Chapter IV: Part 4

It was yet early in the afternoon when he arrived back in London. He went straight home to his own house, letting himself in as usual with his latch-key. In the hall he paused, listening. He half expected to hear Féraz playing one of his delicious dreamy improvisations,--but there was not a sound anywhere, and the deep silence touched him with an odd sense of disappointment and vague foreboding. His study door stood slightly ajar,--he pushed it wider open very noiselessly and looked in. His young brother was there, seated in a chair near the window, reading. El-Râmi gazed at him dubiously, with a slowly dawning sense that there was some alteration in his appearance which he could not all at once comprehend. Presently he realised that Féraz had evidently yielded to some overwhelming suggestion of personal vanity, which had induced him to put on more brilliant attire. He had changed his plain white linen garb for one of richer material, composed in the same Eastern fashion,--he wore a finely-chased gold belt, from which a gold-sheathed dagger depended,--and a few gold ornaments gleamed here and there among the drawn silken folds of his upper vest. He looked handsome enough for a new Agathon as he sat there apparently absorbed in study,--the big volume he perused resting partly on his knee,--but El-Râmi’s brow contracted with sudden anger as he observed him from the half-open doorway where he stood, himself unseen,--and his dark face grew very pale. He threw the door back on its hinges with a clattering sound and entered the room.

“Féraz!”

Féraz looked up, lifting his eyelids indifferently and smiling coldly.

“What, El-Râmi! Back so early? I did not expect you till nightfall.”

“Did you not?” said his brother, advancing slowly--“Pray how was that? You know I generally return after a night’s absence early in the next day. Where is your usual word of welcome? What ails you? You seem in a very odd humour!”

“Do I?”--and Féraz stretched himself a little,--rose, yawning, and laid down the volume he held on the table--“I am not aware of it myself, I assure you. How did you find your old madman? And did you tell him you were nearly as mad as he?”

El-Râmi’s eyes flashed indignant amazement and wrath.

“Féraz!--What do you mean?”

With a fierce impulsive movement Féraz turned and fully faced him,--all his forced and feigned calmness gone to the winds,--a glowing picture of youth and beauty and rage commingled.

“What do I mean?” he cried--“I mean this! That I am tired of being your slave--your ‘subject’ for conjurer’s tricks of mesmerism,--that from henceforth I resist your power,--that I will not serve you--will not obey you--will not yield--no!--not an inch of my liberty--to your influence,--that I am a free man, as you are, and that I will have the full rights of both my freedom and manhood. You shall play no more with me; I refuse to be your dupe as I have been. This is what I mean!--and as I will have no deception or subterfuge between us,--for I scorn a lie,--hear the truth from me at once;--I know your secret--I have seen Her!”

El-Râmi stood erect,--immovable;--he was very pale; his breath came and went quickly--once his hand clenched, but he said nothing.

“I have seen Her!” cried Féraz again, flinging up his arms with an ecstatic wild gesture--“A creature fairer than any vision!--and you--you have the heart to bind her fast in darkness and in nothingness,--you it is who have shut her sight to the world,--you have made for her, through your horrible skill, a living death in which she knows nothing, feels nothing, sees nothing, loves nothing! I tell you it is a cursed deed you are doing,--a deed worse than murder--I would not have believed it of you! I thought your experiments were all for good,--I never would have deemed you capable of cruelty to a helpless woman! But I will release her from your spells,--she is too beautiful to be made her own living monument,--Zaroba is right--she needs life--joy--love!--she shall have them all;--through _me_!”

He paused, out of breath with the heat and violence of his own emotions;--El-Râmi stood, still immovably regarding him.

“You may be as angered as you please”--went on Féraz with sullen passion--“I care nothing now. It was Zaroba who bade me go up yonder and see her where she slept; ... it was Zaroba----”

“‘The woman tempted me and I did eat--’” quoted El-Râmi coldly,--“Of course it was Zaroba. No other than a woman could thus break a sworn word. Naturally it was Zaroba,--the paid and kept slave of my service, who owes to me her very existence,--who persuaded my brother to dishonour.”

“Dishonour!” and Féraz laid his hand with a quick, almost savage gesture on the hilt of the dagger at his belt. El-Râmi’s dark eyes blazed upon him scornfully.

“So soon a braggart of the knife?” he said. “What theatrical show is this? You--you--the poet, the dreamer, the musician--the gentle lad whose life was one of peaceful and innocent reverie--are you so soon changed to the mere swaggering puppy of manhood who pranks himself out in gaudy clothing, and thinks by vulgar threatening to overawe his betters? If so, ’tis a pity--but I shall not waste time in deploring it. Hear me, Féraz--I said ‘dishonour,’--swallow the word as best you may, it is the only one that fits the act of prying into secrets not your own. But I am not angered,--the mischief wrought is not beyond remedy, and if it were there would be still less use in bewailing it. What is done cannot be undone. Now tell me,--you say you have seen Her. _Whom_ have you seen?”

Féraz regarded him amazedly.

“Whom have I seen?” he echoed--“Whom should I see, if not the girl you keep locked in those upper rooms,--a beautiful maiden, sleeping her life away, in cruel darkness and ignorance of all things true and fair!”

“An enchanted princess, to your fancy--” said El-Râmi derisively. “Well, if you thought so, and if you believed yourself to be a new sort of Prince Charming, why, if she were only sleeping, did you not wake her?”

“Wake her?” exclaimed Féraz excitedly.--“Oh, I would have given my life to see those fringed lids uplift and show the wonders of the eyes beneath! I called her by every endearing name--I took her hands and warmed them in my own--I would have kissed her lips----”

“You dared not!” cried El-Râmi, fired beyond his own control, and making a fierce bound towards him--“You dared not pollute her by your touch!”

Féraz recoiled,--a sudden chill ran through his blood. His brother was transformed with the passion that surged through him,--his eyes flashed--his lips quivered--his very form seemed to tower up and tremble and dilate with rage.

“El-Râmi!” he stammered nervously, feeling all his newly-born defiance and bravado oozing away under the terrible magnetism of this man, whose fury was nearly as electric as that of a sudden thunderstorm,--“El-Râmi, I did no harm,--Zaroba was there beside me----”

“Zaroba!” echoed El-Râmi furiously--“Zaroba would stand by and see an angel violated, and think it the greatest happiness that could befall her sanctity! To be of common clay, with household joys and kitchen griefs, is Zaroba’s idea of noble living. Oh rash unhappy Féraz! you say you know my secret--you do not know it--you cannot guess it! Foolish, ignorant boy!--did you think yourself a new Christ with power to raise the Dead?”

“The dead?” muttered Féraz, with white lips--“The dead? She--the girl I saw--lives and breathes ...”

“By _my_ will alone!” said El-Râmi--“By my force--by my knowledge--by my constant watchful care,--by my control over the subtle threads that connect Spirit with Matter. Otherwise, according to all the laws of ordinary nature, that girl is _dead_--she died in the Syrian desert six years ago!”

XIII.

At these words, pronounced slowly and with emphatic distinctness, Féraz staggered back dizzily and sank into a chair,--drops of perspiration bedewed his forehead, and a sick faint feeling overcame him. He said nothing,--he could find no words in which to express his mingled horror and amazement. El-Râmi watched him keenly,--and presently Féraz, looking up, caught the calm, full, and fiery regard of his brother’s eyes. With a smothered cry, he raised his hands as though to shield himself from a blow.

“I will not have it;”--he muttered faintly--“You shall not force my thoughts,--I will believe nothing against my own will. You shall no longer delude my eyes and ears--I have read--I know,--I know how such trickery is done!”

El-Râmi uttered an impatient exclamation, and paced once or twice up and down the room.

“See here, Féraz;”--he said, suddenly stopping before the chair in which his brother sat,--“I swear to you that I am not exercising one iota of my influence upon you. When I do, I will tell you that you may be prepared to resist me if you choose. I am using no power of any kind upon you--be satisfied of that. But, as you have forced your way into the difficult labyrinth of my life’s work, it is as well that you should have an explanation of what seems to you full of mysterious evil and black magic. You accuse me of wickedness,--you tell me I am guilty of a deed worse than murder. Now this is mere rant and nonsense,--you speak in such utter ignorance of the facts that I forgive you, as one is bound to forgive all faults committed through sheer want of instruction. I do not think I am a wicked man”--he paused, with an earnest, almost pathetic expression on his face--“at least I strive not to be. I am ambitious and sceptical--and I am not altogether convinced of there being any real intention of ultimate good in the arrangements of this world as they at present exist,--but I work without any malicious intention; and without undue boasting I believe I am as honest and conscientious as the best of my kind. But that is neither here nor there,--as I said before, you have broken into a secret not intended for your knowledge--and, that you may not misunderstand me yet more thoroughly than you seem to do, I will tell you what I never wished to bother your brains with. For you have been very happy till now, Féraz--happy in the beautiful simplicity of the life you led--the life of a poet and dreamer,--the happiest life in the world!”

He broke off, with a short sigh of mingled vexation and regret--then he seated himself immediately opposite his brother and went on--

“You were too young to understand the loss it was to us both when our parents died,--or to know the immense reputation our father Nadir Zarânos had won throughout the East for his marvellous skill in natural science and medicine. He died in the prime of his life,--our mother followed him within a month,--and you were left to my charge,--you a child then, and I almost a man. Our father’s small but rare library came into my possession, together with his own manuscripts treating of the scientific and spiritual organisation of Nature in all its branches,--and these opened such extraordinary vistas of possibility to me, as to what might be done if such and such theories could be practically carried out and acted upon, that I became fired with the ardour of discovery. The more I studied, the more convinced and eager I became in the pursuit of such knowledge as is generally deemed supernatural, and beyond the reach of all human inquiry. One or two delicate experiments in chemistry of a rare and subtle nature were entirely successful,--and by and by I began to look about for a subject on whom I could practise the power I had attained. There was no one whom I could personally watch and surround with my hourly influence except yourself,--therefore I made my first great trial upon _you_.”

Féraz moved uneasily in his chair,--his face wore a doubtful, half-sullen expression, but he listened to El-Râmi’s every word with vivid and almost painful interest.

“At that time you were a mere boy--” pursued El-Râmi--“but strong and vigorous, and full of the mischievous pranks and sports customary to healthy boyhood. I began by slow degrees to educate you--not with the aid of schools or tutors--but simply by my Will. You had a singularly unretentive brain,--you were never fond of music--you would never read,--you had no taste for study. Your delight was to ride--to swim like a fish,--to handle a gun--to race, to leap,--to play practical jokes on other boys of your own age and fight them if they resented it;--all very amusing performances no doubt, but totally devoid of intelligence. Judging you dispassionately, I found that you were a very charming gamesome animal,--physically perfect--with a Mind somewhere if one could only discover it, and a Soul or Spirit behind the Mind--if one could only discover that also. I set myself the task of finding out both these hidden portions of your composition--and of not only finding them, but moulding and influencing them according to my desire and plan.”

A faint tremor shook the younger man’s frame--but he said nothing.

“You are attending to me closely, I hope?” said El-Râmi pointedly--“because you must distinctly understand that this conversation is the first and last we shall have on the matter. After to-day, the subject must drop between us for ever, and I shall refuse to answer any more questions. You hear?”

Féraz bent his head.

“I hear--” he answered with an effort--“And what I hear seems strange and terrible!”

“Strange and terrible?” echoed El-Râmi. “How so? What is there strange or terrible in the pursuit of Wisdom? Yet--perhaps you are right, and the blank ignorance of a young child is best,--for there _is_ something appalling in the infinitude of knowledge--an infinitude which must remain infinite, if it be true that there is a God who is for ever thinking, and whose thoughts become realities.”

He paused, with a rapt look,--then resumed in the same even tone,--

“When I had made up my mind to experimentalise upon you, I lost no time in commencing my work. One of my chief desires was to avoid the least risk of endangering your health--your physical condition was admirable, and I resolved to keep it so. In this I succeeded. I made life a joy to you--the mere act of breathing a pleasure--you grew up before my eyes like the vigorous sapling of an oak that rejoices in the mere expansion of its leaves to the fresh air. The other and more subtle task was harder,--it needed all my patience--all my skill,--but I was at last rewarded. Through my concentrated influence, which surrounded you as with an atmosphere in which you moved, and slept, and woke again, and which forced every fibre of your brain to respond to mine, the animal faculties, which were strongest in you, became subdued and tamed,--and the mental slowly asserted themselves. I resolved you should be a poet and musician--you became both; you developed an ardent love of study, and every few months that passed gave richer promise of your ripening intelligence. Moreover, you were happy,--happy in everything--happiest perhaps in your music, which became your leading passion. Having thus, unconsciously to yourself, fostered your mind by the silent workings of my own, and trained it to grow up like a dower to the light, I thought I might make my next attempt, which was to probe for that subtle essence we call the Soul--the large wings that are hidden in the moth’s chrysalis;--and influence that too;--but there--there, by some inexplicable opposition of forces, I was baffled.”

Féraz raised himself half out of his chair, his lips parted in breathless eagerness--his eyes dilated and sparkling.

“Baffled?” he repeated hurriedly--“How do you mean?--in what way?”

“Oh, in various ways--” replied El-Râmi, looking at him with a somewhat melancholy expression--“Ways that I myself am not able to comprehend. I found I could influence your Inner Self to obey me,--but only to a very limited extent, and in mere trifles,--for example, as you yourself know, I could compel you to come to me from a certain distance in response to my thought,--but in higher things you escaped me. You became subject to long trances,--this I was prepared for, as it was partially my work,--and, during these times of physical unconsciousness, it was evident that your Soul enjoyed a life and liberty superior to anything these earth-regions can offer. But you could never remember all you saw in these absences,--indeed, the only suggestions you seem to have brought away from that other state of existence are the strange melodies you play sometimes, and that idea you have about your native Star.”

A curious expression flitted across Féraz’s face as he heard--and his lips parted in a slight smile, but he said nothing.

“Therefore,”--pursued his brother meditatively--“as I could get no clear exposition of other worlds from you, as I had hoped to do, I knew I had failed to command you in a spiritual sense. But my dominance over your mind continued; it continues still,--nay, my good Féraz!”--this, as Féraz seemed about to utter some impetuous word--“Pray that you may never be able to shake off my force entirely,--for, if you do, you will lose what the people of a grander and poetic day called Genius--and what the miserable Dry-as-Dusts of our modern era call Madness--the only gift of the gods that has ever served to enlighten and purify the world. But _your_ genius, Féraz, belongs to _me_;--I gave it to you, and I can take it back again if I so choose;--and leave you as you originally were--a handsome animal with no more true conception of art or beauty than my Lord Melthorpe, or his spendthrift young cousin Vaughan.”

Féraz had listened thus far in silence--but now he sprang out of his chair with a reckless gesture.

“I cannot bear it!” he said--“I cannot bear it! El-Râmi, I cannot--I will not!”

“Cannot bear what?” inquired his brother with a touch of satire in his tone--“Pray be calm!--there is no necessity for such melodramatic excitement. Cannot bear what?”

“I will not owe everything to you!” went on Féraz passionately--“How can I endure to know that my very thoughts are not my own, but emanate from you?--that my music has been instilled into me by you?--that you possess me by your power, body and brain,--great Heaven! it is awful--intolerable--impossible!”

El-Râmi rose and laid one hand gently on his shoulder--he recoiled shudderingly--and the elder man sighed heavily.

“You tremble at my touch,--” he said sadly--“the touch of a hand that has never wilfully wrought you harm, but has always striven to make life beautiful to you? Well!--be it so!--you have only to say the word, Féraz, and you shall owe me nothing. I will undo all I have done,--and you shall reassume the existence for which Nature originally made you--an idle voluptuous wasting of time in sensualism and folly. And even _that_ form of life you must owe to Some One,--even that you must account for--to God!”

The young man’s head drooped,--a faint sense of shame stirred in him, but he was still resentful and sullen.

“What have I done to you,” went on El-Râmi, “that you should turn from me thus, all because you have seen a dead woman’s face for an hour? I have made your thoughts harmonious--I have given you pleasure such as the world’s ways cannot give--your mind has been as a clear mirror in which only the fairest visions of life were reflected. You would alter this?--then do so, if you decide thereon,--but weigh the matter well and long, before you shake off my touch, my tenderness, my care.”

His voice faltered a little--but he quickly controlled his emotion, and continued--

“I must ask you to sit down again and hear me out patiently to the end of my story. At present I have only told you what concerns yourself--and how the failure of my experiment upon the spiritual part of your nature obliged me to seek for another subject on whom to continue my investigations. As far as you are personally concerned, no failure is apparent--for your spirit is allowed frequent intervals of supernatural freedom, in which you have experiences that give you peculiar pleasure, though you are unable to impart them to me with positive lucidity. You visit a Star--so you say--with which you really seem to have some home connection--but you never get beyond this, so that it would appear that any higher insight is denied you. Now what I needed to obtain was not only a higher insight, but the highest knowledge that could possibly be procured through a mingled combination of material and spiritual essences, and it was many a long and weary day before I found what I sought. At last my hour came--as it comes to all who have the patience and fortitude to wait for it.”

He paused a moment--then went on more quickly--

“You remember of course that occasion on which we chanced upon a party of Arab wanderers who were journeying across the Syrian desert?--all poor and ailing, and almost destitute of food or water?”

“I remember it perfectly!” and Féraz, seating himself opposite his brother again, listened with renewed interest and attention.

“They had two dying persons with them,” continued El-Râmi--“An elderly woman--a widow, known as Zaroba,--the other an orphan girl of about twelve years of age named Lilith. Both were perishing of fever and famine. I came to the rescue. I saved Zaroba,--and she, with the passionate impulsiveness of her race, threw herself in gratitude at my feet, and swore by all her most sacred beliefs that she would be my slave from henceforth as long as she lived. All her people were dead, she told me--she was alone in the world--she prayed me to let her be my faithful servant. And truly, her fidelity has never failed--till now. But of that hereafter. The child Lilith, more fragile of frame and weakened to the last extremity of exhaustion--in spite of my unremitting care--died. Do you thoroughly understand me--she _died_.”

“She died!” repeated Féraz slowly--“Well--what then?”

“I was supporting her in my arms”--said El-Râmi, the ardour of his description growing upon him, and his black eyes dilating and burning like great jewels under the darkness of his brows--“when she drew her last breath and sank back--a corpse. But before her flesh had time to stiffen,--before the warmth had gone out of her blood,--an idea, wild and daring, flashed across my mind. ‘If this child has a Soul,’ I said to myself--‘I will stay it in its flight from hence! It shall become the new Ariel of my wish and will--and not till it has performed my bidding to the utmost extent will I, like another Prospero, give it its true liberty. And I will preserve the body, its mortal shell, by artificial means, that through its medium I may receive the messages of the Spirit in mortal language such as I am able to understand.’ No sooner had I conceived my bold project than I proceeded to carry it into execution. I injected into the still warm veins of the dead girl a certain fluid whose properties I alone know the working of--and then I sought and readily obtained permission from the Arabs to bury her in the desert, while they went on their way. They were in haste to continue their journey, and were grateful to me for taking this office off their hands. That very day--the day the girl died--I sent _you_ from me, as you know, bidding you make all possible speed, on an errand which I easily invented, to the Brethren of the Cross in the Island of Cyprus,--you went obediently enough,--surprised perhaps, but suspecting nothing. That same evening, when the heats abated and the moon rose, the caravan resumed its pilgrimage, leaving Lilith’s dead body with me, and also the woman Zaroba, who volunteered to remain and serve me in my tent, an offer which I accepted, seeing that it was her own desire, and that she would be useful to me. She, poor silly soul, took me then for a sort of god, because she was unable to understand the miracle of her own recovery from imminent death, and I felt certain I could rely upon her fidelity. Part of my plan I told her,--she heard with mingled fear and reverence,--the magic of the East was in her blood, however, and she had a superstitious belief that a truly ‘wise man’ could do anything. So, for several days we stayed encamped in the desert--I passing all my hours beside the dead Lilith,--dead, but to a certain extent living through artificial means. As soon as I received proof positive that my experiment was likely to be successful, I procured means to continue my journey on to Alexandria, and thence to England. To all inquirers I said the girl was a patient of mine who was suffering from epileptic trances, and the presence of Zaroba, who filled her post admirably as nurse and attendant, was sufficient to stop the mouths of would-be scandal-mongers. I chose my residence in London, because it is the largest city in the world, and the one most suited to pursue a course of study in, without one’s motives becoming generally known. One can be more alone in London than in a desert if one chooses. Now, you know all. You have seen the dead Lilith,--the human chrysalis of the moth,--but there is a living Lilith too--the Soul of Lilith, which is partly free and partly captive, but in both conditions is always the servant of my Will!”

Féraz looked at him in mingled awe and fear.

“El-Râmi,”--he said tremulously--“What you tell me is wonderful--terrible--almost beyond belief,--but, I know something of your power and I must believe you. Only--surely you are in error when you say that Lilith is dead? How can she be dead, if you have given her life?”

“Can you call that life which sleeps perpetually and will not wake?” demanded El-Râmi.

“Would you have her wake?” asked Féraz, his heart beating quickly.

El-Râmi bent his burning gaze upon him.

“Not so,--for if she wakes, in the usual sense of waking--she dies a second death from which there can be no recall. There is the terror of the thing. Zaroba’s foolish teaching, and your misguided yielding to her temptation, might have resulted in the fatal end to my life’s best and grandest work. But--I forgive you;--you did not know,--and she--she did not wake.”

“She did not wake,” echoed Féraz softly. “No--but--she smiled!”

El-Râmi still kept his eyes fixed upon him,--there was an odd sense of irritation in his usually calm and coldly balanced organisation--a feeling he strove in vain to subdue. She smiled!--the exquisite Lilith--the life-in-death Lilith smiled, because Féraz had called her by some endearing name! Surely it could not be!--and, smothering his annoyance, he turned towards the writing-table and feigned to arrange some books and papers there.

“El-Râmi--” murmured Féraz again, but timidly--“If she was a child when she died as you say--how is it she has grown to womanhood?”

“By artificial vitality,”--said El-Râmi--“As a flower is forced under a hothouse,--and with no more trouble, and less consciousness of effort than a rose under a glass dome.”

“Then she lives,--” declared Féraz impetuously. “She lives,--artificial or natural, she _has_ vitality. Through your power she exists, and if you chose, oh, if you chose, El-Râmi, you could wake her to the fullest life--to perfect consciousness,--to joy--to love!--Oh, she is in a blessed trance--you cannot call her _dead_!”

El-Râmi turned upon him abruptly.

“Be silent!” he said sternly--“I read your thoughts,--control them, if you are wise! You echo Zaroba’s prating--Zaroba’s teaching. Lilith is dead, I tell you,--dead to you,--and, in the sense _you_ mean--dead to me.”

XIV.

After this, a long silence fell between them. Féraz sat moodily in his chair, conscious of a certain faint sense of shame. He was sorry that he had wilfully trespassed upon his brother’s great secret,--and yet there was an angry pride in him,--a vague resentment at having been kept so long in ignorance of this wonderful story of Lilith,--which made him reluctant to acknowledge himself in the wrong. Moreover, his mind was possessed and haunted by Lilith’s face,--the radiant face that looked like that of an angel sleeping,--and, perplexedly thinking over all he had heard, he wondered if he would ever again have the opportunity of beholding what had seemed to him the incarnation of ideal loveliness. Surely yes!--Zaroba would be his friend,--Zaroba would let him gaze his fill on that exquisite form--would let him touch that little, ethereally delicate hand, as soft as velvet and as white as snow! Absorbed in these reflections, he scarcely noticed that El-Râmi had moved away from him to the writing-table, and that he now sat there in his ebony chair, turning over the leaves of the curious Arabic volume which Féraz had had such trouble in deciphering on the previous day. The silence in the room continued; outside there was the perpetual sullen roar of raging restless London,--now and again the sharp chirruping of contentious sparrows, arguing over a crumb of food as parliamentary agitators chatter over a crumb of difference, stirred the quiet air. Féraz stretched himself and yawned,--he was getting sleepy, and as he realised this fact he nervously attributed it to his brother’s influence, and sprang up abruptly, rubbing his eyes and pushing his thick hair from his brows. At this hasty movement, El-Râmi turned slowly towards him with a grave yet kindly smile.

“Well, Féraz”--he said--“Do you still think me ‘wicked’ now you know all? Speak frankly--do not be afraid.”

Féraz paused, irresolute.

“I do not know what to think--” he answered hesitatingly,--“Your experiment is of course wonderful,--but--as I said before--to me, it seems terrible.”

“Life is terrible--” said El-Râmi--“Death is terrible,--Love is terrible,--God is terrible. All Nature’s pulses beat to the note of Terror,--terror of the Unknown that May Be,--terror of the Known that Is!”

His deep voice rang with impressive solemnity through the room,--his eyes were full of that strange lurid gleam which gave them the appearance of having a flame behind them.

“Come here, Féraz,” he continued--“Why do you stand at so cautious a distance from me? With that brave show-dagger at your belt, are you a coward? Silly lad!--I swear to you my influence shall not touch you unless I warn you of it beforehand. Come!”

Féraz obeyed, but slowly and with an uncertain step. His brother looked at him attentively as he came,--then, with a gesture indicating the volume before him, he said--

“You found this book on my table yesterday, and tried to read it,--is it not so?”

“I did.”

“Well, and have you learnt anything from it?” pursued El-Râmi with a strange smile.

“Yes. I learnt how the senses may be deceived by trickery--” retorted Féraz with some heat and quickness--“and how a clever magnetiser--like yourself--may fool the eye and delude the ear with sights and sounds that have no existence.”

“Precisely. Listen to this passage;”--and El-Râmi read aloud--“‘The King, when he had any affair, assembled the Priests without the City Memphis, and the People met together in the streets of the said City. Then they (the Priests) made their entrance one after another in order, the drum beating before them to bring the people together; and every one made some miraculous discovery of his Magick and Wisdom. One had, _to their thinking who looked on him_, his face surrounded with a light like that of the Sun, so that none could look earnestly upon him. Another seemed clad with a Robe beset with precious stones of divers colours, green, red, or yellow, or wrought with gold. Another came mounted on a Lion compassed with Serpents like Girdles. Another came in covered with a canopy or pavilion of Light. Another appeared surrounded with Fire turning about him, so as that nobody durst come near him. Another was seen with dreadful birds perching about his head and shaking their wings like black eagles and vultures. In fine, every one did what was taught him;--_yet all was but Apparition and Illusion without any reality_, insomuch that when they came up to the King they spake thus to him:--_You imagined that it was so and so,--but the truth is that it was such or such a thing_.’[2] The A B C of magnetism is contained in the last words--” continued El-Râmi, lifting his eyes from the book,--“The merest tyro in the science knows that; and also realises that the Imagination is the centre of both physical and bodily health or disease. And did you learn nothing more?”

Féraz made a half-angry gesture in the negative.

“What a pity!”--and his brother surveyed him with good-humoured compassion--“To know how a ‘miracle’ is done is one thing--but to do it is quite another matter. Now let me recall to your mind what I previously told you--that from this day henceforth I forbid you to make any allusion to the subject of my work. I forbid you to mention the name of Lilith,--and I forbid you to approach or to enter the room where her body lies. You understand me?--I forbid you!”

Féraz’s eyes flashed angry opposition, and he drew himself up with a haughty self-assertiveness.

“You forbid me!” he echoed proudly--“What right have you to forbid me anything? And how if I refuse to obey?”

El-Râmi rose and confronted him, one hand resting on the big Arabic volume.

“You will not refuse--” he said--“because I will take no refusal. You will obey, because I exact your obedience. Moreover, you will swear by the Most Holy Name of God, that you will never, either to me, or to any other living soul, speak a syllable concerning my life’s greatest experiment,--you will swear that the name of Lilith shall never pass your lips----”

But here Féraz interrupted him.

“El-Râmi, I will _not_ swear!” he cried desperately--“The name of Lilith is sweet to me!--why should I not utter it,--why should I not sing of it--why should I not even remember it in my prayers?”

A terrible look darkened El-Râmi’s countenance; his brows contracted darkly, and his lips drew together in a close resolute line.

“There are a thousand reasons why--” he said in low fierce accents,--“One is, that the soul of Lilith and the body of Lilith are _mine_, and that you have no share in their possession. She does not need your songs--still less has she need of your prayers. Rash fool!--you shall forget the name of Lilith--and you _shall_ swear, as I command you. Resist my will if you can,--now!--I warn you in time!”

He seemed to grow in height as he spoke,--his eyes blazed ominously, and Féraz, meeting that lightning-like glance, knew how hopeless it would be for him to attempt to oppose such an intense force as was contained in this man’s mysterious organisation. He tried his best,--but in vain,--with every second he felt his strength oozing out of him--his power of resistance growing less and less.

“Swear!” said El-Râmi imperatively--“Swear in God’s Name to keep my secret--swear by Christ’s Death!--swear on _this_!”

And he held out a small golden crucifix.

Mechanically, but still devoutly, Féraz instantly dropped on one knee, and kissed the holy emblem.

“I swear!” he said--but, as he spoke, the rising tears were in his throat, and he murmured--“Forget the name of Lilith!--never!”

“In God’s Name!” said El-Râmi.

“In God’s Name!”

“By Christ’s Death!”

Féraz trembled. In the particular form of religion professed by himself and his brother, this was the most solemn and binding vow that could be taken. And his voice was faint and unsteady as he repeated it--

“By Christ’s Death!”

El-Râmi put aside the crucifix.

“That is well;--” he said, in mild accents which contrasted agreeably with his previous angry tone--“Such oaths are chronicled in heaven, remember,--and whoever breaks his sworn word is accursed of the gods. But you,--you will keep your vow, Féraz,--and ... you will also forget the name of Lilith,--if I choose!”

Féraz stood mute and motionless,--he would have said something, but somehow words failed him to express what was in his mind. He was angry, he said to himself,--he had sworn a foolish oath against his will, and he had every right to be angry--very angry,--but with whom? Surely not with his brother--his friend,--his protector for so many years? As he thought of this, shame and penitence and old affection grew stronger and welled up in his heart, and he moved slowly towards El-Râmi, with hands outstretched.

“Forgive me;”--he said humbly. “I have offended you--I am sorry. I will show my repentance in whatever way you please,--but do not, El-Râmi--do not ask me, do not force me to forget the name of Lilith,--it is like a note in music, and it cannot do you harm that I should think of it sometimes. For the rest I will obey you faithfully,--and, for what is past, I ask your pardon.”

El-Râmi took his hands and pressed them affectionately in his own.

“No sooner asked than granted--” he said--“You are young, Féraz,--and I am not so harsh as you perhaps imagine. The impulsiveness of youth should always be quickly pardoned--seeing how gracious a thing youth is, and how short a time it lasts. Keep your poetic dreams and fancies--take the sweetness of thought without its bitterness,--and, if you are content to have it so, let me still help to guide your fate. If not, why, nothing is easier than to part company,--part as good friends and brethren always,--you on your chosen road and I on mine,--who knows but that after all you might n be happier so?”

Féraz lifted his dark eyes, heavy with unshed tears.

“Would you send me from you?” he asked falteringly.

“Not I! I would not send you,--but you might wish to go.”

“Never!” said Féraz resolutely--“I feel that I must stay with you--till the end.”

He uttered the last words with a sigh, and El-Râmi looked at him curiously.

“Till the end?”--he repeated--“What end?”

“Oh, the end of life or death or anything;” replied Féraz with forced lightness--“There must surely be an end somewhere, as there was a beginning.”

“That is rather a doubtful problem!” said El-Râmi--“The great question is, was there ever a Beginning? and will there ever be an End?”

Féraz gave a languid gesture.

“You inquire too far,”--he said wearily--“I always think you inquire too far. I cannot follow you--I am tired. Do you want anything?--can I do anything? or may I go to my room? I want to be alone for a little while, just to consider quietly what my life is, and what I can make of it.”

“A truly wise and philosophical subject of meditation!” observed El-Râmi, and he smiled kindly and held out his hand. Féraz laid his own slender fingers somewhat listlessly in that firm warm palm;--then--with a sudden start, looked eagerly around him. The air seemed to have grown denser,--there was a delicious scent of roses in the room, and hush! ... What entrancing voices were those that sang in the distance? He listened absorbed;--the harmonies were very sweet and perfect--almost he thought he could distinguish words. Loosening his hand from his brother’s clasp, the melody seemed to grow fainter and fainter,--recognising this, he roused himself with a quick movement, his eyes flashing with a sudden gleam of defiance.

“More magic music!” he said--“I hear the sound of singing, and you _know_ that I hear it! I understand!--it is _imagined_ music--your work, El-Râmi,--your skill. It is wonderful, beautiful,--and you are the most marvellous man on earth!--you should have been a priest of old Egypt! Yes--I am tired--I will rest;--I will accept the dreams you offer me for what they are worth,--but I must remember that there are realities as well as dreams,--and I shall not forget the name of--Lilith!”

He smiled audaciously, looking as graceful as a pictured Adonis in the careless yet proud attitude he had unconsciously assumed,--then with a playful yet affectionate salutation he moved to the doorway.

“Call me if you want me,” he said.

“I shall not want you;”--replied his brother, regarding him steadily.

The door opened and closed again,--Féraz was gone.

Shutting up the great volume in front of him, El-Râmi rested his arms upon it, and stared into vacancy with darkly-knitted brows.

“What premonition of evil is there in the air?” he muttered--“What restless emotion is at work within me? Are the Fates turning against me?--and am I after all nothing but the merest composition of vulgar matter--a weak human wretch capable of being swayed by changeful passions? What is it? What am I that I should vex my spirit thus--all because Lilith smiled at the sound of a voice that was not mine?”

XV.

Just then there came a light tap at his door. He opened it,--and Zaroba stood before him. No repentance for her fault of disobedience and betrayal of trust clouded that withered old face of hers,--her deep-set dark eyes glittered with triumph, and her whole aspect was one of commanding, and almost imperious, dignity. In fact, she made such an ostentatious show of her own self-importance in her look and manner that El-Râmi stared at her for a moment in haughty amazement at what he considered her effrontery in thus boldly facing him after her direct violation of his commands. He eyed her up and down--she returned him glance for glance unquailingly.

“Let me come in--” she said in her strong harsh voice--“I make no doubt but that the poor lad Féraz has told you his story--now, as God liveth, you must hear mine.”

El-Râmi turned upon his heel with a contemptuous movement, and went back to his own chair by the writing-table. Zaroba, paying no heed to the wrath conveyed by this mute action, stalked in also, and, shutting the door after her, came and stood close beside him.

“Write down what you think of me--” she said, pointing with her yellow forefinger at the pens and paper--“Write the worst. I have betrayed my trust. That is true. I have disobeyed your commands after keeping them for six long years. True again. What else?”

El-Râmi fixed his eyes upon her, a world of indignation and reproach in their brilliant depths, and snatching up a pencil he wrote on a slip of paper rapidly--

“Nothing else--nothing more than treachery! You are unworthy of your sacred task--you are false to your sworn fidelity.”

Zaroba read the lines as quickly as he wrote them, but when she came to the last words she made a swift gesture of denial, and drew herself up haughtily.

“No--not false!” she said passionately--“Not false to _you_, El-Râmi, I swear! I would slay myself rather than do you wrong. You saved my life, though my life was not worth saving, and for that gentle deed I would pour out every drop of my blood to requite you. No, no! Zaroba is not false--she is true!”

She tossed up her arms wildly,--then suddenly folding them tight across her chest, she dropped her voice to a gentler and more appealing tone.

“Hear me, El-Râmi!--Hear me, wise man and Master of the magic of the East!--I have done well for you;--well! I have disobeyed you for your own sake,--I have betrayed my trust that you may discover how and where you may find your best reward. I have sinned with the resolved intent to make you happy,--as God liveth, I speak truth from my heart and soul!”

El-Râmi turned towards her, his face expressing curiosity in spite of himself. He was very pale, and outwardly he was calm enough--but his nerves were on the rack of suspense--he wondered what sudden frenzied idea had possessed this woman that she should comport herself as though she held some strange secret of which the very utterance might move heaven and earth to wonderment. Controlling his feelings with an effort he wrote again--

“There exists no reason for disloyalty. Your excuses avail nothing--let me hear no more of them. Tell me of Lilith--what news?”

“News!” repeated Zaroba scornfully--“What news should there be? She breathes and sleeps as she has breathed and slept always--she has not stirred. There is no harm done by my bidding Féraz look on her,--no change is wrought except in _you_, El-Râmi!--except in you!”

Half springing from his chair he confronted her--then recollecting her deafness, he bit his lips angrily and sank back again with an assumed air of indifference.

“You have heard Féraz--” pursued Zaroba, with that indescribable triumph of hers lighting up her strong old face--“You must now hear me. I thank the gods that my ears are closed to the sound of human voices, and that neither reproach nor curse can move me to dismay. And I am ignorant of _your_ magic, El-Râmi,--the magic that chills the blood and sends the spirit flitting through the land of dreams,--the only magic _I_ know is the magic of the heart--of the passions,--a natural witchcraft that conquers the world!”

She waved her arms to and fro--then crossing them on her bosom, she made a profound half-mocking salutation.

“Wise El-Râmi Zarânos!” she said. “Proud ruler of the arts and sciences that govern Nature,--have you ever, with all your learning, taken the measure of your own passions, and slain them so utterly that they shall never rise up again? They sleep at times, like the serpents of the desert, coiled up in many a secret place,--but at the touch of some unwary heel, some casual falling pebble, they unwind their lengths--they raise their glittering heads, and sting! I, Zaroba, have felt them here”--and she pressed her hands more closely on her breast--“I have felt their poison in my blood--sweet poison, sweeter than life!--their stings have given me all the joy my days have ever known. But it is not of myself that I should speak--it is of you--of you, whose life is lonely, and for whom the coming years hold forth no prospect of delight. When I lay dying in the desert and you restored me to strength again, I swore to serve you with fidelity. As God liveth, El-Râmi, I have kept my vow,--and in return for the life you gave me I bid you take what is yours to claim--the love of Lilith!”

El-Râmi rose out of his chair, white to the lips, and his hand shook. If he could have concentrated his inward forces at that moment, he would have struck Zaroba dumb by one effort of his will, and so put an end to her undesired eloquence,--but something, he knew not what, disturbed the centre of his self-control, and his thoughts were in a whirl. He despised himself for the unusual emotion which seized him--inwardly he was furious with the garrulous old woman,--but outwardly he could only make her an angry imperative sign to be silent.

“Nay, I will not cease from speaking--” said Zaroba imperturbably--“for all has to be said now, or never. The love of Lilith! imagine it, El-Râmi!--the clinging of her young white arms--the kisses of her sweet red mouth,--the open glances of her innocent eyes--all this is yours, if you but say the word. Listen! For six and more long years I have watched her,--and I have watched _you_. She has slept the sleep of death-in-life, for you have willed it so,--and in that sleep she has imperceptibly passed from childhood to womanhood. You--cold as a man of bronze or marble,--have made of her nothing but a ‘subject’ for your science,--and never a breath of love or longing on your part, or even admiration for her beauty, has stirred the virgin-trance in which she lies. And I have marvelled at it--I have thought--and I have prayed;--the gods have answered me, and now I know!”

She clapped her hands ecstatically, and then went on.

“The child Lilith died,--but you, El-Râmi, you caused her to live again. And she lives still--yes, though it may suit your fancy to declare her dead. She is a woman--you are a man;--you dare not keep her longer in that living death--you dare not doom her to perpetual darkness!--the gods would curse you for such cruelty, and who may abide their curse? I, Zaroba, have sworn it--Lilith shall know the joys of love!--and you, El-Râmi Zarânos, shall be her lover!--and for this holy end I have employed the talisman which alone sets fire to the sleeping passions...” and she craned her neck forward and almost hissed the word in his ear--“Jealousy!”

El-Râmi smiled--a cold derisive smile, which implied the most utter contempt for the whole of Zaroba’s wild harangue. She, however, went on undismayed, and with increasing excitement--

“Jealousy!” she cried--“The little asp is in your soul already, proud El-Râmi Zarânos, and why? Because another’s eyes have looked on Lilith! This was my work! It was I who led Féraz into her chamber,--it was I who bade him kneel beside her as she slept,--it was I who let him touch her hand,--and though I could not hear his voice I know he called upon her to awaken. In vain!--he might as well have called the dead--I knew she would not stir for him--her very breath belongs to you. But I--I let him gaze upon her beauty and worship it,--all his young soul was in his eyes--he looked and looked again and _loved_ what he beheld! And mark me yet further, El-Râmi,--I saw her smile when Féraz took her hand,--so, though she did not move, she _felt_; she felt a touch that was not yours,--not yours, El-Râmi!--as God liveth, she is not quite so much your own as once she was!”

As she said this and laughed in that triumphant way, El-Râmi advanced one step towards her with a fierce movement as though he would have thrust her from the room,--checking himself, however, he seized the pencil again and wrote--

“I have listened to you with more patience than you deserve. You are an ignorant woman and foolish--your fancies have no foundation whatever in fact. Your disobedience might have ruined my life’s work,--as it is, I daresay some mischief has been done. Return to your duties, and take heed how you trespass against my command in future. If you dare to speak to me on this subject again I will have you shipped back to your own land and left there, as friendless and as unprovided for as you were when I saved you from death by famine. Go--and let me hear no more foolishness.”

Zaroba read, and her face darkened and grew weary--but the pride and obstinacy of her own convictions remained written on every line of her features. She bowed her head resignedly, however, and said in slow even tones--

“El-Râmi Zarânos is wise,--El-Râmi Zarânos is master. But let him remember the words of Zaroba. Zaroba is also skilled in the ways and the arts of the East,--and the voice of Fate speaks sometimes to the lowest as well as to the highest. There are the laws of Life and the laws of Death--but there are also the laws of Love. Without the laws of Love, the Universe would cease to be,--it is for El-Râmi Zarânos to prove himself stronger than the Universe,--if he can!”

She made the usual obsequious “salaam” common to Eastern races, and then with a swift, silent movement left the room, closing the door noiselessly behind her. El-Râmi stood where she had left him, idly tearing up the scraps of paper on which he had written his part of the conversation,--he was hardly conscious of thought, so great were his emotions of surprise and self-contempt.

“‘O what a rogue and peasant-slave am I!’” he muttered, quoting his favourite _Hamlet_--“Why did I not paralyse her tongue before she spoke? Where had fled my force,--what became of my skill? Surely I could have struck her down before me with the speed of a lightning-flash--only--she is a woman--and old. Strange how these feminine animals always harp on the subject of love, as though it were the Be-all and End-all of everything. The love of Lilith! Oh fool! The love of a corpse kept breathing by artificial means! And what of the Soul of Lilith? Can It love? Can It hate? Can It even feel? Surely not. It is an ethereal transparency,--a delicate film which takes upon itself the reflex of all existing things without experiencing personal emotion. Such is the Soul, as I believe in it--an immortal Essence, in itself formless, yet capable of taking all forms,--ignorant of the joys or pains of feeling, yet reflecting all shades of sensation as a crystal reflects all colours in the prism. This, and no more.”

He paced up and down the room--and a deep involuntary sigh escaped him.

“No--” he murmured, as though answering some inward query--“No, I will not go to her now--not till the appointed time. I resolved on an absence of forty-eight hours, and forty-eight hours it shall be. Then I will go,--and she will tell me all--I shall know the full extent of the mischief done. And so Féraz ‘looked and looked again, and _loved_ what he beheld!’ Love! The very word seems like a desecrating blot on the virgin soul of Lilith!”

XVI.