SABALLIDIN: 
        No more than this?

RUAHMAH: 
  Yes, if you will, take all the thanks my hands
  Can hold, my lips can speak.

SABALLIDIN: 
        I would have more.

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: 
        And therefore 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!