Delphi Collected Works of Marie Corelli (Illustrated) (Delphi Series Eight Book 22)

by Marie Corelli

  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 organization. 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 not 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!”

  CHAPTER 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!”r />
  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 dare say 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.