_Sa._ By heaven, I would not now unseal my lips, But I know him I speak to, and my speech Shall win thee. Hark, I have been for twenty years Familiar with the king, one of his house; 1160 I have known the princess Almeh from her cradle: Her father’s only child, she hath been to me My single joy no less: from the first words She lisped upon my knee, unto this day, Her sayings and doings have been still the events Which measured time to me: her childish ways, Her growth, well-being, happiness, were mine, Part of my life. Whene’er I have been away On distant service, the same couriers That carried my despatches to the king, 1170 Returned to me with tidings of the child, Writ for my use, the careful chronicle Of prattle, with whatever pretty message She had devised to send me: as she grew I watched her, taught her, was her friend; and while I trod in blood, and heard the mortal gasp Of foes my scimitar struck down to hell, I suffered nothing to approach my soul But what might too be hers. Sala is stern, Men say, and register my actions bluntly 1180 To common qualities,—I serve my age In such a tedious practice,—but in truth Sala is gentle as the tend’rest plant That noonday withers, or the night frosts pinch. I tell thee what I would not dare tell any, Lest he should smile at me, and I should slay him: I tell it thee, knowing thou wilt not smile. Now late it happed that I returned to Fez After some longer absence than was wont; And looking still to meet the child I left, 1190 I found her not. She had made a dizzy flight From prettiest to fairest. Slow-working time Had leapt in a miracle: ere one could say, From being a child suddenly she was a woman, Changed beyond hope, to me past hope unchanged. Maybe thou hast never tasted, prince, this sorrow, When fortune smiling upon those we love Removes them from our reach—when we awake To our small reckoning in the circumstance We are grown to lean on.—Cursèd be the day 1200 Whereon we met: or would thou hadst slain me there— My wrongs are worse than death. _Fer._ How! can it be? Tell me but truth. Art thou my rival, Sala? Thou art: thou art. Yet ’twas thyself deceived me. Thou’st ever spoken of her as of a daughter. Forgive me, Sala; thy familiarity And thy years blinded me. If, ere I came Her heart was thine, and I by pity’s softness Have stolen the passion that was thine before, Now by mine honour I will do thy bidding: 1210 If ’tis the only way, I’ll fly to-night. Thy word, and I will fly. Were ye betrothed? _Sa._ Nay, prince ... _Fer._ Nay?... Yet if not betrothed, maybe Almeh hath loved thee, shewn thee preference, Some promise ... _Sa._ Nay. _Fer._ Then, Sala, in plain words, How have I wronged thee? what can be the cause Why thou didst threat to kill me?