And dar’st thou not? When was I not all ear, if thou beganst To talk about the heroes of thy faith? Have I not freely on their deeds bestowed My admiration, to their sufferings yielded The tribute of my tears? Their faith indeed Has never seemed their most heroic side To me: yet, therefore, have I only learnt To find more consolation in the thought, That our devotion to the God of all Depends not on our notions about God. My father has so often told us so— Thou hast so often to this point consented— How can it be that thou alone art restless To undermine what you built up together? This is not the most fit discussion, Daya, To usher in our friend to; tho’ indeed I should not disincline to it—for to me It is of infinite importance if He too—but hark—there’s some one at the door. If it were he—stay—hush— (_A Slave who shows in the Templar_.) They are—here this way. TEMPLAR, DAYA, _and_ RECHA. RECHA. (_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. RECHA. How, you had cares, and were more covetous Of them than of your life? TEMPLAR. (_who has been viewing her with wonder and perturbation_). Thou best of beings, How is my soul ’twixt eye and ear divided! No: ’twas not she I snatched from amid fire: For who could know her and forbear to do it?— Indeed—disguised by terror—