RUAHMAH: 
    My friend, there’s nothing more to give to you. 
    My service to my lord is absolute. 
    There’s not a drop of blood within my veins
    But quickens at the very thought of him;
    And not a dream of mine but he doth stand
    Within its heart and make it bright.  No man
    To me is other than his friend or foe. 
    You are his friend, and I believe you true!

SABALLIDIN: 
    I have been true to him,—­now, I am true
    To you.

RUAHMAH: 
            Why, then, be doubly true to him. 
    O let us match our loyalties, and strive
    Between us who shall win the higher crown! 
    Men boast them of a friendship stronger far
    Than love of woman.  Prove it!  I’ll not boast,
    But I’ll contend with you on equal terms
    In this brave race:  and if you win the prize
    I’ll hold you next to him:  and if I win
    He’ll hold you next to me; and either way
    We’ll not be far apart.  Do you accept
    My challenge?

SABALLIDIN: 
                  Yes!  For you enforce my heart
    By honour to resign its great desire,
    And love itself to offer sacrifice
    Of all disloyal dreams on its own altar. 
    Yet love remains; therefore I pray you, think
    How surely you must lose in our contention. 
    For I am known to Naaman:  but you
    He blindly takes for Tsarpi.  ’Tis to her
    He gives his gratitude:  the praise you win
    Endears her name.

RUAHMAH: 
                      Her name?  Why, what is that? 
    A name is but an empty shell, a mask
    That does not change the features of the face
    Beneath it.  Can a name rejoice, or weep,
    Or hope?  Can it be moved by tenderness
    To daily services of love, or feel the warmth
    Of dear companionship?  How many things
    We call by names that have no meaning!  Kings
    That cannot rule; and gods that are not good;
    And wives that do not love!  It matters not
    What syllables he utters when he calls,
    ’Tis I who come,—­’tis I who minister
    Unto my lord, and mine the living heart
    That feels the comfort of his confidence,
    The thrill of gladness when he speaks to me,—­
    I do not hear the name!

SABALLIDIN: 
                            And yet, be sure
    There’s danger in this error,—­and no gain!

RUAHMAH: 
    I seek no gain:  I only tread the path
    Marked for me daily by the hand of love. 
    And if his blindness spared my lord one pang
    Of sorrow in his black, forsaken hour,—­
    And if this error makes his burdened heart
    More quiet, and his shadowed way less dark,
    Whom do I rob?  Not her who chose to stay
    At ease in Rimmon’s House!  Surely not him! 
    Only myself!  And that enriches me. 
    Why trouble we the master?  Let it go,—­
    To-morrow he must know the truth,—­and then
    He shall dispose of me e’en as he will!