” 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. “You appear,” she said, without any sign of anger in her tone, and with unruffled composure, “to be a very impertinent person. Deserted by his older companion in iniquity, and instigator to crime, he did not know what might become of him; nor, as we have observed, was the sad spectacle he had just witnessed, without effect. How much Mary knew is a mystery. ” She stepped into the curtains as Martin stared daggers.
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