ELISHA: 
    Daughter of Israel, what dost thou here? 
    Thy prayer is granted.  Naaman is healed: 
    Mar not true service with a selfish thought. 
    Nothing remains for thee to do, except
    Give thanks, and go whither the Lord commands. 
    Obey,—­obey!  Ere Naaman returns
    Thou must depart to thine own house in Shechem.

        [The vision vanishes.]

RUAHMAH:  [Waking and rising slowly.]
    A dream, a dream, a messenger of God! 
    O dear and dreadful vision, art thou true? 
    Then am I glad with all my broken heart. 
    Nothing remains,—­nothing remains but this,—­
    Give thanks, obey, depart,—­and so I do. 
    Farewell, my master’s sword!  Farewell to you,
    My amulet!  I lay you on the hilt
    His hand shall clasp again:  bid him farewell
    For me, since I must look upon his face
    No more for ever!—­Hark, what sound was that?

        [Enter soldier hurriedly.]

SOLDIER: 
    Mistress, an armed troop, footmen and horse,
    Mounting the hill!

RUAHMAH: 
                        My lord returns in triumph.

SOLDIER: 
    Not so, for these are enemies; they march
    In haste and silence, answering not our cries.

RUAHMAH: 
    Our enemies?  Then hold your ground,—­on guard! 
    Fight! fight!  Defend the pass, and drive them down.

[Exit soldier.  RUAHMAH draws NAAMAN’S sword from
the scabbard and hurries out of the tent.  Confused
noise of fighting outside.  Three or four soldiers
are driven in by a troop of men in disguise. 
RUAHMAH follows:  she is beaten to her knees,
and her sword is broken.]

REZON:  [Throwing aside the cloth which covers his face.]
    Hold her!  So, tiger-maid, we’ve found your lair
    And trapped you.  Where is Naaman,
    Your master?

RUAHMAH:  [Rising, her arms held by two of REZON’S followers.]
                  He is far beyond your reach.

REZON: 
    Brave captain!  He has saved himself, the leper,
    And left you here?

RUAHMAH: 
                        The leper is no more.

REZON: 
    What mean you?

RUAHMAH: 
                    He has gone to meet his God.

REZON: 
    Dead?  Dead?  Behold how Rimmon’s wrath is swift! 
    Damascus shall be mine; I’ll terrify
    The King with this, and make my terms.  But no! 
    False maid, you sweet-faced harlot, you have lied
    To save him,—­speak.

RUAHMAH: 
                          I am not what you say,
    Nor have I lied, nor will I ever speak
    A word to you, vile servant of a traitor-god.

REZON: 
    Break off this little flute of blasphemy,
    This ivory neck,—­twist it, I say! 
    Give her a swift despatch after her leper! 
    But stay,—­if he