Saballidin:
In Damascus.
She left you when the curse of Rimmon fell,—
Took refuge in his House,—and there she waits
Her lord's return,—Rezon's return.
Naaman:
'Tis false!
Saballidin:
The falsehood is in her. She hath been friend
With Rezon in his priestly plot to win
Assyria's favour,—friend to his design
To sell his country to enrich his temple,—
And friend to him in more,—I will not name it.
Naaman:
Nor will I credit it. Impossible!
Saballidin:
Did she not plead with you against the war,
Counsel surrender, seek to break your will?
Naaman:
She did not love my work, a soldier's task.
She never seemed to be at one with me
Until I was a leper.
Saballidin:
From whose hand
Did you receive the sacred cup?
Naaman:
From hers.
Saballidin:
And from that hour the curse began to work.
Naaman:
But did she not have pity when she saw
Me smitten? Did she not beseech the King
For letters and a guard to make this journey?
Has she not been the fountain of my hope,
My comforter and my most faithful guide
In this adventure of the dark? All this
Is proof of perfect love that would have shared
A leper's doom rather than give me up.
Can I doubt her who dared to love like this?