” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. ‘I dare say the best plan will be for me to bring her to see you, after all. ‘No, I do not go back. His wife met him at the door, and into her hands he delivered his little charge. ” He threw open the door of the sitting-room and switched on the electric light.
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