” 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. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy. ToC Sir Rowland, meantime, paced his chamber with a quick and agitated step. ‘Be quiet, man,’ snapped Hilary, watching the Frenchman go by with the lad after him. I was once a disciple of Saint Peter myself, and speak from experience. “She doesn’t know. ’ ‘Oh, a ruin,’ exclaimed Mrs Sindlesham, throwing up a hand.
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