(starts—composes herself—then offers to fall at his feet)
’Tis he—my saviour! ah!
TEMPLAR.
This to avoid
Have I alone deferred my call so long.
RECHA.
Yes, at the feet of this proud man, I will
Thank—God alone. The man will have no thanks;
No more than will the bucket which was busy
In showering watery damps upon the flame.
That was filled, emptied—but to me, to thee
What boots it? So the man—he too, he too
Was thrust, he knew not how, and the fire.
I dropped, by chance, into his open arm.
By chance, remained there—like a fluttering spark
Upon his mantle—till—I know not what
Pushed us both from amid the conflagration.
What room is here for thanks? How oft in Europe
Wine urges men to very different deeds!
Templars must so behave; it is their office,
Like better taught or rather handier spaniels,
To fetch from out of fire, as out of water.
TEMPLAR.
Oh Daya, Daya, if, in hasty moments
Of care and of chagrin, my unchecked temper
Betrayed me into rudeness, why convey
To her each idle word that left my tongue?
This is too piercing a revenge indeed;
Yet if henceforth thou wilt interpret better—
DAYA.
I question if these barbed words, Sir Knight,
Alighted so, as to have much disserved you.