Khos. Not so. I ’ve sent him word
By a sure mouth that I ’m unhurt and held
A prisoner.
Sem. O then my brother ’s safe!
How gracious art thou, Heaven!
(Steps towards entrance) Sumbat!
Khos. (Stepping before her) Wait!
Sem. What more?
Khos. All—everything—there ’s nothing said!
Ninus will spare me not! ’Tis thou must save me!
Sem. I! No! The king!
Khos. Not he! Is Artavan
Grown dearer than his hate to Husak? Nay—
Sem. Sir, fear not Ninus. He will grant my suit.
Khos. He will? You—you—