Epilogue
Tristram.
“Raise the light, my page! that I may see her—
Thou art come at last, then, haughty Queen?
Long I’ve waited, long I’ve fought my fever;
Late thou comest, cruel hast thou been.”
Iseult.
“Blame me not, poor sufferer! that I tarried;
Bound I was, I could not break the band.
Chide not with the past, but feel the present!
I am here—we meet—I hold thy hand.”
Matthew Arnold: “Tristram and Iseult.”
I had intended to write no more, but as we left the Consulate to-day after our wedding, a cable was handed me by my smiling Italian valet.
“Paddy Culling for a bob!” I said, as I opened it and prepared for some whimsical message of congratulation.
I was wrong. The cable was my reply from Yokohama.
“No offence intended,” it ran. “Delighted lunch as suggested.—Seraph.”
The End