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,
    That thou 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 sovereign 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 shalt 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 helper. 
    His prophet dwells nigh to Samaria;
    And I have heard that he hath brought the dead
    To life again.  We’ll go to him.  The King,
    If I beseech him, will appoint a guard
    Of thine own soldiers and Saballidin,
    Thy friend, to convoy us upon our journey. 
    He’ll give us royal letters to the King
    Of Israel to make our welcome sure;
    And we will take the open road, beneath
    The open sky, to-morrow, and go on
    Together till we find the door of hope. 
    Come, come with me!

[She grasps his hand.]

NAAMAN:  [Drawing back.]
    Thou must not touch me!

RUAHMAH:  [Unclasping her girdle and putting the end in his hand.]
                            Take my girdle, then!

NAAMAN:  [Kissing the clasp of the girdle.]
    I do begin to think there is a God,
    Since love on earth can work such miracles: