled _by_ him;--helpless as a child,\nthe once self-sufficient and haughty El-R\u00e2mi was to be dependent for\neverything upon the very creature who had lately been his slave,--and\nF\u00e9raz, humbly reading in these reversed circumstances the Divine Law\nof Compensation, answered his brother\u2019s plaintive query--\u201cIs it a\nWorld or a Dream?\u201d with manful tenderness.\n\n\u201cIt is a World,\u201d--he said--\u201cnot a Dream, beloved El-R\u00e2mi--but a\nReality. It is a fair garden belonging to God and the things of\nGod\u201d--he paused, seeing that El-R\u00e2mi smiled placidly and nodded his\nhead as though he heard pleasant music,--then he went on steadily--\u201ca\ngarden in which immortal spirits wander for a time self-exiled, till\nthey fully realise the worth and loveliness of the higher lands they\nhave forsaken. Do you understand me, O dear and honoured one?--do you\nunderstand? None love their home so dearly as those who have left it\nfor a time--and it is only for a time--a short, short time,\u201d--and\nF\u00e9raz, deeply moved by his mingled sorrow and affection, kissed and\nclasped his brother\u2019s hands--\u201cand all the beauty we see here in this\nbeautiful small world, is made to remind us of the greater beauty\nyonder. We look, as it were, into a little mirror, which reflects, in\nexquisite miniature, the face of Heaven! See!\u201d--and he pointed to the\nbrilliant blaze of sunshine that streamed through the window and\nillumined the whole room--\u201cThere is the tiny copy of the larger Light\nabove,--and in that little light the flowers grow, the harvests ripen,\nthe trees bud, the birds sing, and every living creature\nrejoices,--but in the other Greater Light, God lives, and angels love\nand have their being;\u201d--here F\u00e9raz broke off abruptly, wondering if\nhe might risk the utterance of the words that next rose involuntarily\nto his lips, while El-R\u00e2mi gazed at him with great wide-open eager\neyes like those of a child listening to a fairy story.\n\n\u201cYes, yes!--what next?\u201d he demanded impatiently--\u201cThis is good news\nyou give me;--the angels love, you say, and God lives,--yes!--tell me\nmore, ... more!\u201d\n\n\u201cAll angels love and have their being in that Greater\nLight,\u201d--continued F\u00e9raz softly and steadily--\u201cAnd there too is\nLilith--beautiful--deathless,--faithful----\u201d\n\n\u201cTrue!\u201d cried El-R\u00e2mi, with a sort of sobbing cry--\u201cTrue! ... She is\nthere,--she promised--and I shall know, ... I shall know where to find\nher after all, for she told me plainly--\u2018Look for me where the roses\nare,--there will I stand and wait.\u2019\u201d\n\nHe tottered, and seemed about to fall;--but when F\u00e9raz would have\nsupported him, he shook his head, and pointing tremblingly to the\namber ray of sunshine pouring itself upon the ground:\n\n\u201cInto the light!\u201d--he murmured--\u201cI am all in the dark;--lead me out of\nthe darkness into the light.\u201d\n\nAnd F\u00e9raz led him, where he desired, and seated him in his own chair\nin the full glory of the morning radiance that rippled about him like\nmolten gold, and shone caressingly on his white hair,--his dark face\nthat in its great pallor looked as though it were carved in\nbronze,--and his black, piteous, wandering eyes. A butterfly danced\ntowards him in the sparkling shower of sunbeams, the same that had\nflown in an hour before and alighted on the heliotrope that adorned\nthe centre of the table. El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s attention was attracted by it--and\nhe watched its airy flutterings with a pleased, yet vacant smile. Then\nhe stretched out his hands in the golden light, and lifting them\nupward, clasped them together and closed his eyes.\n\n\u201cOur Father!\u201d ... he murmured; \u201cwhich art in Heaven! ... Hallowed be\nThy Name!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz, bending heedfully over him, caught the words as they were\nfaintly whispered,--caught the hands as they dropped inert from their\nsupplicating posture and laid them gently back;--then listened again\nwith strained attention, the pitying tears gathering thick upon his\nlashes.\n\n\u201cOur Father!\u201d ... once more that familiar appeal of kinship to the\nDivine stole upon the air like a far-off sigh,--then came the sound of\nregular and quiet breathing;--Nature had shed upon the overtaxed brain\nher balm of blessed unconsciousness,--and like a tired child, the\nproud El-R\u00e2mi slept.\n\n\n\n\n XL.\n\nUpstairs meanwhile, in the room that had been Lilith\u2019s there reigned\nthe silence of a deep desolation. The woman Zaroba still crouched\nthere, huddled on the floor, a mere heap of amber draperies,--her head\ncovered, her features hidden. Now and then a violent shuddering seized\nher,--but otherwise she gave no sign of life. Hours passed;--she knew\nnothing, she thought of nothing; she was stupefied with misery and a\ngreat inextinguishable fear. To her bewildered, darkly superstitious,\nmore than pagan mind, it seemed as if some terrible avenging angel had\ndescended in the night and torn away her beautiful charge out of sheer\nspite and jealousy lest she should awake to the joys of earth\u2019s life\nand love. It had always been her fixed idea that the chief and most\npowerful ingredient of the Divine character (and of the human also)\nwas jealousy; and she considered therefore that all women, as soon as\nthey were born, should be solemnly dedicated to the ancient goddess\nAna\u00eftis. Ana\u00eftis was a useful and accommodating deity, who in the\nold days, had unlimited power to make all things pure. A woman might\nhave fifty lovers, and yet none could dare accuse her of vileness if\nshe were a \u201cdaughter\u201d or \u201cpriestess\u201d of Ana\u00eftis. She might have been\nguilty of any amount of moral enormity, but she was held to be the\nchastest of virgins if Ana\u00eftis were her protectress and mistress. And\nso, in the eyes of Zaroba, Ana\u00eftis was the true patroness of\nlove,--she sanctified the joys of lovers and took away from them all\nimputation of sin; and many and many a time had the poor, ignorant,\nheathenish old woman secretly invoked the protection of this almost\nforgotten pagan goddess for the holy maiden Lilith. And now--now she\nwondered tremblingly, if in this she had done wrong? ... More than for\nanything in the world had she longed that El-R\u00e2mi, the \u201cwise man\u201d who\nscoffed at passion with a light contempt, should love with a lover\u2019s\nwild idolatry the beautiful creature who was so completely in his\npower;--in her dull, half-savage, stupid way, she had thought that\nsuch a result of the long six years\u2019 \u201cexperiment\u201d could but bring\nhappiness to both man and maid; and she spared no pains to try and\nfoster the spark of mere interest which El-R\u00e2mi had for his \u201csubject\u201d\ninto the flame of a lover\u2019s ardour. For this cause she had brought\nF\u00e9raz to look upon the tranced girl, in order that El-R\u00e2mi knowing\nof it, might feel the subtle prick of that perpetual motor,\njealousy,--for this she had said all she dared say, concerning love\nand its unconquerable nature;--and now, just when her long-cherished\nwish seemed on the point of being granted, some dreadful Invisible\nPower had rushed in between the two, and destroyed Lilith with the\nfire of wrath and revenge;--at any rate that was how she regarded it.\nThe sleeping girl had grown dear to her,--it war impossible not to\nlove such a picture of innocent, entrancing, ideal beauty,--and she\nfelt as though her heart had been torn open and its very core wrenched\nout by a cruel and hasty hand. She knew nothing as yet of the fate\nthat had overtaken El-R\u00e2mi himself,--for as she could not hear a\nsound of the human voice, she had only dimly seen that he was led from\nthe room by his young brother, and that he looked ill, feeble, and\ndistraught. What she realised most positively and with the greatest\nbitterness, was the fact of Lilith\u2019s loss,--Lilith\u2019s evident\ndestruction. This was undeniable,--this was irremediable;--and she\nthought of it till her aged brain burned as with some inward consuming\nfire, and her thin blood seemed turning to ice.\n\n\u201cWho has done it?\u201d she muttered--\u201cWho has claimed her? It must be the\nChrist,--the cold, quiet, pallid Christ, with His bleeding hands and\nbeckoning eyes! He is a new god,--He has called, and she, Lilith, has\nobeyed! Without love, without life, without aught in the world save\nthe lily-garb of untouched holiness,--it is what the pale Christ\nseeks, and He has found it here,--here, with the child who slept the\nsleep of innocent ignorance--here where no thought of passion ever\nentered unless _I_ breathed it,--or perchance he--El-R\u00e2mi--thought\nit--unknowingly. O what a white flower for the Christ in Heaven, is\nLilith!--What a branch of bud and blossom! ... Ah, cruel, cold new\ngods of the Earth!--how long shall their sorrowful reign endure! Who\nwill bring back the wise old gods,--the gods of the ancient days,--the\ngods who loved and were not ashamed,--the gods of mirth and life and\nhealth,--they would have left me Lilith,--they would have said--\u2018Lo,\nhow this woman is old and poor,--she hath lost all that she ever\nhad,--let us leave her the child she loves, albeit it is not her own\nbut ours;--we are great gods, but we are merciful!\u2019 Oh, Lilith,\nLilith! child of the sun and air, and daughter of sleep! would I had\nperished instead of thee!--Would I had passed away into darkness, and\nthou been spared to the light!\u201d\n\nThus she wailed and moaned, her face hidden, her limbs quivering, and\nshe knew not how long she had stayed thus, though all the morning had\npassed and the afternoon had begun. At last she was roused by the\ngentle yet firm pressure of a hand on her shoulder, and, slowly\nuncovering her drawn and anguished features she met the sorrowful eyes\nof F\u00e9raz looking into hers. With a mute earnest gesture he bade her\nrise. She obeyed, but so feebly and tremblingly, that he assisted her,\nand led her to a chair, where she sat down, still quaking all over\nwith fear and utter wretchedness. Then he took a pencil and wrote on\nthe slate which his brother had been wont to use,--\n\n\u201cA great trouble has come upon us. God has been pleased to so darken\nthe mind of the beloved El-R\u00e2mi, that he knows us no longer, and is\nignorant of where he is. The wise man has been rendered simple,--and\nthe world seems to him as it seems to a child who has everything in\nits life to learn. We must accept this ordinance as the Will of the\nSupreme, and bring our own will in accordance with it, believing the\nultimate intention to be for the Highest Good. But for his former\nlife, El-R\u00e2mi exists no more,--the mind that guided his actions then\nis gone.\u201d\n\nSlowly, and with pained, aching eyes Zaroba read these words,--she\ngrasped their purport and meaning thoroughly, and yet, she said not a\nword. She was not surprised,--she was scarcely affected;--her feelings\nseemed blunted or paralysed. El-R\u00e2mi was mad? To her, he had always\nseemed mad,--with a madness born of terrible knowledge and power. To\nbe mad now was nothing; the loss of Lilith was amply sufficient cause\nfor his loss of wit. Nothing could be worse in her mind than to have\nloved Lilith and lost her,--what was the use of uttering fresh cries\nand ejaculations of woe! It was all over,--everything was ended,--so\nfar as she, Zaroba, was concerned. So she sat speechless,--her grand\nold face rigid as bronze, with an expression upon it of stern\nsubmission, as of one who waits immovably for more onslaughts from the\nthunderbolts of destiny.\n\nF\u00e9raz looked at her very compassionately, and wrote again--\n\n\u201cGood Zaroba, I know your grief. Rest--try to sleep. Do not see\nEl-R\u00e2mi to-day. It is better I should be alone with him. He is quite\npeaceful and happy,--happier indeed than he has ever been. He has so\nmuch to learn, he says, and he is quite satisfied. For to-day we must\nbe alone with our sorrows,--to-morrow we shall be able to see more\nclearly what we must do.\u201d\n\nStill Zaroba said nothing. Presently however she arose, and walked\ntotteringly to the side of Lilith\u2019s couch, ... there with an\neloquently tragic gesture of supremest despair, she pointed to the\ngray-white ashes that were spread in that dreadfully suggestive\noutline on the satin coverlet and pillows. F\u00e9raz, shuddering, shut\nhis eyes for a moment;--then, as he opened them again, he saw,\nconfronting him, the uncurtained picture of the \u201cChrist and His\nDisciples.\u201d He remembered it well,--El-R\u00e2mi had bought it long ago\nfrom among the despoiled treasures of an old dismantled\nmonastery,--and besides being a picture it was also a reliquary. He\nstepped hastily up to it and felt for the secret spring which used, he\nknew, to be there. He found and pressed it,--the whole of the picture\nflew back like a door on a hinge, and showed the interior to be a\nGothic-shaped casket, lined with gold, at the back of which was\ninserted a small piece of wood, supposed to have been a fragment of\nthe \u201cTrue Cross.\u201d There was nothing else in the casket,--and F\u00e9raz\nleaving it open, turned to Zaroba who had watched him with dull,\nscarcely comprehending eyes.\n\n\u201cGather together these sacred ashes,\u201d--he wrote again on the\nslate,--\u201cand place them in this golden recess,--it is a holy place fit\nfor such holy relics. El-R\u00e2mi would wish it, I know, if he could\nunderstand or wish for anything,--and wherever we go, the picture will\ngo with us, for one day perhaps he will remember, ... and ask, ...\u201d\n\nHe could trust himself to write no more,--and stood sadly enrapt, and\nstruggling with his own emotion.\n\n\u201cThe Christ claims all!\u201d muttered Zaroba wearily, resorting to her old\ntheme--\u201cThe crucified Christ, ... He must have all; the soul, the\nbody, the life, the love, the very ashes of the dead,--He must have\nall ... all!\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz heard her,--and taking up his pencil once more, wrote swiftly--\n\n \u201cYou are right,--Christ has claimed Lilith. She was His to claim,--for\n on this earth we are all His,--He gave His very life to make us so.\n Let us thank God that we _are_ thus claimed,--for with Christ all\n things are well.\u201d\n\nHe turned away then immediately, and left her alone to her task,--a\ntask she performed with groans and trembling, till every vestige of\nthe delicate ashes, as fine as the dust of flowers, was safely and\nreverently placed in its pure golden receptacle. Strange to say, one\nvery visible relic of the vanished Lilith\u2019s bodily beauty had somehow\nescaped destruction,--this was a long, bright waving tress of hair\nwhich lay trembling on the glistening satin of the pillows like a lost\nsunbeam. Over this lovely amber curl, old Zaroba stooped yearningly,\nstaring at it till her tears, the slow, bitter scalding tears of age,\nfell upon it where it lay. She longed to take it for herself,--to wear\nit against her own heart,--to kiss and cherish it as though it were a\nliving, sentient thing,--but, thinking of El-R\u00e2mi, her loyalty\nprevailed, and she tenderly lifted the clinging, shining, soft silken\ncurl, and laid it by with the ashes in the antique shrine. All was now\ndone,--and she shut to the picture, which, when once closed, showed no\nsign of any opening.\n\nLilith was gone indeed;--there was now no perceptible evidence to show\nthat she had ever existed. And, to the grief-stricken Zaroba, the face\nand figure of the Christ, as painted on the reliquary at which she\ngazed, seemed to assume a sudden triumph and majesty which appalled\nwhile it impressed her. She read the words \u201cWhom Say Ye That I Am?\u201d\nand shuddered; this \u201cnew god\u201d with His tranquil smile and sorrowful\ndignity had more terrors for her than any of the old pagan deities.\n\n\u201cI cannot! I cannot!\u201d she whispered feebly; \u201cI cannot take you to my\nheart, cold Christ,--I cannot think it is good to wear the thorns of\nperpetual sorrow! You offer no joy to the sad and weary world,--one\nmust sacrifice one\u2019s dearest hopes,--one must bear the cross and weep\nfor the sins of all men, to be at all acceptable to You! I am old--but\nI keep the memories of joy; I would not have all happiness reft out of\nthe poor lives of men. I would have them full of mirth,--I would have\nthem love where they list, drink pure wine, and rejoice in the breath\nof Nature,--I would have them feast in the sunlight and dance in the\nmoonbeams, and crown themselves with the flowers of the woodland and\nmeadow, and grow ruddy and strong and manful and generous, and\nfree--free as the air! I would have their hearts bound high for the\npleasure of life;--not break in a search for things they can never\nwin. Ah no, cold Christ! I cannot love you!--at the touch of your\nbleeding Hand the world freezes like a starving bird in a storm of\nsnow;--the hearts of men grow weak and weary, and of what avail is it,\nO Prince of Grief, to live in sadness all one\u2019s days for the hope of a\nHeaven that comes not? O Lilith!--child of the sun, where art\nthou?--Where? Never to have known the joys of love,--never to have\nfelt the real pulse of living,--never to have thrilled in a lover\u2019s\nembrace,--ah, Lilith, Lilith! Will Heaven compensate thee for such\nloss? ... Never, never, never! No God, were He all the worlds\u2019 gods in\nOne, can give aught but a desolate Eden to the loveless and lonely\nsoul!\u201d\n\nIn such wise as this, she muttered and moaned all day long, never\nstirring from the room that was called Lilith\u2019s. Now and then she\nmoved up and down with slow restlessness,--sometimes fixing eager eyes\nupon the vacant couch, with the vague idea that perhaps Lilith might\ncome back to it as suddenly as she had fled; and sometimes pausing by\nthe vase of roses, and touching their still fragrant, but fast-fading\nblossoms. Time went on, and she never thought of breaking her fast, or\ngoing to see how her master, El-R\u00e2mi, fared. His mind was gone--she\nunderstood that well enough,--and in a strange wild way of her own,\nshe connected this sudden darkening of his intellect with the equally\nsudden disappearance of Lilith; and she dreaded to look upon his face.\n\nHow the hours wore away she never knew; but by and by her limbs began\nto ache heavily, and she crouched down upon the floor to rest. She\nfell into a heavy stupor of unconsciousness,--and when she awoke at\nlast, the room was quite dark. She got up, stiff and cold and\nterrified,--she groped about with her hands,--it seemed to her dazed\nmind that she was in some sepulchral cave in the desert, all alone.\nHer lips were dry,--her head swam,--and she tottered along, feeling\nher way blindly, till she touched the velvet _porti\u00e8re_ that divided\nthe room from its little antechamber, and, dragging this aside in\nnervous haste, she stumbled through, and out on to the landing, where\nit was light. The staircase was before her,--the gas was lit in the\nhall--and the house looked quite as usual,--yet she could not in the\nleast realise where she was. Indistinct images floated in her\nbrain,--there were strange noises in her ears,--and she only dimly\nremembered El-R\u00e2mi, as though he were some one she had heard of long\nago, in a dream. Pausing on the stair-head, she tried to collect her\nscattered senses,--but she felt sick and giddy, and her first instinct\nwas to seek the air. Clinging to the banisters, she tottered down the\nstairs slowly, and reached the front-door, and, fumbling cautiously\nwith the handle a little while, succeeded in turning it, and letting\nherself out into the street. The door had a self-acting spring, and\nshut to instantly, and almost noiselessly, behind her,--but F\u00e9raz,\nsitting in the study with his brother, fancied he heard a slight\nsound, and came into the hall to see what it was. Finding everything\nquiet, he concluded he was mistaken, and went back to his post beside\nEl-R\u00e2mi, who had been dozing nearly all day, only waking up now and\nagain to mildly accept the nourishment of soup and wine which F\u00e9raz\nprepared and gave him to keep up his strength. He was perfectly\ntranquil, and talked at times quite coherently of simple things, such\nas the flowers on the table, the lamp, the books, and other ordinary\ntrifles. He only seemed a little troubled by his own physical\nweakness,--but when F\u00e9raz assured him he would soon be strong, he\nsmiled, and with every appearance of content, dozed off again\npeacefully. In the evening, however, he grew a little restless,--and\nthen F\u00e9raz tried what effect music would have upon him. Going to the\npiano, he played soft and dreamy melodies, ... but as he did so, a\nstrange sense of loss stole over him,--he had the mechanism of the\nart, but the marvellously delicate attunement of his imagination had\nfled! Tears rose in his eyes,--he knew what was missing,--the\nguiding-prop of his brother\u2019s wondrous influence had fallen,--and with\na faint terror he realised that much of his poetic faculty would\nperish also. He had to remember that he was not _naturally_ born a\npoet or musician,--poesy and music had been El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s fairy gifts to\nhim--the exquisitely happy poise of his mind had been due to his\nbrother\u2019s daily influence and control. He would still retain the habit\nand the memory of art, but what had been Genius, would now be simple\nTalent,--no more,--yet what a difference between the two! Nevertheless\nhis touch on the familiar ivory keys was very tender and delicate, and\nwhen, distrusting his own powers of composition, he played one of the\nsoftest and quaintest of Grieg\u2019s Norwegian folk-songs, he was more\nthan comforted by the expression of pleasure that illumined El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s\nfeatures, and by the look of enraptured peace that softened the\npiteous dark eyes.\n\n\u201cIt is quite beautiful,--that music!\u201d he murmured--\u201cIt is the pretty\nsound the daisies make in growing.\u201d\n\nAnd he leaned back in his chair and composed himself to rest,--while\nF\u00e9raz played on softly, thinking anxiously the while. True, most\ntrue, that for him dreams had ended, and life had begun! What was he\nto do? ... how was he to meet the daily needs of living,--how was he\nto keep himself and his brother? His idea was to go at once to the\nmonastery in Cyprus, where he had formerly been a visitor,--it was\nquiet and peaceful,--he would ask the brethren to take them in,--for\nhe himself detested the thought of a life in the world,--it was\nrepellent to him in every way,--and El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s affliction would\nnecessitate solitude. And while he was thus puzzling himself as to the\nfuture, there came a sharp knock at the door,--he hastened to see who\nit was,--and a messenger handed him a telegram addressed to himself.\nIt came from the very place he was thinking about, sent by the Head of\nthe Order, and ran thus--\n\n \u201cWe know all. It is the Will of God. Bring El-R\u00e2mi here,--our house\n is open to you both.\u201d\n\nHe uttered a low exclamation of thankfulness, the while he wondered\namazedly how it was that they, that far-removed Brotherhood, \u201cknew\nall\u201d! It was very strange! He thought of the wondrous man whom he\ncalled the \u201cMaster,\u201d and who was understood to be \u201cwise with the\nwisdom of the angels,\u201d and remembered that he was accredited with\nbeing able to acquire information when he chose, by swift and\nsupernatural means. That he had done so in the present case seemed\nevident, and F\u00e9raz stood still with the telegram in his hand,\nstricken by a vague sense of awe as well as gratitude, thinking also\nof the glittering vision he had had of that \u201cglory of the angels in\nthe south\u201d;--angels who were waiting for Lilith the night she\ndisappeared.\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi suddenly opened his weary eyes and looked at him.\n\n\u201cWhat is it?\u201d he asked faintly--\u201cWhy has the music ceased?\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz went up to his chair and knelt down beside it.\n\n\u201cYou shall hear it again\u201d--he said gently, \u201cBut you must sleep now,\nand get strong,--because we are soon going away on a journey--a far,\nbeautiful journey----\u201d\n\n\u201cTo Heaven?\u201d inquired El-R\u00e2mi--\u201cYes, I know--it is very far.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz sighed.\n\n\u201cNo--not to Heaven,\u201d--he answered--\u201cNot yet. We shall find out the way\nthere, afterwards. But in the meantime, we are going to a place where\nthere are fruits and flowers,--and where the sun is very bright and\nwarm. You will come with me, will you not, El-R\u00e2mi?--there are\nfriends there who will be glad to see you.\u201d\n\n\u201cI have no friends,\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi plaintively, \u201cunless you are one.\nI do not know if you are,--I hope so, but I am not sure. You have an\nangel\u2019s face,--and the angels have not always been kind to me. But I\nwill go with you wherever you wish,--is it a place in this world, or\nin some other star?\u201d\n\n\u201cIn this world,\u201d--replied F\u00e9raz--\u201cA quiet little corner of this\nworld.\u201d\n\n\u201cAh!\u201d and El-R\u00e2mi sighed profoundly--\u201cI wish it had been in another.\nThere are so many millions and millions of worlds;--it seems foolish\nwaste of time to stay too long in this.\u201d\n\nHe closed his eyes again, and F\u00e9raz let him rest,--till, when the\nhour grew late, he persuaded him to lie down on his own bed, which he\ndid with the amiable docility of a child. F\u00e9raz himself, half\nsitting, half reclining in a chair beside him, watched him all night\nlong, like a faithful dog guarding its master,--and so full was he of\nanxious thought and tender care for his brother, that he scarcely\nremembered Zaroba, and when he did, he felt sure that she too was\nresting, and striving to forget in sleep the sorrows of the day.\n\n\n\n\n XLI.\n\nZaroba had indeed forgotten her sorrows; but not in slumber, as\nF\u00e9raz hoped and imagined. Little did he think that she was no longer\nunder the roof that had sheltered her for so many years; little could\nhe guess that she was out wandering all alone in the labyrinth of the\nLondon streets,--a labyrinth of which she was almost totally ignorant,\nhaving hardly ever been out of doors since El-R\u00e2mi had brought her\nfrom the East. True, she had occasionally walked in the little square\nopposite the house, and in a few of the streets adjoining,--once or\ntwice in Sloane Street itself, but no farther, for the sight of the\nhurrying, pushing, busy throngs of men and women confused her. She had\nnot realised what she was doing when she let herself out that\nnight,--only when the street-door shut noiselessly upon her she was\nvaguely startled,--and a sudden sense of great loneliness oppressed\nher. Yet the fresh air blowing against her face was sweet and\nbalmy,--it helped to relieve the sickness at her heart, the dizziness\nin her brain,--and she began to stroll along, neither knowing nor\ncaring whither she was going,--chiefly impelled by the strong\nnecessity she felt for movement,--space,--liberty. It had seemed to\nher that she was being suffocated and buried alive in the darkness and\ndesolation that had fallen on the chamber of Lilith;--here, out in the\nopen, she was free,--she could breathe more easily. And so she went\non, almost unseeingly--the people she met looked to her like the\nmerest shadows. Her quaint garb attracted occasional attention from\nsome of the passers-by,--but her dark fierce face and glittering eyes\nrepelled all those who might have been inquisitive enough to stop and\nquestion her. She drifted errantly, yet safely, through the jostling\ncrowds like a withered leaf on the edge of a storm,--her mind was\ndazed with grief and fear and long fasting, but now and then as she\nwent, she smiled and seemed happy. Affliction had sunk so deep within\nher, that it had reached the very core and centre of imagination and\ntouched it to vague issues of discordant joy;--wherefore, persuaded by\nthe magic music of delusion, she believed herself to be at home again\nin her native Egypt. She fancied she was walking in the desert;--the\npavement seemed hot to her feet and she took it for the burning\nsand,--and when after long and apparently interminable wanderings, she\nfound herself opposite Nelson\u2019s column in Trafalgar Square, she stared\nat the four great lions with stupefied dismay.\n\n\u201cIt is the gate of a city,\u201d--she muttered--\u201cand at this hour the\nwatchmen are asleep. I will go on--on still farther,--there must be\nwater close by, else there would be no city built.\u201d\n\nShe had recovered a certain amount of physical strength in the\nrestorative influence of the fresh air, and walked with a less feeble\ntread,--she became dimly conscious too of there being a number of\npeople about, and she drew her amber-coloured draperies more closely\nover her head. It was a beautiful night;--the moon was full and\nbrilliant, and hundreds of pleasure-seekers were moving hither and\nthither,--there was the usual rattle and roar of the vehicular traffic\nof the town which, it must be remembered, Zaroba did not hear. Neither\ndid she clearly see anything that was taking place around her,--for\nher sight was blurred, and the dull confusion in her brain continued.\nShe walked as in a dream,--she felt herself to be in a dream;--the\nimages of El-R\u00e2mi, of the lost Lilith, of the beautiful young F\u00e9raz,\nhad faded away from her recollection,--and she was living in the early\nmemories of days long past,--days of youth and hope and love and\npromise. No one molested her; people in London are so accustomed to\nthe sight of foreigners and foreign costumes, that so long as they are\nseen walking on their apparent way peaceably, they may do so in any\ngarb that pleases them, provided it be decent, without attracting much\nattention save from a few small and irreverent street-arabs. And even\nthe personal and pointed observations of these misguided youngsters\nfail to disturb the dignity of a Parsee in his fez, or to ruffle the\ncelestial composure of a Chinaman in his slippers. Zaroba, moreover,\ndid not present such a markedly distinctive appearance,--in her yellow\nwrapper and silver bangles, she only looked like one of the _ayahs_\nbrought over from the East with the children of Anglo-Indian\nmothers,--and she passed on uninterruptedly, happily deaf to the\nnoises around her, and almost blind to the ever-shifting human\npageantry of the busy thoroughfares.\n\n\u201cThe gates of the city,\u201d she went on murmuring--\u201cthey are shut, and\nthe watchmen are asleep. There must be water near,--a river or a place\nof fountains, where the caravans pause to rest.\u201d\n\nNow and then the glare of the lights in the streets troubled her,--and\nthen she would come to a halt and pass her hands across her eyes,--but\nthis hesitation only lasted a minute,--and again she continued on her\naimless way. The road widened out before her,--the buildings grew\ntaller, statelier, and more imposing,--and suddenly she caught sight\nof what she had longed for,--the glimmering of water silvering itself\nin the light of the moon.\n\nShe had reached the Embankment;--and a sigh of satisfaction escaped\nher, as she felt the damp chillness of the wind from the river blowing\nagainst her burning forehead. The fresh coolness and silence soothed\nher,--there were few people about,--and she slackened her pace\nunconsciously, and smiled as she lifted her dark face to the clear and\nquiet sky. She was faint and weary,--light-headed from want of\nfood,--but she was not conscious of this any more than a fever-patient\nis conscious of his own delirium. She walked quite steadily now,--in\nno haste, but with the grave, majestic step that belongs peculiarly to\nwomen of her type and race,--her features were perfectly composed, and\nher eyes very bright. And now she looked always at the river, and saw\nnothing else for a time but its rippling surface lit up by the moon.\n\n\u201cThey have cut down the reeds\u201d--she said, softly under her\nbreath,--\u201cand the tall palms are gone,--but the river is always the\nsame,--they cannot change that. Nothing can dethrone the Nile-god, or\ndisturb his sleep among the lilies, down towards the path of the\nsunset. Here I shall meet my belov\u00ebd again,--here by the banks of the\nNile;--yet, it is strange and cruel that they should have cut down the\nreeds. I remember how softly they rustled with the movements of the\nlittle snakes that lived in the golden sand,--yes!--and the palm-trees\nwere high--so high that their feathery crowns seemed to touch the\nstars. It was Egypt then,--and is it not Egypt now?\nYes--surely--surely it is Egypt!--but it is changed--changed,--all is\nchanged except love! Love is the same for ever, and the heart beats\ntrue to the one sweet tune. Yes, we shall meet,--my belov\u00ebd and\nI,--and we shall tell one another how long the time has seemed since\nwe parted yesterday. Only yesterday!--and it seems a century,--a long\nlong century of pain and fear, but the hours have passed, and the\nwaiting is over----\u201d\n\nShe broke off abruptly, and stood suddenly still;--the Obelisk faced\nher. Cut sharp and dark against the brilliant sky the huge\n\u201cCleopatra\u2019s Needle\u201d towered solemnly aloft, its apex seeming to point\ndirectly at a cluster of stars above it. Something there was in its\nweird and frowning aspect, that appealed strangely to Zaroba\u2019s\nwandering intelligence,--she gazed at it with eager, dilated eyes.\n\n\u201cTo the memory of heroes!\u201d she said whisperingly, with a slight proud\ngesture of her hand,--\u201cTo the glory of the Dead! Salutation to the\ngreat gods and crowned Kings! Salutation and witness to the world of\nwhat Hath Been! The river shall find a tongue--the shifting sands\nshall uphold the record, so that none shall forget the things that\nWere! For the things that Are, being weak, shall perish,--but the\nthings that Were, being strong, shall endure for ever! Here, as God\nliveth, is the meeting-place; the palms are gone, but the Nile flows\non, and the moon is the sunlight of lovers. Here will I wait for my\nbelov\u00ebd,--he knows the appointed hour, ... he will not be long!\u201d\n\nShe sat down, as close to the Obelisk as she could get, her face\nturned towards the river and the moonlight; and the clocks of the\ngreat city around her slowly tolled eleven. Her head dropped forward\non her chest,--though after a few minutes she lifted her face with an\nanxious look--and,--\u201cDid the child call me?\u201d she said, and listened.\nThen she relapsed into her former sunken posture, ... once a strong\nshuddering shook her limbs as of intense cold in the warm June night,\n... and then she was quite still ...\n\nThe hours passed on,--midnight came and went,--but she never stirred.\nShe seemed to belong to the Obelisk and its attendant sphinxes,--so\nrigid was her figure, so weird in its outline, so solemn in its\nabsolute immobility. ... And in that same attitude she was found later\non towards morning, stone dead. There was no clue to her\nidentity,--nothing about her that gave any hint as to her possible\nhome or friends; her statuesque old face, grander than ever in the\nserene pallor of death, somewhat awed the two burly policemen who\nlifted her stark body and turned her features to the uncertain light\nof early dawn, but it told them no history save that of age and\nsorrow. So, in the sad chronicles entitled \u201cFound Dead,\u201d she was\ndescribed as \u201ca woman unknown, of foreign appearance and costume,\nseemingly of Eastern origin,\u201d--and, after a day or two, being\nunrecognised and unclaimed, she was buried in the usual way common to\nall who perish without name and kindred in the dreary wilderness of a\ngreat city. F\u00e9raz, missing her on the morning after her\ndisappearance, searched for her everywhere as well as he knew\nhow,--but, as he seldom read the newspapers, and probably would not\nhave recognised the brief account of her there if he had,--and as,\nmoreover, he knew nothing about certain dreary buildings in London\ncalled mortuaries, where the bodies of the drowned, and murdered, and\nunidentified, lie for a little while awaiting recognition, he remained\nin complete and bewildered ignorance of her fate. He could not imagine\nwhat had become of her, and he almost began to believe that she must\nhave taken ship back to her native land,--and that perhaps he might\nhear of her again some day. And truly, she had gone back to her native\nland,--in fancy;--and truly, it was also possible she might be met\nwith again some day,--in another world than this. But in the meantime\nshe had died,--as best befitted a servant of the old gods,--alone, and\nin uncomplaining silence.\n\n\n\n\n XLII.\n\nThe hair\u2019s-breadth balance of a Thought,--the wrong or right control\nof Will;--on these things hang the world, life, time, and all\nEternity. Such slight threads!--imperceptible, ungraspable,--and yet\nwithal strong,--strong enough to weave the everlasting web of good or\nevil, joy or woe. On some such poise, as fine, as subtly delicate, the\nwhole majestic Universe swings round in its appointed course,--never a\npin\u2019s point awry, never halting in its work, never hesitating in the\nfulfilment of its laws, carrying out the Divine command with faithful\nexactitude and punctuality. It is strange,--mournfully strange,--that\nwe never seem able to learn the grand lessons that are taught us by\nthis unvarying routine of natural forces,--Submission, Obedience,\nPatience, Resignation, Hope. Preachers preach the doctrine,--teachers\nteach it,--Nature silently and gloriously manifests it hourly; but\nwe,--we continue to shut our ears and eyes,--we prefer to retreat\nwithin ourselves,--our little incomplete ignorant selves,--thinking we\nshall be able to discover some way out of what has no egress, by the\ncunning arguments of our own finite intellectual faculties. We fail\nalways;--we must fail. We are bound to find out sooner or later that\nwe must bend our stubborn knees in the presence of the Positive\nEternal. But till the poor brain gives way under the prolonged\npressure and strain of close inquiry and analysis, so long will it\npersist in attempting to probe the Impenetrable,--so long will it\naudaciously attempt to lift the veil that hides the Beyond instead of\nresting content with what Nature teaches. \u201cWait\u201d--she says--\u201cWait till\nyou are mentally able to understand the Explanation. Wait till the\nVoice which is as a silver clarion, proclaims all truth, saying\n\u2018Awake, Soul, for thy dream is past! Look now and see,--for thou art\nstrong enough to bear the Light.\u2019\u201d\n\nAlas! we will not wait,--hence our life in these latter days of\nanalysis is a mere querulous complaint, instead of what it should be,\na perpetual thanksgiving.\n\nFour seasons have passed away since the \u201cSoul of Lilith\u201d was caught up\ninto its native glory,--four seasons,--summer, autumn, winter and\nspring--and now it is summer again,--summer in the Isle of Cyprus,\nthat once most sacred spot, dear to historic and poetic lore. Up among\nthe low olive-crowned hills of Baffo or Paphos, there is more shade\nand coolness than in other parts of the island, and the retreat\nbelieved to have been the favourite haunt of Venus is still full of\nsomething like the mystical glamour that hallowed it of old. As the\nsinger of \u201cLove-Letters of a Violinist\u201d writes:\n\n \u201cThere is a glamour all about the bay\n  As if the nymphs of Greece had tarried here.\n  The sands are golden and the rocks appear\n Crested with silver; and the breezes play\n Snatches of song they hummed when far away,\n  And then are hush\u2019d as if from sudden fear.\u201d\n\nFlowers bloom luxuriantly, as though the white, blue-veined feet of\nthe goddess had but lately passed by,--there is a suggestive harmony\nin the subdued low whispering of the trees, accompanied by the gentle\nmurmur of the waves, and \u201cHieros Kiphos,\u201d or the Sacred Grove, still\nbends its thick old boughs caressingly towards the greensward as\nthough to remind the dreaming earth of the bygone glories here buried\ndeep in its silent bosom. The poor fragment of the ruined \u201cTemple of\nVenus\u201d once gorgeous with the gold and precious stones, silks and\nembroideries, and other offerings brought from luxury-loving Tyre,\nstands in its desolation among the quiet woods, and no sound of\nrejoicing comes forth from its broken wall to stir the heated air. Yet\nthere is music not far off,--the sweet and solemn music of an organ\nchant, accompanying a chorus of mild and mellow voices singing the\n\u201cAgnus Dei.\u201d Here in this part of the country, the native inhabitants\nare divided in their notions of religious worship,--they talk Greek,\nalbeit modern Greek, with impurities which were unknown to the\nsonorous ancient tongue, and they are heroes no more, as the heroic\nByron has told us in his superb poesy, but simply slaves. They but\ndimly comprehend Christianity,--the joyous paganism of the past is not\nyet extinct, and the Virgin Mother of Christ is here adored as\n\u201cAphroditissa.\u201d Perhaps in dirty Famagousta they may be more\northodox,--but among these sea-fronting hills where the sound of the\n\u201cAgnus Dei\u201d solemnly rises and falls in soft surges of harmony, it is\nstill the old home of the Queen of Beauty, and still the birthplace of\nAdonis, son of a Cyprian King. Commercial England is now the possessor\nof this bower of sweet fancies,--this little corner of the world\nhaunted by a thousand poetic memories,--and in these prosy days but\nfew pilgrimages are made to a shrine that was once the glory of a\nglorious age. To the native Cypriotes themselves the gods have simply\nchanged their names and become a little sadder and less playful, that\nis all,--and to make up for the lost \u201cTemple of Venus\u201d there is,\nhidden deep among the foliage, a small monastic retreat with a Cross\non its long low roof,--a place where a few poor monks work and\npray,--good men whose virtues are chiefly known to the sick, destitute\nand needy. They call themselves simply \u201cThe Brotherhood,\u201d and there\nare only ten of them in all, including the youngest, who joined their\nconfraternity quite recently. They are very poor,--they wear rough\nwhite garments and go barefooted, and their food is of the simplest;\nbut they do a vast amount of good in their unassuming way, and when\nany of their neighbours are in trouble, such afflicted ones at once\nclimb the little eminence where Venus was worshipped with such pomp in\nancient days, and make direct for the plain unadorned habitation\ndevoted to the service of One who was \u201ca Man of Sorrows and acquainted\nwith grief.\u201d There they never fail to find consolation and practical\naid,--even their persistent prayers to \u201cAphroditissa\u201d are condoned\nwith a broad and tender patience by these men who honestly strive to\nbroaden and not confine the road that leads to heaven. Thus Paphos is\nsacred still,--with the glamour of old creeds and the wider glory of\nthe new,--yet though it is an interesting enough nook of the earth, it\nis seldom that travellers elect to go thither either to admire or\nexplore. Therefore the sight of a travelling-carriage, a tumble-down\nsort of vehicle, yet one of the best to be obtained thereabouts,\nmaking its way slowly up the ascent, with people in modern fashionable\ndress sitting therein, was a rare and wonderful spectacle to the\nragged Cypriote youth of both sexes, who either stood by the roadway,\npushing their tangled locks from their dark eyes and staring at it, or\nelse ran swiftly alongside its wheels to beg for coppers from its\noccupants. There were four of these,--two ladies and two\ngentlemen,--Sir Frederick Vaughan and Lady Vaughan (_n\u00e9e_ Idina\nChester); the fair and famous authoress, Irene Vassilius, and a\ndistinguished-looking handsome man of about forty or thereabouts, the\nDuke of Strathlea, a friend of the Vaughans, who had entertained them\nroyally during the previous autumn at his grand old historic house in\nScotland. By a mere chance during the season, he had made the\nacquaintance of Madame Vassilius, with whom he had fallen suddenly,\ndeeply and ardently in love. She, however, was the same unresponsive\nfar-gazing dreamy sibyl as ever, and though not entirely indifferent\nto the gentle reverential homage paid to her by this chivalrous and\nhonourable gentleman, she could not make up her mind to give him any\ndecided encouragement. He appeared to make no progress with her\nwhatever,--and of course his discouragement increased his ardour. He\ndevised every sort of plan he could think of for obtaining as much of\nher society as possible,--and finally, he had entreated the Vaughans\nto persuade her to join them in a trip to the Mediterranean in his\nyacht. At first she had refused,--then, with a sudden change of\nhumour, she had consented to go, provided the Island of Cyprus were\none of the places to be visited. Strathlea eagerly caught at and\nagreed to this suggestion,--the journey had been undertaken, and had\nso far proved most enjoyable. Now they had reached the spot Irene most\nwished to see,--it was to please her that they were making the present\nexcursion to the \u201cTemple of Venus,\u201d or rather, to the small and\nobscure monastery among the hills which she had expressed a strong\ndesire to visit,--and Strathlea, looking wistfully at her fair\nthoughtful face, wondered whether after all these pleasant days passed\ntogether between sparkling sea and radiant sky, she had any kinder\nthoughts of him,--whether she would always be so quiet, so impassive,\nso indifferent to the love of a true man\u2019s heart?\n\nThe carriage went slowly,--the view widened with every upward yard of\nthe way,--and they were all silent, gazing at the glittering expanse\nof blue ocean below them.\n\n\u201cHow very warm it is!\u201d said Lady Vaughan at last breaking the dumb\nspell, and twirling her sunshade round and round to disperse a cloud\nof gnats and small flies--\u201cFred, you look absolutely broiled! You are\nso dreadfully sunburnt!\u201d\n\n\u201cAm I?\u201d and Sir Frederick smiled blandly,--he was as much in love with\nhis pretty frivolous wife as it is becoming for a man to be, and all\nher remarks were received by him with the utmost docility--\u201cWell, I\ndaresay I am. Yachting doesn\u2019t improve the transparent delicacy of a\nman\u2019s complexion. Strathlea is too dark to show it much,--but I was\nalways a florid sort of fellow. You\u2019ve no lack of colour yourself,\nIdina.\u201d\n\n\u201cOh, I\u2019m sure I look a fright!\u201d responded her ladyship vivaciously and\nwith a slight touch of petulance--\u201cIrene is the only one who appears\nto keep cool. I believe her aspect would be positively frosty with the\nthermometer marking 100 in the shade!\u201d\n\nIrene, who was gazing abstractedly out to sea, turned slowly and\nlifted her drooping lace parasol slightly higher from her face. She\nwas pale,--and her deep-set gray eyes were liquid as though unshed\ntears filled them.\n\n\u201cDid you speak to me, dear?\u201d she inquired gently. \u201cHave I done\nsomething to vex you?\u201d\n\nLady Vaughan laughed.\n\n\u201cNo, of course you haven\u2019t. The idea of your vexing anybody! You look\nirritatingly cool in this tremendous heat,--that\u2019s all.\u201d\n\n\u201cI love the sun,\u201d--said Irene dreamily--\u201cTo me it is always the\nvisible sign of God in the world. In London we have so little\nsunshine,--and, one might add, so little of God also! I was just then\nwatching that golden blaze of light upon the sea.\u201d\n\nStrathlea looked at her interrogatively.\n\n\u201cAnd what does it suggest to you, Madame?\u201d he asked--\u201cThe glory of a\ngreat fame, or the splendour of a great love?\u201d\n\n\u201cNeither\u201d--she replied tranquilly--\u201cSimply the reflex of Heaven on\nEarth.\u201d\n\n\u201cLove might be designated thus,\u201d said Strathlea in a low tone.\n\nShe coloured a little, but offered no response.\n\n\u201cIt was odd that you alone should have been told the news of poor\nEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s misfortune,\u201d said Sir Frederick, abruptly addressing\nher,--\u201cNone of us, not even my cousin Melthorpe, who knew him before\nyou did, had the least idea of it.\u201d\n\n\u201cHis brother wrote to me\u201d--replied Irene; \u201cF\u00e9raz, that beautiful\nyouth who accompanied him to Lady Melthorpe\u2019s reception last year. But\nhe gave me no details,--he simply explained that El-R\u00e2mi, through\nprolonged overstudy, had lost the balance of his mind. The letter was\nvery short, and in it he stated he was about to enter a religious\nfraternity who had their abode near Baffo in Cyprus, and that the\nbrethren had consented to receive his brother also and take charge of\nhim in his great helplessness.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd their place is what we are going to see now\u201d--finished Lady\nVaughan--\u201cI daresay it will be immensely interesting. Poor El-R\u00e2mi!\nWho would ever have thought it possible for him to lose his wits! I\nshall never forget the first time I saw him at the theatre. _Hamlet_\nwas being played, and he entered in the very middle of the speech \u2018To\nbe or not to be.\u2019 I remember how he looked, perfectly. What eyes he\nhad!--they positively scared me!\u201d\n\nHer husband glanced at her admiringly.\n\n\u201cDo you know, Idina\u201d--he said, \u201cthat El-R\u00e2mi told me on that very\nnight--the night of _Hamlet_ that I was destined to marry you?\u201d\n\nShe lifted her eyelids in surprise.\n\n\u201cNo! Really! And did you feel yourself compelled to carry out the\nprophecy?\u201d--and she laughed.\n\n\u201cNo, I did not feel myself compelled,--but somehow, it\nhappened--didn\u2019t it?\u201d he inquired with na\u00efve persistency.\n\n\u201cOf course it did! How absurd you are!\u201d and she laughed again--\u201cAre\nyou sorry?\u201d\n\nHe gave her an expressive look,--he was really very much in love, and\nshe was still a new enough bride to blush at his amorous regard.\nStrathlea moved impatiently in his seat;--the assured happiness of\nothers made him envious.\n\n\u201cI suppose this prophet,--El-R\u00e2mi, as you call him, prophesies no\nlonger, if his wits are lacking\u201d--he said--\u201cotherwise I should have\nasked him to prophesy something good for me.\u201d\n\nNo one answered. Lady Vaughan stole a meaning glance and smile at\nIrene, but there was no touch of embarrassment or flush of colour on\nthat fair, serene, rather plaintive face.\n\n\u201cHe always went into things with such terrible closeness, did\nEl-R\u00e2mi,--\u201d said Sir Frederick after a pause--\u201cNo wonder his brain\ngave way at last. You know you can\u2019t keep on asking the why, why, why\nof everything without getting shut up in the long run.\u201d\n\n\u201cI think we were not meant to ask \u2018why\u2019 at all,\u201d said Irene\nslowly--\u201cWe are made to accept and believe that everything is for the\nbest.\u201d\n\n\u201cThere is a story extant in France of a certain philosopher who was\nalways asking why--\u201d said Strathlea--\u201cHe was a taciturn man as a rule,\nand seldom opened his lips except to say \u2018Pourquoi?\u2019 When his wife\ndied suddenly, he manifested no useless regrets--he merely said\n\u2018Pourquoi?\u2019 One day they told him his house in the country was burned\nto the ground,--he shrugged his shoulders and said \u2018Pourquoi?\u2019 After a\nbit he lost all his fortune,--his furniture was sold up,--he stared at\nthe bailiffs and said \u2018Pourquoi?\u2019 Later on he was suspected of being\nin a plot to assassinate the King,--men came and seized his papers and\ntook him away to prison,--he made no resistance,--he only said\n\u2018Pourquoi?\u2019 He was tried, found guilty and condemned to death; the\njudge asked him if he had anything to say? He replied at once\n\u2018Pourquoi?\u2019 No answer was vouchsafed to him, and in due time he was\ntaken to the scaffold. There the executioner bandaged his eyes,--he\nsaid \u2018Pourquoi?\u2019--he was told to kneel down; he did so, but again\ndemanded \u2018Pourquoi?\u2019--the knife fell, and his head was severed from\nhis body--yet before it rolled into the basket, it trembled on the\nblock, its eyes opened, its lips moved, and for the last time uttered\nthat final, never-to-be answered query \u2018Pourquoi?\u2019!\u201d\n\nThey all laughed at this story, and just then the carriage stopped.\nThe driver got down and explained in very bad French that he could go\nno farther,--that the road had terminated, and that there was now only\na footpath which led through the trees to the little monastic retreat\nwhither they were bound. They alighted, therefore, and found\nthemselves close to the ruin supposed to have once been the \u201cTemple of\nVenus.\u201d They paused for a moment, looking at the scene in silence.\n\n\u201cThere must have been a great joyousness in the old creeds,\u201d said\nStrathlea softly, with an admiring glance at Irene\u2019s slight, slim,\nalmost fairy-like figure clad in its close-fitting garb of silky\nwhite--\u201cAt the shrine of Venus for example, one could declare one\u2019s\nlove without fear or shame.\u201d\n\n\u201cThat can be done still,\u201d observed Sir Frederick laughingly, \u201cAnd is\ndone, pretty often. People haven\u2019t left off making love because the\nfaith in Venus is exploded. I expect they\u2019ll go on in the same old\nabandoned way to the end of the chapter.\u201d\n\nAnd, throwing his arm round his wife\u2019s waist, he sauntered on with her\ntowards the thicket of trees at the end of which their driver had told\nthem the \u201crefuge\u201d was situated, leaving Strathlea and Madame Vassilius\nto follow. Strathlea perceived and was grateful for the opportunity\nthus given, and ventured to approach Irene a little more closely. She\nwas still gazing out to the sea, her soft eyes were dreamy and\nabstracted,--her small ungloved right hand hung down at her\nside,--after a moment\u2019s hesitation, he boldly lifted it and touched\nits delicate whiteness with a kiss. She started nervously--she had\nbeen away in the land of dreams,--and now she met his gaze with a\ncertain vague reproach in the sweet expression of her face.\n\n\u201cI cannot help it--\u201d said Strathlea quickly, and in a low eager\ntone--\u201cI cannot, Irene! You know I love you,--you have seen it, and\nyou have discouraged and repelled me in every possible way,--but I am\nnot made of stone or marble--I am mere flesh and blood, and I must\nspeak. I love you, Irene! I love you--I will not unsay it. I want you\nto be my wife. Will you, Irene? Do not be in a hurry to answer\nme--think long enough to allow some pity for me to mingle with your\nthoughts. Just imagine a little hand like this\u201d--and he kissed it\nagain--\u201cholding the pen with such a masterful grip and inditing to the\nworld the thoughts and words that live in the minds of thousands,--is\nit such a cold hand that it is impervious to love\u2019s caress? I\ncannot--I will not believe it. You cannot be obdurate for ever. What\nis there in love that it should repel you?\u201d\n\nShe smiled gravely; and gently, very gently, withdrew her hand.\n\n\u201cIt is not love that repels me--\u201d she said, \u201cIt is what is _called_\nlove, in this world,--a selfish sentiment that is not love at all. I\nassure you I am not insensible to your affection for me, my dear Duke,\n... I wish for your sake I were differently constituted.\u201d\n\nShe paused a moment, then added hastily, \u201cSee, the others are out of\nsight--do let us overtake them.\u201d\n\nShe moved away quickly with that soft gliding tread of hers which\nreminded one of a poet\u2019s sylph walking on a moonbeam, and he paced\nbeside her, half mortified, yet not altogether without hope.\n\n\u201cWhy are you so anxious to see this man who has lost his wits,--this\nEl-R\u00e2mi Zar\u00e2nos?\u201d he asked, with a touch of jealousy in his\naccents--\u201cWas he more to you than most people?\u201d\n\nShe raised her eyes with an expression of grave remonstrance.\n\n\u201cYour thoughts wrong me--\u201d she said simply--\u201cI never saw El-R\u00e2mi but\ntwice in my life,--I only pitied him greatly. I used to have a strong\ninstinct upon me that all would not be well with him in the end.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhy?\u201d\n\n\u201cFirst, because he had no faith,--secondly, because he had an excess\nof pride. He dismissed God out of his calculations altogether, and was\nperfectly content to rely on the onward march of his own intellect.\nIntellectual Egoism is always doomed to destruction,--this seems to be\na Law of the Universe. Indeed, Egoism, whether sensual or\nintellectual, is always a defiance of God.\u201d\n\nStrathlea walked along in silence for a minute, then he said abruptly:\n\n\u201cIt is odd to hear you speak like this, as if you were a religious\nwoman. You are not religious,--every one says so,--you are a\nfree-thinker,--and also, pardon me for repeating it, society supposes\nyou to be full of this sin you condemn--Intellectual Egoism.\u201d\n\n\u201cSociety may suppose what it pleases of me\u201d--said Irene, \u201cI was never\nits favourite, and never shall be, nor do I court its good opinion.\nYes, I am a free-thinker, and freely think without narrow law or\nboundary, of the majesty, beauty and surpassing goodness of God. As\nfor intellectual egoism,--I hope I am not in any respect guilty of it.\nTo be proud of what one does, or what one knows, has always seemed to\nme the poorest sort of vanity,--and it is the stumbling block over\nwhich a great many workers in the literary profession fall, never to\nrise again. But you are quite right in saying I am not a \u2018religious\u2019\nwoman; I never go to church and I never patronise bazaars.\u201d\n\nThe sparkle of mirth in her eyes was infectious, and he laughed. But\nsuddenly she stopped, and laid her hand on his arm.\n\n\u201cListen,\u201d she said, with a slight tremor in her voice--\u201cYou love me,\nyou say ... and I--I am not altogether indifferent to you--I confess\nthat much. Wait!\u201d for in an excess of delight he had caught both her\nhands in his own, and she loosened them gently--\u201cWait--you do not know\nme, my dear friend. You do not understand my nature at all,--I\nsometimes think myself it is not what is understood as \u2018feminine.\u2019 I\nam an abnormal creature--and perhaps if you knew me better you would\nnot like me ...\u201d\n\n\u201cI adore you!\u201d said Strathlea impetuously, \u201cand I shall always adore\nyou!\u201d\n\nShe smiled rather sadly.\n\n\u201cYou think so now,\u201d--she said--\u201cbut you cannot be sure,--no man can\nalways be sure of himself. You spoke of society and its opinion of\nme;--now, as a rule, average people do not like me,--they are vaguely\nafraid of me,--and they think it is strange and almost dangerous for a\n\u2018writing woman\u2019 to be still young, and not entirely hideous. Literary\nwomen generally are so safely and harmlessly repellent in look and\nbearing. Then again, as you said, I am not a religious woman,--no, not\nat all so in the accepted sense of the term. But with all my heart and\nsoul I believe in God, and the ultimate good of everything. I abhor\nthose who would narrow our vision of heavenly things by dogma or\nrule--I resent all ideas of the Creator that seem to lessen His glory\nby one iota. I may truly say I live in an ecstasy of faith, accepting\nlife as a wondrous miracle, and death as a crowning joy. I pray but\nseldom, as I have nothing to ask for, being given far more than I\ndeserve,--and I complain of nothing save the blind, cruel injustice\nand misjudgment shown by one human unit to another. This is not God\u2019s\ndoing, but Man\u2019s--and it will, it must, bring down full punishment in\ndue season.\u201d\n\nShe paused a moment,--Strathlea was looking at her admiringly, and she\ncoloured suddenly at his gaze.\n\n\u201cBesides\u201d--she added with an abrupt change of tone, from enthusiasm to\ncoldness, \u201cyou must not, my dear Duke, think that I feel myself in any\nway distinguished or honoured by your proposal to make me your wife. I\ndo not. This sounds very brusque, I know, but I think as a general\nrule in marriage, a woman gives a great deal more than she ever\nreceives. I am aware how very much your position and fortune might\nappeal to many of my sex,--but I need scarcely tell you they have no\ninfluence upon me. For, notwithstanding an entire lack of log-rollers\nand press \u2018booms\u2019\u201d--and she smiled--\u201cmy books bring me in large sums,\nsufficient and more than sufficient for all my worldly needs. And I am\nnot ambitious to be a duchess.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou are cruel, Irene\u201d--said Strathlea--\u201cShould I ever attaint you\nwith worldly motives? I never wanted to be a duke--I was born so,--and\na horrid bore it is! If I were a poor man, could you fancy me?\u201d\n\nHe looked at her,--and her eyes fell under his ardent gaze. He saw his\nadvantage, and profited by it.\n\n\u201cYou do not positively hate me?\u201d he asked.\n\nShe gave him one fleeting glance through her long lashes, and a faint\nsmile rested on her mouth.\n\n\u201cHow could I?\u201d she murmured--\u201cyou are my friend.\u201d\n\n\u201cWell, will you try to like me a little more than a friend?\u201d--he\ncontinued eagerly--\u201cWill you say to yourself now and then--\u2018He is a\nbig, bluff, clumsy Englishman, with more faults than virtues, more\nmoney than brains, and a stupid title sticking upon him like a bow of\nribbon on a boar\u2019s head, but he is very fond of me, and would give up\neverything in the world for me\u2019--will you say that to yourself, and\nthink as well as you can of me?--will you, Irene?\u201d\n\nShe raised her head. All coldness and hauteur had left her face, and\nher eyes were very soft and tender.\n\n\u201cMy dear friend, I cannot hear you do yourself wrong\u201d--she said--\u201cand\nI am not as unjust as you perhaps imagine. I know your worth. You have\nmore virtues than faults, more brains than money,--you are generous\nand kindly, and in this instance, your title sets off the grace of a\ntrue and gallant gentleman. Give me time to consider a little,--let us\njoin the Vaughans,--I promise you I will give you your answer to-day.\u201d\n\nA light flashed over his features, and stooping, he once more kissed\nher hand. Then, as she moved on, a gracefully gliding figure under the\ndark arching boughs, he followed with a firm joyous step such as might\nhave befitted a knight of the court of King Arthur who had, after hard\nfighting, at last won some distinct pledge of his \u201cladye\u2019s\u201d future\nfavour.\n\n\n\n\n XLIII.\n\nDeeply embowered among arching boughs and covered with the luxuriant\nfoliage of many a climbing and flowering vine, the little monastic\nrefuge appeared at first sight more like the retreat of a poet or\npainter than a religious house where holy ascetics fasted and prayed\nand followed the difficult discipline of daily self-denial. When the\nlittle party of visitors reached its quaint low door they all paused\nbefore ringing the bell that hung visibly aloft among clustering\nclematis, and looked about them in admiration.\n\n\u201cWhat a delicious place!\u201d said Lady Vaughan, bending to scent the\nodours of a rich musk rose that had pushed its lovely head through the\nleaves as though inviting attention--\u201cHow peaceful! ... and listen!\nWhat grand music they are singing!\u201d\n\nShe held up her finger,--the others obeyed the gesture, and hushed\ntheir steps to hear every note of the stately harmony that pealed out\nupon the air. The brethren were chanting part of the grand Greek \u201cHymn\nof Cleanthes,\u201d a translation of which may be roughly rendered in the\nfollowing strophes:\n\n \u201cMany-named and most glorious of the Immortals, Almighty for ever,\n Ruler of Nature whose government is order and law,\n Hail, all hail! for good it is that mortals should praise thee!\n\n \u201cWe are Thy offspring; we are the Image of Thy Voice,\n And only the Image, as all mortal things are that live and move by\n  Thy power,\n Therefore do we exalt Thy Name and sing of Thy glory forever!\n\n \u201cThee doth the splendid Universe obey\n Moving whithersoever Thou leadest,\n And all are gladly swayed by Thee.\n\n \u201cNaught is done in the earth without thee, O God--\n Nor in the divine sphere of the heavens, nor in the deepest depths of\n  the sea,\n Save the works that evil men commit in their hours of folly.\n\n \u201cYet thou knowest where to find place for superfluous things,\n Thou dost order that which seems disorderly,\n And things not dear to men are dear to Thee!\n\n \u201cThou dost harmonise into One both Good and Evil,\n For there is One Everlasting Reason for them all.\n\n \u201cO thou All-Giver, Dweller in the clouds, Lord of the thunder,\n Save thou men from their own self-sought unhappiness,\n Do thou, O Father, scatter darkness from their souls, and give\n  them light to discover true wisdom.\n\n \u201cIn being honoured let them pay Thee Honour,\n Hymning Thy glorious works continually as beseems mortal men,\n Since there can be no greater glory for men or gods than this,\n To praise for ever and ever the grand and Universal Law!\n           Amen!--Amen!--Amen!\u201d\n\n\u201cStrange they should elect to sing that\u201d--said Strathlea musingly--\u201cI\nremember learning it off by heart in my student days. They have left\nout a verse of it here and there,--but it is quite a Pagan hymn.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt seems to me very good Christianity\u201d--said Irene Vassilius, her\neyes kindling with emotion--\u201cIt is a grand and convincing act of\nthanksgiving, and I think we have more cause for thankfulness than\nsupplication.\u201d\n\n\u201cI am not yet quite sure about that myself\u201d--murmured Strathlea in her\near--\u201cI shall know better when the day is ended which I need most,\nprayer or thanksgiving.\u201d\n\nShe coloured a little and her eyes fell,--meanwhile the solemn music\nceased.\n\n\u201cShall I ring?\u201d inquired Sir Frederick as the last note died away on\nthe air.\n\nThey all silently acquiesced,--and by means of a coarse rope hanging\ndown among the flowers the bell was gently set in motion. Its soft\nclang was almost immediately answered by a venerable monk in white\ngarments, with a long rosary twisted into his girdle and a Cross and\nStar blazoned in gold upon his breast.\n\n\u201cBenedicite!\u201d said this personage mildly, making the sign of the cross\nbefore otherwise addressing the visitors,--then, as they instinctively\nbent their heads to the pious greeting, he opened the door a little\nwider and asked them in French what they sought.\n\nFor answer Madame Vassilius stepped forward and gave him an open\nletter, one which she knew would serve as a pass to obtain ready\nadmission to the monastery, and as the monk glanced it over his pale\nfeatures brightened visibly.\n\n\u201cAh! Friends of our youngest brother Sebastian\u201d--he said in fluent\nEnglish--\u201cEnter! You are most heartily welcome.\u201d\n\nHe stood aside, and they all passed under the low porch into a square\nhall, painted from ceiling to floor in delicate fresco. The designs\nwere so beautiful and so admirably executed, that Strathlea could not\nresist stopping to look at one or two of them.\n\n\u201cThese are very fine\u201d--he said, addressing the gray-haired recluse who\nescorted them--\u201cAre they the work of some ancient or modern artist?\u201d\n\nThe old man smiled and gave a deprecating, almost apologetic gesture.\n\n\u201cThey are the result of a few years\u2019 pleasant labour\u201d--he replied--\u201cI\nwas very happy while employed thus.\u201d\n\n\u201cYou did them!\u201d exclaimed Lady Vaughan, turning her eyes upon him in\nfrank wonder and admiration--\u201cWhy then you are a genius!\u201d\n\nThe monk shook his head.\n\n\u201cOh no, Madame, not so. We none of us lay claim to \u2018genius\u2019; that is\nfor those in the outer world,--here we simply work and do our best for\nthe mere love of doing it.\u201d\n\nHere, preceding them a little, he threw open a door, and ushered them\ninto a quaint low room, panelled in oak, and begged them to be seated\nfor a few moments while he went to inform \u201cBrother Sebastian\u201d of their\narrival.\n\nLeft alone they gazed about in silence, till Sir Frederick, after\nstaring hard at the panelled walls said--\n\n\u201cYou may be pretty sure these fellows have carved every bit of that\noak themselves. Monks are always wonderful workmen,--_Laborare est\norare_, you know. By the way I noticed that monk artist who was with\nus just now wore no tonsure,--I wonder why? Anyhow it\u2019s a very ugly\ndisfigurement and quite senseless; they do well to abjure it.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs this man you come to see,--El-R\u00e2mi--a member of the Fraternity?\u201d\nasked Strathlea of Irene in a low tone.\n\nShe shook her head compassionately.\n\n\u201cOh no--poor creature,--he would not understand their rules or their\ndiscipline. He is simply in their charge, as one who must for all his\nlife be weak and helpless.\u201d\n\nAt that moment the door opened, and a tall slim figure appeared, clad\nin the trailing white garments of the brotherhood; and in the dark\npoetic face, brilliant eyes and fine sensitive mouth there was little\ndifficulty in recognising F\u00e9raz as the \u201cBrother Sebastian\u201d for whom\nthey waited. He advanced towards them with singular grace and quiet\ndignity,--the former timidity and impetuosity of, youth had entirely\nleft him, and from his outward aspect and, bearing he looked like a\nyoung saint whose thoughts were always set on the highest things, yet\nwho nevertheless had known what it was to suffer in the search for\npeace.\n\n\u201cYou are most welcome, Madame\u201d--he said, inclining himself with a\ncourteous gentleness towards Irene,--\u201cI expected you,--I felt sure\nthat you would one day come to see us. I know you were always\ninterested in my brother ...\u201d\n\n\u201cI was, and am still\u201d--replied Irene gently, \u201cand in yourself also.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz, or \u201cBrother Sebastian\u201d as he was now called, made another\ngentle salutation expressive of gratitude, and then turned his eyes\nquestioningly on the other members of the party.\n\n\u201cYou will not need to be reminded of Sir Frederick Vaughan and Lady\nVaughan,\u201d--went on Irene,--then as these exchanged greetings, she\nadded--\u201cThis gentleman whom you do not know is the Duke of\nStrathlea,--we have made the journey from England in his yacht,\nand----\u201d she hesitated a moment, the colour deepening a little in her\nfair cheeks--\u201che is a great friend of mine.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz glanced at her once,--then once at Strathlea, and a grave smile\nsoftened his pensive face. He extended his hand with a frank\ncordiality that was charming, and Strathlea pressed it warmly,\nfascinated by the extreme beauty and dignity of this youthful ascetic,\nsworn to the solitariness of the religious life ere he had touched his\nmanhood\u2019s prime.\n\n\u201cAnd how is El-R\u00e2mi?\u201d asked Sir Frederick with good-natured\nbluffness--\u201cMy cousin Melthorpe was much distressed to hear what had\nhappened,--and so were we all,--really--a terrible calamity--but you\nknow overstudy will upset a man,--it\u2019s no use doing too much----\u201d\n\nHe broke off his incoherent remarks abruptly, embarrassed a little by\nthe calmly mournful gaze of \u201cBrother Sebastian\u2019s\u201d deep dark eyes.\n\n\u201cYou are very good, Sir Frederick,\u201d--he said gently--\u201cI am sure you\nsympathise truly, and I thank you all for your sympathy. But--I am not\nsure that I should be sorrowful for my brother\u2019s seeming affliction.\nGod\u2019s will has been made manifest in this, as in other things,--and we\nmust needs accept that will without complaint. For the rest, El-R\u00e2mi\nis well,--and not only well, but happy. Let me take you to him.\u201d\n\nThey hesitated,--all except Irene. Lady Vaughan was a nervous\ncreature,--she had a very vivid remembrance of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s \u201cterrible\neyes\u201d--they looked fiery enough when he was sane,--but how would they\nlook now when he was ... mad? She moved uneasily,--her husband pulled\nhis long moustache doubtfully as he studied her somewhat alarmed\ncountenance,--and F\u00e9raz, glancing at the group, silently understood\nthe situation.\n\n\u201cWill you come with me, Madame?\u201d he said, addressing himself solely to\nIrene--\u201cIt is better perhaps that you should see him first alone. But\nhe will not distress you ... he is quite harmless ... poor El-R\u00e2mi!\u201d\n\nIn spite of himself his voice trembled,--and Irene\u2019s warm heart\nswelled for sympathy.\n\n\u201cI will come at once\u201d--she said, and as she prepared to leave the room\nStrathlea whispered: \u201cLet me go with you!\u201d\n\nShe gave a mute sign of assent,--and F\u00e9raz leading the way, they\nquietly followed, while Sir Frederick and his wife remained behind.\nThey passed first through a long stone corridor,--then into a\nbeautiful quadrangular court with a fountain in its centre, and wooden\nbenches set at equal distances under its moss-grown vine-covered\ncolonnade. Flowers grew everywhere in the wildest, loveliest\nprofusion,--tame doves strutted about on the pavement with peaceful\nand proud complacency, and palms and magnolias grew up in tall and\ntangled profusion wherever they could obtain root-hold, casting their\nlong, leafy trembling shadows across the quadrangle and softening the\ntoo dazzling light reflected from the brilliant sky above. Up in a far\ncorner of this little garden paradise, under the shade of a spreading\ncedar, sat the placid figure of a man,--one of the brethren at first\nhe seemed, for he was clothed in the garb of the monastic order, and a\nloose cowl was flung back from his uncovered head on which the hair\nshone white and glistening as fine spun silver. His hands were loosely\nclasped together,--his large dark eyes were fixed on the rays of light\nthat quivered prismatically in the foam of the tossing fountain, and\nnear his feet a couple of amorous snowy doves sat brooding in the sun.\nHe did not seem to hear the footsteps of his approaching visitors, and\neven when they came close up to him, it was only by slow degrees that\nhe appeared to become conscious of their presence.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi!\u201d said his brother with tender gentleness--\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi, these\nare friends who have journeyed hither to see you.\u201d\n\nThen, like a man reluctantly awaking from a long and pleasant noonday\ndream, he rose and stood up with singularly majestic dignity, and for\na moment looked so like the proud, indomitable El-R\u00e2mi of former\ndays, that Irene Vassilius in her intense interest and compassion for\nhim, half fancied that the surprise of seeing old acquaintances had\nfor a brief interval brought back both reason and remembrance. But\nno,--his eyes rested upon her unrecognisingly, though he greeted her\nand Strathlea also, with the stateliest of salutations.\n\n\u201cFriends are always welcome\u201d--he said, \u201cBut friends are rare in the\nworld,--it is not in the world one must look for them. There was a\ntime I assure you, ... when I ... even I, ... could have had the most\npowerful of all friends for the mere asking,--but it is too late\nnow--too late.\u201d\n\nHe sighed profoundly, and seated himself again on the bench as before.\n\n\u201cWhat does he mean?\u201d asked Strathlea of F\u00e9raz in a low tone.\n\n\u201cIt is not always easy to understand him,\u201d responded F\u00e9raz\ngently--\u201cBut in this case, when he speaks of the friend he might have\nhad for the mere asking, he means,--God.\u201d\n\nThe warm tears rushed into Irene\u2019s eyes.\n\n\u201cNay, God is his friend I am sure\u201d--she said with fervour, \u201cThe great\nCreator is no man\u2019s enemy.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz gave her an eloquent look.\n\n\u201cTrue, dear Madame\u201d--he answered,--\u201cBut there are times and seasons of\naffliction when we feel and know ourselves to be unworthy of the\nDivine friendship, and when our own conscience considers God as one\nvery far off.\u201d\n\nYielding to the deep impulse of pity that swayed her, she advanced\nsoftly, and sitting down beside El-R\u00e2mi, took his hand in her own. He\nturned and looked at her,--at the fair delicate face and soft ardent\neyes,--at the slight dainty figure in its close-fitting white\ngarb,--and a faint wondering smile brightened his features.\n\n\u201cWhat is this?\u201d he murmured, then glancing downward at her small white\nringless hand as it held his--\u201cIs this an angel? Yes, it must\nbe,--well then, there is hope at last. You bring me news of Lilith?\u201d\n\nIrene started, and her heart beat nervously,--she could not understand\nthis, to her, new phase of his wandering mind. What was she to say in\nanswer to so strange a question?--for who was Lilith? She gazed\nhelplessly at F\u00e9raz,--he returned her look with one so earnest and\nimploring, that she answered at once as she thought most advisable--\n\n\u201cYes!\u201d\n\nA sudden trembling shook El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s frame, and he seemed absorbed.\nAfter a long pause, he lifted his dark eyes and fixed them solemnly\nupon her.\n\n\u201cThen, she knows all now?\u201d he demanded--\u201cShe understands that I am\npatient?--that I repent?--that I believe?--and that I love her as she\nwould have me love her,--faithfully and far beyond all life and time?\u201d\n\nWithout hesitation, and only anxious to soothe and comfort him, Irene\nanswered at once--\n\n\u201cYes--yes--she understands. Be consoled--be patient still--you will\nmeet her soon again.\u201d\n\n\u201cSoon again?\u201d he echoed, with a pathetic glance upward at the dazzling\nblue sky--\u201cSoon? In a thousand years?--or a thousand thousand?--for so\ndo happy angels count the time. To me an hour is long--but to Lilith,\ncycles are moments.\u201d\n\nHis head sank on his breast,--he seemed to fall suddenly into a dreamy\nstate of meditation,--and just then a slow bell began to toll to and\nfro from a wooden turret on the monastery roof.\n\n\u201cThat is for vespers\u201d--said F\u00e9raz--\u201cWill you come, Madame, and hear\nour singing? You shall see El-R\u00e2mi again afterwards.\u201d\n\nSilently she rose, but her movement to depart roused El-R\u00e2mi from his\nabstraction, and he looked at her wistfully.\n\n\u201cThey say there is happiness in the world\u201d--he said slowly, \u201cbut I\nhave not found it. Little messenger of peace, are you happy?\u201d\n\nThe pathos of his rich musical voice, as he said the words \u201clittle\nmessenger of peace,\u201d was indescribably touching. Strathlea found his\neyes suddenly growing dim with tears, and Irene\u2019s voice trembled\ngreatly as she answered--\n\n\u201cNo, not quite happy, dear friend;--we are none of us quite happy.\u201d\n\n\u201cNot without love,\u201d--said El-R\u00e2mi, speaking with sudden firmness and\ndecision--\u201cWithout love we are powerless. With it, we can compass all\nthings. Do not miss love; it is the clue to the great Secret,--the\nonly key to God\u2019s mystery. But you know this already,--better than I\ncan tell you,--for I have missed it,--not lost it, you understand, but\nonly missed it. I shall find it again,--I hope, ... I pray I shall\nfind it again! God be with you, little messenger! Be happy while you\ncan!\u201d\n\nHe extended his hand with a gesture which might have been one of\ndismissal or benediction or both, and then sank into his former\nattitude of resigned contemplation, while Irene Vassilius, too much\nmoved to speak, walked across the court between Strathlea and the\nbeautiful young \u201cBrother Sebastian,\u201d scarcely seeing the sunlight for\ntears. Strathlea, too, was deeply touched;--so splendid a figure of a\nman as El-R\u00e2mi he had seldom seen, and the ruin of brilliant\nfaculties in such a superb physique appeared to him the most\ndisastrous of calamities.\n\n\u201cIs he always like that?\u201d he inquired of F\u00e9raz, with a backward\ncompassionate glance at the quiet figure sitting under the\ncedar-boughs.\n\n\u201cNearly always,\u201d replied F\u00e9raz--\u201cSometimes he talks of birds and\nflowers,--sometimes he takes a childish delight in the sunlight--he is\nmost happy, I think, when I take him alone into the chapel and play to\nhim on the organ. He is very peaceful, and never at any time violent.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd,\u201d pursued Strathlea, hesitatingly, \u201cwho is, or who was the Lilith\nhe speaks of?\u201d\n\n\u201cA woman he loved\u201d--answered F\u00e9raz quietly--\u201cand whom he loves still.\nShe lives--for him--in Heaven.\u201d\n\nNo more questions were asked, and in another minute they arrived at\nthe open door of the little chapel, where Sir Frederick and Lady\nVaughan, attracted by the sound of music, were already awaiting them.\nIrene briefly whispered a hurried explanation of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s condition,\nand Lady Vaughan declared she would go and see him after the\nvesper-service was over.\n\n\u201cYou must not expect the usual sort of vespers\u201d--said F\u00e9raz\nthen--\u201cOur form is not the Roman Catholic.\u201d\n\n\u201cIs it not?\u201d queried Strathlea, surprised--\u201cThen, may one ask what is\nit?\u201d\n\n\u201cOur own,\u201d--was the brief response.\n\nThree or four white-cowled, white-garmented figures now began to glide\ninto the chapel by a side-entrance, and Sir Frederick Vaughan asked\nwith some curiosity:\n\n\u201cWhich is the Superior?\u201d\n\n\u201cWe have no Superior\u201d--replied F\u00e9raz--\u201cThere is one Master of all the\nBrotherhoods, but he has no fixed habitation, and he is not at present\nin Europe. He visits the different branches of our Fraternity at\ndifferent intervals,--but he has not been here since my brother and I\ncame. In this house we are a sort of small Republic,--each man governs\nhimself, and we are all in perfect unity, as we all implicitly follow\nthe same fixed rules. Will you go into the chapel now? I must leave\nyou, as I have to sing the chorale.\u201d\n\nThey obeyed his gesture, and went softly into the little sacred place,\nnow glowing with light, and redolent of sweet perfume, the natural\nincense wafted on the air from the many flowers which were clustered\nin every nook and corner. Seating themselves quietly on a wooden bench\nat the end of the building, they watched the proceedings in mingled\nwonder and reverence,--for such a religious service as this they had\nassuredly never witnessed. There was no altar,--only an arched recess,\nwherein stood a large, roughly-carved wooden cross, the base of which\nwas entirely surrounded with the rarest flowers. Through the\nstained-glass window behind, the warm afternoon light streamed\ngloriously,--it fell upon the wooden beams of the Sign of Salvation,\nwith a rose and purple radiance like that of newly-kindled fire,--and\nas the few monks gathered together and knelt before it in silent\nprayer, the scene was strangely impressive, though the surroundings\nwere so simple. And when, through the deep stillness an organ-chord\nbroke grandly like a wave from the sea, and the voice of F\u00e9raz, deep,\nrich, and pathetic exclaimed as it were, in song,\n\n \u201c_Quare tristis es anima mea?_\n _Quare conturbas me?_\u201d\n\ngiving the reply in still sweeter accents,\n\n \u201c_Spera in Deo!_\u201d\n\nthen Irene Vassilius sank on her knees and hid her face in her clasped\nhands, her whole soul shaken by emotion and uplifted to heaven by the\nmagic of divinest harmony. Strathlea looked at her slight kneeling\nfigure and his heart beat passionately,--he bent his head too, close\nbeside hers, partly out of a devotional sense, partly perhaps to have\na nearer glimpse of the lovely fair hair that clustered in such\ntempting little ripples and curls on the back of her slim white neck.\nThe monks, prostrating themselves before the Cross, murmured together\nsome indistinct orisons for a few minutes,--then came a pause,--and\nonce more the voice of F\u00e9raz rang out in soft warm vibrating notes of\nmelody;--the words he sang were his own, and fell distinctly on the\nears as roundly and perfectly as the chime of a true-toned bell--\n\n O hear ye not the voice of the Belov\u00ebd?\n Through golden seas of starry light it falls,\n And like a summons in the night it calls,\n Saying,--\u201cLost children of the Father\u2019s House\n Why do ye wander wilfully away?\n Lo, I have sought ye sorrowing every day,--\n And yet ye will not answer,--will not turn\n To meet My love for which the angels yearn!\n  In all the causeless griefs wherewith your hearts are mov\u00ebd\n  Have ye no time to hear the Voice of the Belov\u00ebd?\u201d\n\n  O hearken to the Voice of the Belov\u00ebd!\n  Sweeter it is than music,--sweeter far\n  Than angel-anthems in a happy star!\n O wandering children of the Father\u2019s House,\n Turn homeward ere the coming of the night,\n Follow the pathway leading to the light!\n So shall the sorrows of long exile cease\n And tears be turned to smiles and pain to peace.\n  Lift up your hearts and let your faith be prov\u00ebd;--\n  Answer, oh answer the Voice of the Belov\u00ebd!\n\nVery simple stanzas these, and yet, sung by F\u00e9raz as only he could\nsing, they carried in their very utterance a singularly passionate and\nbeautiful appeal. The fact of his singing the verses in English\nimplied a gracefully-intended compliment to his visitors,--and after\nthe last line \u201cAnswer, oh answer the voice of the Belov\u00ebd!\u201d a deep\nsilence reigned in the little chapel. After some minutes this silence\nwas gently disturbed by what one might express as the gradual\n_flowing-in_ of music,--a soft, persuasive ripple of sound that seemed\nto wind in and out as though it had crept forth from the air as a\nstream creeps through the grasses. And while that delicious harmony\nrose and fell on the otherwise absolute stillness, Strathlea was\nthrilled through every nerve of his being by the touch of a small soft\nwarm hand that stole tremblingly near his own as the music stole into\nhis heart;--a hand that after a little hesitation placed itself on his\nin a wistfully submissive way that filled him with rapture and wonder.\nHe pressed the clinging dainty fingers in his own broad palm--\n\n\u201cIrene!\u201d he whispered, as he bent his head lower in apparent\ndevotion--\u201cIrene,--is this my answer?\u201d\n\nShe looked up and gave him one fleeting glance through eyes that were\ndim with tears; a faint smile quivered on her lips,--and then, she hid\nher face again,--but--left her hand in his. And as the music, solemn\nand sweet, surged around them both like a rolling wave, Strathlea knew\nhis cause was won, and for this favour of high Heaven, mentally\nuttered a brief but passionately fervent \u201c_Laus Deo_.\u201d He had obtained\nthe best blessing that God can give--Love,--and he felt devoutly\ncertain that he had nothing more to ask for in this world or the next.\nLove for him was enough,--as indeed it should be enough for us all if\nonly we will understand it in its highest sense. Shall we ever\nunderstand?--or never?\n\n\n\n\n XLIV.\n\nThe vespers over, the little party of English visitors passed out of\nthe chapel into the corridor. There they waited in silence, the\nemotions of two of them at least, being sufficiently exalted to make\nany attempt at conversation difficult. It was not however very long\nbefore F\u00e9raz or \u201cBrother Sebastian\u201d joined them, and led them as\nthough by some involuntary instinct into the flower-grown quadrangle,\nwhere two or three of the monks were now to be seen pacing up and down\nin the strong red sunset-light with books open in their hands, pausing\never and anon in their slow walk to speak to El-R\u00e2mi, who sat, as\nbefore, alone under the boughs of the cedar-tree. One of the tame\ndoves that had previously been seen nestling at his feet, had now\ntaken up its position on his knee, and was complacently huddled down\nthere, allowing itself to be stroked, and uttering crooning sounds of\nsatisfaction as his hand passed caressingly over its folded white\nwings. F\u00e9raz said very little as he escorted all his guests up to\nwithin a yard or so of El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s secluded seat,--but Lady Vaughan\npaused irresolutely, gazing timidly and with something of awe at the\nquiet reposeful figure, the drooped head, the delicate dark hand that\nstroked the dove\u2019s wings,--and as she looked and strove to realise\nthat this gentle, submissive, meditative, hermit-like man was indeed\nthe once proud and indomitable El-R\u00e2mi, a sudden trembling came over\nher, and a rush of tears blinded her eyes.\n\n\u201cI cannot speak to him\u201d--she whispered sobbingly to her husband--\u201cHe\nlooks so far away,--I am sure he is not here with us at all!\u201d\n\nSir Frederick, distressed at his wife\u2019s tears, murmured something\nsoothing,--but he too was rendered nervous by the situation and he\ncould find no words in which to make his feelings intelligible. So, as\nbefore, Irene Vassilius took the initiative. Going close up to\nEl-R\u00e2mi, she with a quick yet graceful impulsiveness threw herself in\na half-kneeling attitude before him.\n\n\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi!\u201d she said.\n\nHe started, and stared down upon her amazedly,--yet was careful in all\nhis movements not to disturb the drowsing white dove upon his knee.\n\n\u201cWho calls me?\u201d he demanded--\u201cWho speaks?\u201d\n\n\u201cI call you\u201d--replied Irene, regardless how her quite unconventional\nbehaviour might affect the Vaughans as onlookers--\u201cI ask you, dear\nfriend, to listen to me. I want to tell you that I am happy--very\nhappy,--and that before I go, you must give me your blessing.\u201d\n\nA pathetic pain and wonderment crossed El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s features. He looked\nhelplessly at F\u00e9raz,--for though he did not recognise him as his\nbrother, he was accustomed to rely upon him for everything.\n\n\u201cThis is very strange!\u201d he faltered--\u201cNo one has ever asked me for a\nblessing. Make her understand that I have no power at all to do any\ngood by so much as a word or a thought. I am a very poor and ignorant\nman--quite at God\u2019s mercy.\u201d\n\nF\u00e9raz bent above him with a soothing gesture.\n\n\u201cDear El-R\u00e2mi,\u201d he said--\u201cthis lady honours you. You will wish her\nwell ere she departs from us,--that is all she seeks.\u201d\n\nEl-R\u00e2mi turned again towards Irene, who remained perfectly quiet in\nthe attitude she had assumed.\n\n\u201cI thought,\u201d--he murmured slowly--\u201cI thought you were an angel; it\nseems you are a woman. Sometimes they are one and the same thing. Not\noften, but sometimes. Women are wronged,--much wronged,--when God\nendows them, they see farther than we do. But you must not honour\nme,--I am not worthy to be honoured. A little child is much wiser than\nI am. Of course I must wish you well--I could not do otherwise. You\nsee this poor bird,\u201d--and he again stroked the dove which now dozed\npeacefully--\u201cI wish it well also. It has its mate and its hole in the\ndove-cote, and numberless other little joys,--I would have it always\nhappy,--and ... so--I would have you always happy too. And,--most\nassuredly, if you desire it, I will say--\u2018God bless you!\u2019\u201d\n\nHere he seemed to collect his thoughts with some effort,--his dark\nbrows contracted perplexedly,--then, after a minute, his expression\nbrightened, and, as if he had just remembered something, he carefully\nand with almost trembling reverence, made the sign of the cross above\nIrene\u2019s drooping head. She gently caught the hovering hand and kissed\nit. He smiled placidly, like a child who is caressed.\n\n\u201cYou are very good to me\u201d--he said--\u201cI am quite sure you are an angel.\nAnd being so, you need no blessing--God knows His own, and always\nclaims them ... in the end.\u201d\n\nHe closed his eyes languidly then and seemed fatigued,--his hand still\nmechanically stroked the dove\u2019s wings. They left him so, moving away\nfrom him with hushed and cautious steps. He had not noticed Sir\nFrederick or Lady Vaughan,--and they were almost glad of this, as they\nwere themselves entirely disinclined to speak. To see so great a wreck\nof a once brilliant intellect was a painful spectacle to good-natured\nSir Frederick,--while on Lady Vaughan it had the effect of a severe\nnervous shock. She thought she would have been better able to bear the\nsight of a distracted and howling maniac, than the solemn pitifulness\nof that silent submission, that grave patience of a physically strong\nman transformed, as it were, into a child. They walked round the\ncourt, F\u00e9raz gathering as he went bouquets of roses and jessamine and\npassiflora for the two ladies.\n\n\u201cHe seems comfortable and happy\u201d--Sir Frederick ventured to remark at\nlast.\n\n\u201cHe is, perfectly so\u201d--rejoined F\u00e9raz. \u201cIt is very rarely that he is\ndepressed or uneasy. He may live on thus till he is quite old, they\ntell me,--his physical health is exceptionally good.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd you will always stay with him?\u201d said Irene.\n\n\u201cCan you ask, Madame!\u201d and F\u00e9raz smiled--\u201cIt is my one joy to serve\nhim. I grieve sometimes that he does not know me really, who I\nam,--but I have a secret feeling that one day that part of the cloud\nwill lift, and he _will_ know. For the rest he is pleased and soothed\nto have me near him,--that is all I desire. He did everything for me\nonce,--it is fitting I should do everything for him now. God is\ngood,--and in His measure of affliction there is always a great\nsweetness.\u201d\n\n\u201cSurely you do not think it well for your brother to have lost the\ncontrol of his brilliant intellectual faculties?\u201d asked Sir Frederick,\nsurprised.\n\n\u201cI think everything well that God designs\u201d--answered F\u00e9raz gently,\nnow giving the flowers he had gathered, to Irene and Lady Vaughan, and\nlooking, as he stood in his white robes against a background of rosy\nsunset-light, like a glorified young saint in a picture,--\u201cEl-R\u00e2mi\u2019s\nintellectual faculties were far too brilliant, too keen, too\ndominant,--his great force and supremacy of will too absolute. With\nsuch powers as he had he would have ruled this world, and lost the\nnext. That is, he would have gained the Shadow and missed the\nSubstance. No, no--it is best as it is. \u2018Except ye become as little\nchildren, ye shall not enter the Kingdom of Heaven!\u2019 That is a true\nsaying. In the Valley of Humiliation the birds of paradise sing, and\nin El-R\u00e2mi\u2019s earth-darkness there are gleams of the Light Divine. I\nam content,--and so, I firmly and devoutly believe, is he.\u201d\n\nWith this, and a few more parting words, the visitors now prepared to\ntake their leave. Suddenly Irene Vassilius perceived an exquisite rose\nhanging down among the vines that clambered about the walls of the\nlittle monastery;--a rose pure white in its outer petals but tenderly\ntinted with a pale blush pink towards its centre. Acting on her own\nimpulsive idea, she gathered it, and hastened back alone across the\nquadrangle to where El-R\u00e2mi sat absorbed and lost in his own drowsy\ndreams.\n\n\u201cGood-bye, dear friend,--good-bye!\u201d she said softly, and held the\nfragrant beautiful bud towards him.\n\nHe opened his sad dark eyes and smiled,--then extended his hand and\ntook the flower.\n\n\u201cI thank you, little messenger of peace!\u201d he said--\u201cIt is a rose from\nHeaven,--it is the Soul of Lilith!\u201d\n\n [FINIS]\n\n\n\n\n FOOTNOTES.\n\n [1]\n From _The Natural Law of Miracles_, written in Arabic 400 B.C.\n\n [2]\n This remarkable passage on the admitted effects of hypnotism as\n practised by the priests of ancient Egypt will be found in an old\n history of the building of the Pyramids entitled--\u201cThe Egyptian\n Account of the Pyramids\u201d--Written in the Arabic by Murtadi the son of\n Gaphiphus--date about 1400.\n\n [3]\n Copied verbatim from the current Press.\n\n\n\n\n TRANSCRIBER\u2019S NOTES.\n\nThe edition published by Grosset & Dunlap (NY, 1892) was referenced\nfor most of the fixes listed below.\n\nThe above-mentioned edition\u2019s cover was used for this ebook.\n\nAlterations to the text:\n\nAdd TOC.\n\nAssorted punctuation fixes.\n\nRelabel footnote markers, collect footnotes at end of text, and add\nan entry to the TOC.\n\n[Chapter I]\n\nChange \u201ccomplex character of the _pyschological_ Dane\u201d to\n_psychological_.\n\n[Chapter II]\n\n\u201cin honour of some _Serene_ and _Exalted_ foreign potentate\u201d to\n_serene_ and _exalted_.\n\n[Chapter III]\n\n\u201c_El R\u00e2mi_! At last! How late you are!\u201d to _El-R\u00e2mi_.\n\n[Chapter VIII]\n\n\u201c_F\u00e9rez_ gazed at her compassionately and\u201d to _F\u00e9raz_.\n\n[Chapter X]\n\n\u201ctell me, is there _No_ answer?\u201d to _no_.\n\n[Chapter XVII]\n\n\u201cThe conqueror shall be conquered, El-R\u00e2mi _Z\u00e2ranos_\u201d to _Zar\u00e2nos_.\n\n[Chapter XXVIII]\n\n(like those of F\u00e9raz\u2019s ideal ladye-love, were) Surround _ideal\nladye-love_ with quotation marks.\n\n[Chapter XXXII]\n\n\u201cthat there was _somethimg_ in the silent\u201d to _something_.\n\n[Chapter XXXV]\n\n\u201clines with strange _eagernes sand_ fervour\u201d to _eagerness and_.\n\n\u201cHe will, and as He will! _Good night_!\u201d to _Good-night_.\n\n[End of Text]","title":"The soul of Lilith","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":136698}