pushing the panic-stricken woman aside, féraz dashed back the velvet curtains, and for the second time in his life penetrated the mysterious chamber. once in the beautiful room, rich with its purple colour and warmth, he stopped as though he were smitten with sudden paralysis,—every artery in his body pulsated with terror,—it was true! ... true that lilith was no longer there! this was the first astounding fact that bore itself in with awful conviction on his dazed and bewildered mind;—the next thing he saw was the figure of his brother, kneeling motionless by the vacant couch. hushing his steps and striving to calm his excitement, féraz approached more nearly, and throwing his arms round el-râmi’s shoulders endeavoured to raise him,—but all his efforts made no impression on that bent and rigid form. turning his eyes once more to the ivory blankness of the satin couch on which the maiden lilith had so long reclined, he saw with awe and wonder the distinct impression of where her figure had been, marked and hollowed out into deep curves and lines, which in their turn were outlined by a tracing of fine grayish-white dust, like sifted ashes. following the track of this powdery substance, he still more clearly discerned the impress of her vanished shape; and, shuddering in every limb, he asked himself—could that—that dust—be all—all that was left of ... of lilith? ... what dire tragedy had been enacted during the night?—what awful catastrophe had chanced to her—to him, his beloved brother, whom he strove once more to lift from his kneeling position, but in vain. zaroba stood beside him, shivering, wailing, staring, and wringing her hands, till féraz dry-eyed and desperate, finding his own strength not sufficient, bade her, by a passionate gesture, assist him. trembling violently, she obeyed, and between them both they at last managed to drag el-râmi up from the ground and get him to a chair, where féraz chafed his hands, bathed his forehead, and used every possible means to restore animation. did his heart still beat? yes, feebly and irregularly;—and presently one or two faint gasping sighs came from the labouring breast.
“thank god!” muttered féraz—“whatever has happened, he lives!—thank god he lives! when he recovers, he will tell me all;—there can be no secrets now between him and me.”
and he resumed his quick and careful ministrations, while zaroba still wailed and wrung her hands, and stared miserably at the empty couch, whereon her beautiful charge had lain, slumbering away the hours and days for six long years. she too saw the little heaps and trackings of gray dust on the pillows and coverlid, and her feeble limbs shook with such terror that she could scarcely stand.
“the gods have taken her!” she whispered faintly through her pallid lips—“the gods are avenged! when did they ever have mercy! they have claimed their own with the breath and the fire of lightning, and the dust of a maiden’s beauty is no more than the dust of a flower! the dreadful, terrible gods are avenged—at last ... at last!”
and sinking down upon the floor, she huddled herself together, and drew her yellow draperies over her head, after the eastern manner of expressing inconsolable grief, and covered her aged features from the very light of day.
féraz heeded her not at all, his sole attention being occupied in the care of his brother, whose large black eyes now opened suddenly and regarded him with a vacant expression like the eyes of a blind man. a great shudder ran through his frame,—he looked curiously at his own hands as féraz gently pressed and rubbed them,—and he stared all round the room in vaguely-inquiring wonderment. presently his wandering glance came back to féraz, and the vacancy of his expression softened into a certain pleased mildness,—his lips parted in a little smile, but he said nothing.
“you are better, el-râmi, my brother?” murmured féraz caressingly, trembling and almost weeping in the excess of his affectionate anxiety, the while he placed his own figure so that it might obstruct a too immediate view of lilith’s vacant couch, and the covered crouching form of old zaroba beside it—“you have no pain? ... you do not suffer?”
el-râmi made no answer for the moment;—he was looking at féraz with a gentle but puzzled inquisitiveness. presently his dark brows contracted slightly, as though he were trying to connect some perplexing chain of ideas,—then he gave a slight gesture of fatigue and indifference.
“you will excuse me, i hope,—” he then said with plaintive courtesy—“i have forgotten your name. i believe i met you once, but i cannot remember where.”
the heart of poor féraz stood still, ... a great sob rose in his throat. but he checked it bravely,—he would not, he could not, he dared not give way to the awful fear that began to creep like a frost through his warm young blood.
“you cannot remember féraz?” he said gently—“your own féraz? ... your little brother, to whom you have been life, hope, joy, work—everything of value in the world!” here his voice failed him, and he nearly broke down.
el-râmi looked at him in grave surprise.
“you are very good!” he murmured, with a feebly polite wave of his hand;—“you overrate my poor powers. i am glad to have been useful to you—very glad!”
here he paused;—his head sank forward on his breast, and his eyes closed.
“el-râmi!” cried féraz, the hot tears forcing their way between his eyelids—“oh, my belovëd brother!—have you no thought for me?”
el-râmi opened his eyes and stared;—then smiled.
“no thought?” he repeated—“oh, you mistake!—i have thought very much,—very much indeed, about many things. not about you perhaps,—but then i do not know you. you say your name is féraz,—that is very strange; it is not at all a common name. i only knew one féraz,—he was my brother, or seemed so for a time,—but i found out afterwards, ... hush! ... come closer! ...” and he lowered his voice to a whisper,—“that he was not a mortal, but an angel,—the angel of a star. the star knew him better than i did.”
féraz turned away his head,—the tears were falling down his cheeks—he could not speak. he realised the bitter truth,—the delicate overstrained mechanism of his brother’s mind had given way under excessive pain and pressure,—that brilliant, proud, astute, cold and defiant intellect was all unstrung and out of gear, and rendered useless, perchance for ever.
el-râmi however seemed to have some glimmering perception of féraz’s grief, for he put out a trembling hand and turned his brother’s face towards him with gentle concern.
“tears?” he said in a surprised tone—“why should you weep? there is nothing to weep for;—god is very good.”
and with an effort, he rose from the chair in which he had sat, and standing upright, looked about him. his eye at once lighted on the vase of roses at the foot of the couch and he began to tremble violently. féraz caught him by the arm,—and then he seemed startled and afraid.
“she promised, ... she promised!” he began in an incoherent rambling way—“and you must not interfere,—you must let me do her bidding. ‘look for me where the roses are; there will i stand and wait!’ she said that,—and she will wait, and i will look, for she is sure to keep her word—no angel ever forgets. you must not hinder me;—i have to watch and pray,—you must help me, not hinder me. i shall die if you will not let me do what she asks;—you cannot tell how sweet her voice is;—she talks to me and tells me of such wonderful things,—things too beautiful to be believed, yet they are true. i know so well my work;—work that must be done,—you will not hinder me?”
“no, no!”—said féraz, in anguish himself, yet willing to say anything to soothe his brother’s trembling excitement—“no, no! you shall not be hindered,—i will help you,—i will watch with you,—i will pray ...” and here again the poor fellow nearly broke down into womanish sobbing.
“yes!” said el-râmi, eagerly catching at the word—“pray! you will pray—and so will i;—that is good,—that is what i need,—prayer, they say, draws all heaven down to earth. it is strange,—but so it is. you know”—he added, with a faint gleam of intelligence lighting up for a moment his wandering eyes—“lilith is not here! not here, nor there, ... she is everywhere!”
a terrible pallor stole over his face, giving it almost the livid hue of death,—and féraz, alarmed, threw one arm strongly and resolutely about him. but el-râmi crouched and shuddered, and hid his eyes as though he strove to shelter himself from the fury of a whirlwind.
“everywhere!” he moaned—“in the flowers, in the trees, in the winds, in the sound of the sea, in the silence of the night, in the slow breaking of the dawn,—in all these things is the soul of lilith! beautiful, indestructible, terrible lilith! she permeates the world, she pervades the atmosphere, she shapes and unshapes herself at pleasure,—she floats, or flies, or sleeps at will;—in substance, a cloud;—in radiance, a rainbow! she is the essence of god in the transient shape of an angel—never the same, but for ever immortal. she soars aloft—she melts like mist in the vast unseen!—and i—i—i shall never find her, never know her, never see her, never, never again!”
the harrowing tone of voice in which he uttered these words pierced féraz to the heart, but he would not give way to his own emotion.
“come, el-râmi!” he said very gently—“do not stay here,—come with me. you are weak,—rest on my arm; you must try and recover your strength,—remember, you have work to do.”
“true, true!” said el-râmi, rousing himself—“yes, you are right,—there is much to be done. nothing is so difficult as patience. to be left all alone, and to be patient, is very hard,—but i will come,—i will come.”
he suffered himself to be led towards the door,—then, all at once he came to an abrupt standstill, and looking round, gazed full on the empty couch where lilith had so long been royally enshrined. a sudden passion seemed to seize him—his eyes sparkled luridly,—a sort of inward paroxysm convulsed his features, and he clutched féraz by the shoulder with a grip as hard as steel.
“roses and lilies and gold!” he muttered thickly—“they were all there, those delicate treasures, those airy nothings of which god makes woman! roses for the features, lilies for the bosom, gold for the hair!—roses, lilies, and gold! they were mine,—but i have burned them all!—i have burned the roses and lilies, and melted the gold. dust!—dust and ashes! but the dust is not lilith. no!—it is only the dust of the roses, the dust of the lilies, the dust of gold. roses, lilies, and gold! so sweet they are and fair to the sight, one would almost take them for real substance; but they are shadows!—shadows that pass as we touch them,—shadows that always go, when most we would have them stay!”
he finished with a deep shuddering sigh, and then, loosening his grasp of féraz, began to stumble his way hurriedly out of the apartment, with the manner of one who is lost in a dense fog and cannot see whither he is going. féraz hastened to assist and support him, whereupon he looked up with a pathetic and smiling gratefulness.
“you are very good to me,” he said, with a gentle courtesy, which in his condition was peculiarly touching—“i thought i should never need any support;—but i was wrong—quite wrong,—and it is kind of you to help me. my eyes are rather dim,—there was too much light among the roses, ... and i find this place extremely dark, ... it makes me feel a little confused here;”—and he passed his hand across his forehead with a troubled gesture, and looked anxiously at féraz, as though he would ask him for some explanation of his symptoms.
“yes, yes!” murmured féraz soothingly—“you must be tired—you will rest, and presently you will feel strong and well again. do not hurry,—lean on me,”—and he guided his brother’s trembling limbs carefully down the stairs, a step at a time, thinking within himself in deep sorrow—could this be the proud el-râmi, clinging to him thus like a weak old man afraid to move? oh, what a wreck was here!—what a change had been wrought in the few hours of the past night!—and ever the fateful question returned again and again to trouble him—what had become of lilith? that she was gone was self-evident,—and he gathered some inkling of the awful truth from his brother’s rambling words. he remembered that el-râmi had previously declared lilith to be dead, so far as her body was concerned, and only kept apparently alive by artificial means;—he could easily imagine it possible for those artificial means to lose their efficacy in the end, ... and then, ... for the girl’s beautiful body to crumble into that dissolution which would have been its fate long ago, had nature had her way. all this he could dimly surmise,—but he had been kept so much in the dark as to the real aim and intention of his brother’s “experiment” that it was not likely he would ever understand everything that had occurred;—so that lilith’s mysterious evanishment seemed to him like a horrible delusion;—it could not be! he kept on repeating over and over again to himself, and yet it was!
moving with slow and cautious tread, he got el-râmi at last into his own study, wondering whether the sight of the familiar objects he was daily accustomed to, would bring him back to a reasonable perception of his surroundings. he waited anxiously, while his brother stood still, shivering slightly and looking about the room with listless, unrecognising eyes. presently, in a voice that was both weary and petulant, el-râmi spoke.
“you will not leave me alone, i hope?” he said; “i am very old and feeble, and i have done you no wrong,—i do not see why you should leave me to myself. i should be glad if you would stay with me a little while, because everything is at present so strange to me;—i shall no doubt get more accustomed to it in time. you are perhaps not aware that i wished to live through a great many centuries—and my wish was granted;—i have lived longer than any man, especially since she left me,—and now i am growing old, and i am easily tired. i do not know this place at all—is it a world or a dream?”
at this question, it seemed to féraz that he heard again, like a silver clarion ringing through silence, the mysterious voice that had roused him that morning saying, “awake, féraz! to-day dreams end, and life begins!” ... he understood, and he bent his head resignedly,—he knew now what the “life” thus indicated meant;—it meant a sacrificing of all his poetic aspirations, his music, and his fantastic happy visions,—a complete immolation of himself and his own desires, for the sake of his brother. his brother, who had once ruled him absolutely, was now to be ruled by him;—helpless as a child, the once self-sufficient and haughty el-râmi was to be dependent for everything upon the very creature who had lately been his slave,—and féraz, humbly reading in these reversed circumstances the divine law of compensation, answered his brother’s plaintive query—“is it a world or a dream?” with manful tenderness.
“it is a world,”—he said—“not a dream, beloved el-râmi—but a reality. it is a fair garden belonging to god and the things of god”—he paused, seeing that el-râmi smiled placidly and nodded his head as though he heard pleasant music,—then he went on steadily—“a garden in which immortal spirits wander for a time self-exiled, till they fully realise the worth and loveliness of the higher lands they have forsaken. do you understand me, o dear and honoured one?—do you understand? none love their home so dearly as those who have left it for a time—and it is only for a time—a short, short time,”—and féraz, deeply moved by his mingled sorrow and affection, kissed and clasped his brother’s hands—“and all the beauty we see here in this beautiful small world, is made to remind us of the greater beauty yonder. we look, as it were, into a little mirror, which reflects, in exquisite miniature, the face of heaven! see!”—and he pointed to the brilliant blaze of sunshine that streamed through the window and illumined the whole room—“there is the tiny copy of the larger light above,—and in that little light the flowers grow, the harvests ripen, the trees bud, the birds sing, and every living creature rejoices,—but in the other greater light, god lives, and angels love and have their being;”—here féraz broke off abruptly, wondering if he might risk the utterance of the words that next rose involuntarily to his lips, while el-râmi gazed at him with great wide-open eager eyes like those of a child listening to a fairy story.
“yes, yes!—what next?” he demanded impatiently—“this is good news you give me;—the angels love, you say, and god lives,—yes!—tell me more, ... more!”
“all angels love and have their being in that greater light,”—continued féraz softly and steadily—“and there too is lilith—beautiful—deathless,—faithful——”
“true!” cried el-râmi, with a sort of sobbing cry—“true! ... she is there,—she promised—and i shall know, ... i shall know where to find her after all, for she told me plainly—‘look for me where the roses are,—there will i stand and wait.’”
he tottered, and seemed about to fall;—but when féraz would have supported him, he shook his head, and pointing tremblingly to the amber ray of sunshine pouring itself upon the ground:
“into the light!”—he murmured—“i am all in the dark;—lead me out of the darkness into the light.”
and féraz led him, where he desired, and seated him in his own chair in the full glory of the morning radiance that rippled about him like molten gold, and shone caressingly on his white hair,—his dark face that in its great pallor looked as though it were carved in bronze,—and his black, piteous, wandering eyes. a butterfly danced towards him in the sparkling shower of sunbeams, the same that had flown in an hour before and alighted on the heliotrope that adorned the centre of the table. el-râmi’s attention was attracted by it—and he watched its airy flutterings with a pleased, yet vacant smile. then he stretched out his hands in the golden light, and lifting them upward, clasped them together and closed his eyes.
“our father!” ... he murmured; “which art in heaven! ... hallowed be thy name!”
féraz, bending heedfully over him, caught the words as they were faintly whispered,—caught the hands as they dropped inert from their supplicating posture and laid them gently back;—then listened again with strained attention, the pitying tears gathering thick upon his lashes.
“our father!” ... once more that familiar appeal of kinship to the divine stole upon the air like a far-off sigh,—then came the sound of regular and quiet breathing;—nature had shed upon the overtaxed brain her balm of blessed unconsciousness,—and like a tired child, the proud el-râmi slept.
