” “He probably does not know of the relationship,” Annabel remarked. It was in no sense confessional; it was a state of mind in the patient the doctor had already anticipated. We will go to the passage and then I shall bind you. Let me keep him. ” 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. "At length I am my own master," murmured the knight, as his foot touched the strand.
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