Naaman: [Touching her arm.]
Dost call this nothing?
Ruahmah:
Since my lord is come!
Naaman:
I do not know thy face,—who art thou, child?
Ruahmah:
The handmaid of thy wife.
Naaman:
Whence comest thou?
Thy voice is like thy mistress, but thy looks
Have something foreign. Tell thy name, thy land.
Ruahmah:
Ruahmah is my name, a captive maid,
The daughter of a prince in Israel,
Where once, in olden days, I saw my lord
Ride through our highlands, when Samaria
Was allied with Damascus to defeat
Our common foe.
Naaman:
And thou rememberest this?
Ruahmah:
As clear as yesterday! Master, I saw
Thee riding on a snow-white horse beside
Our king; and all we joyful little maids
Strewed boughs of palm along the victors' way,
For you had driven out the enemy,
Broken; and both our lands were friends and free.
Naaman: [Sadly.]
Well, they are past, those noble days! The days
When nations would imperil all to keep
Their liberties, are only memories now.
The common cause is lost,—and thou art brought,
The captive of some mercenary raid,
Some skirmish of a gold-begotten war,
To serve within my house. Dost thou fare well?
Ruahmah:
Master, thou seest.