n as if oblivion had engulfed it. Instead of
which, behold before long Tristan arriving in his own resplendent
person, with an embassy of Cornish nobles, to arrange peace between
the two countries and obtain the hand of the Irish king's daughter
for the Cornish sovereign, Mark, his uncle.

Now the Irish, being, as we gather, at a disadvantage in any match
of force with the insolent tributaries who had cast off their yoke,
could not well refuse,--could not afford to give offence by refusing.
The alliance was in truth a splendid one,--were it not for that old
unavenged affront! Even as matters stood, the proposal admitted of
being looked upon in the light of reparation,--if one did not see
in it, as did one of the principal personages involved, a second
insult more intolerable than the first.

The Cornish suit was successful. The feud was publicly declared
at an end, and peace sworn to. The heiress of the Irish crown set
sail for Cornwall under the escort of Tristan.

The curtain rising shows the rich pavilion on ship-deck where Isolde
hides her face from the light against the cushions of a day-bed.
Her attendant, Brangaene, stands gazing over the ship-side. The
voice of a young sailor is heard from the rigging out of sight.
Now, though the Cornish diplomats have comported themselves during
their mission with delicacy, the crew accompanying them take less
trouble to conceal the glee they feel over the humiliation of their
former lords, signified in this present carrying off of Ireland's
proudest jewel. Isolde, spite of all courteous forms, is regarded
by them as, in a sense, a prize of war. Some hint of this appears
in the song of the young seaman, who permits himself references
to the "wild and lovely Irish maid," and asks whether they be her
sighs which swell his sail. The words penetrate through Isolde's
absorption; she starts up in sudden fury, crying: "Who dares to
mock me?" and looks wildly around, as if she had been so engrossed
in other scenes that she did not, on returning to the light of day,
know for a moment where she was. Then she recognises Brangaene, and
remembers, and inquires where they are. "Streaks of blue are rising up
out of the West," Brangaene describes what she is watching, "softly
and swiftly sails the ship; on a calm sea before evening we surely
shall reach the land."--"What land?" Isolde asks unexpectedly. "The
verdant coast of Cornwall."--"Nevermore!" bursts from the princess,
"Not to-day!