my glance?"
He evades her, as he had before evaded Brangaene. "Reverence laid
its compulsion upon me!"--"Small reverence have you shown me. With
overt scorn you have refused obedience to my command."--"Obedience
alone restrained me."--"Paltry cause should I have to thank your
master, if his service required of you discourtesy to his own
consort."--"Custom demands," he quietly meets this, "where I have
lived, that the escort of the bride, while bringing her home, should
keep afar from her presence."--"For what reason?"--Stiffly as he
stands, his answer resembles a shrug. "Ask of custom!"--"Since
you cherish so great a regard for custom, my lord Tristan," Isolde
mocks, "let me remind you of what likewise is a custom: to make
peace with the enemy, if he is to report you as his friend." "And
what enemy?" he questions, unmoved. "Inquire of your terror!...
Blood-guiltiness stands between us!"--"That was made good!"--"Not
between us!"--"In the open field, before the assembled people, a
solemn oath was sworn to let vengeance rest."--"Not there was it,
not in the open field, that I kept Tantris concealed, that Tristan
lay at my mercy. In the open field he stood magnificent, hale and
brave; the thing however which he swore, I fore bore to swear. I
had learned to keep silence. When he lay languishing in the hushed
chamber, and I stood silent before him with the sword, though my
mouth no made sound, though my hand refrained, yet the thing which I
had sworn with hand and mouth I silently renewed my oath to perform.
I now intend to keep it."--"What did you swear, lady?" Tristan asks
simply, without effect of defiance. "Vengeance for Morold!" she hurls
at him. He seems to wonder. A sort of numbness has been creeping over
him; an atmosphere of dream has closed around him; her neighbourhood,
her voice, no matter what words she is saying, even these angry and
cruel ones, have an effect of lulling, of making the real world seem
unreal. "Are you concerned for that?" he asks, with the sincerity of
that state of having lost grasp on things as it is agreed to pretend
they are. "Dare you to mock me?" she rages, "He was affianced to me,
the gallant Irish hero. I had consecrated his arms, for me he went
into battle. When he fell, my honour fell with him. In the heaviness
of my heart I swore an oath that if no man would take vengeance
for his murder, I, a woman, would find the hardihood for it. Why,
when sick and feeble you lay in my power, I di