RUAHMAH:  [At his feet.]
  Nay, not alone, dear lord, for I am here;
  And I will never leave thee, nor forsake thee!

NAAMAN: 
  What voice is that?  The silence of my tomb
  Is broken by a ray of music,—­whose?

RUAHMAH:  [Rising.]
  The one who loves thee best in all the world.

NAAMAN: 
  Why that should be,—­O dare I dream it true? 
  Tsarpi, my wife?  Have I misjudged thy heart
  As cold and proud?  How nobly thou forgivest! 
  Thou com’st to hold me from the last disgrace,—­
  The coward’s flight into the dark.  Go back
  Unstained, my sword!  Life is endurable
  While there is one alive on earth who loves us,

RUAHMAH: 
  My lord,—­my lord,—­O listen!  You have erred,—­
  You do mistake me now,—­this dream—­

NAAMAN: 
  Ah, wake me not!  For I can conquer death
  Dreaming this dream.  Let me at last believe,
  Though gods are cruel, a woman can be kind. 
  Grant me but this!  For see,—­I ask so little,—­
  Only to know that thou art faithful,—­
  Only to lean upon the thought that thou,
  My wife, art near me, though I touch thee not,—­
  O this will hold me up, though it be given
  From pity more than love.

RUAHMAH:  [Trembling, and speaking slowly.]
        Not so, my lord! 
  My pity is a stream; my pride of thee
  Is like the sea that doth engulf the stream;
  My love for thee is like the sovran moon
  That rules the sea.  The tides that fill my soul
  Flow unto thee and follow after thee;
  And where thou goest I will go; and where
  Thou diest I will die,—­in the same hour.

[She lays her hand on his arm.  He draws back.]

NAAMAN: 
  O touch me not!  Thou shall not share my doom.

RUAHMAH: 
  Entreat me not to go.  I will obey
  In all but this; but rob me not of this,—­
  The only boon that makes life worth the living,—­
  To walk beside thee day by day, and keep
  Thy foot from stumbling; to prepare thy food
  When thou art hungry, music for thy rest,
  And cheerful words to comfort thy black hour;
  And so to lead thee ever on, and on,
  Through darkness, till we find the door of hope.

NAAMAN: 
  What word is that?  The leper has no hope.

RUAHMAH: 
  Dear lord, the mark upon thy brow is yet
  No broader than my little finger-nail. 
  Thy force is not abated, and thy step
  Is firm.  Wilt thou surrender to the enemy
  Before thy strength is touched?  Why, let me put
  A drop of courage from my breast in thine. 
  There is a hope for thee.  The captive maid
  Of Israel who dwelt within thy house
  Knew of a god very compassionate,
  Long-suffering, slow to anger, one who heals
  The sick, hath pity on the fatherless,
  And saves the poor and him who has no