Nothing remains,--nothing remains but this,--
Give thanks, obey, depart,--and so I do.
Farewell, my master's sword! Farewell to you,
My amulet! I lay you on the hilt
His hand shall clasp again: bid him farewell
For me, since I must look upon his face
No more for ever!--Hark, what sound was that?
[Enter soldier hurriedly.]
SOLDIER:
Mistress, an armed troop, footmen and horse,
Mounting the hill!
RUAHMAH:
My lord returns in triumph.
SOLDIER:
Not so, for these are enemies; they march
In haste and silence, answering not our cries.
RUAHMAH:
Our enemies? Then hold your ground,--on guard!
Fight! fight! Defend the pass, and drive them down.
[Exit soldier. RUAHMAH draws NAAMAN'S sword from
the scabbard and hurries out of the tent. Confused
noise of fighting outside. Three or four soldiers
are driven in by a troop of men in disguise.
RUAHMAH follows: she is beaten to her knees,
and her sword is broken.]
REZON: [Throwing aside the cloth which covers his face.]
Hold her! So, tiger-maid, we've found your lair
And trapped you.
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