nsel along with you to
a strange land?"--"At the right moment I am reminded of my mother's
counsel," Isolde murmurs thoughtfully before her; "Her art I prize
and welcome its aid. Vengeance it affords for the betrayal, peace in
the need of the heart. Bring the casket here to me."--"It contains
what shall secure your happiness!" Brangaene joyfully hurries to
fetch the small golden coffer, lifts the lid, fingers the phials.
"In this very order were they placed by your mother, the mighty
magic potions. For hurts and wounds here is balm; here, for poison,
is counterpoison...." She takes out and holds up before Isolde
with a significant smile a small flask. "The sweetest draught of
all I hold here!" Isolde pushes aside her hand and stretches her
own to the casket. "You are mistaken. I know better which one that
is. I marked it with a deep incision. Here is the draught which
shall serve my turn!" Brangaene stares at the phial which Isolde has
taken from among the rest. "The death-potion!" she gasps, recoiling.

A sing-song shout interrupts them, the voices of the sailors hauling
at ropes, taking in sail,--a reminder to Isolde that the land, the
terrible land, is near. Kurwenal hurries in: "Up, up, you ladies!
Briskly and cheerily! Quickly prepare to land! Ready at once, nimble
and spry! And to Madam Isolde I was to say from Tristan, my master:
the pennant of joy waves merrily from the mast, making her approach
known in Mark's royal castle. Wherefore he begs Madam Isolde to
haste and make ready, that he may escort her ashore." Isolde, for
a minute convulsed with a shuddering horror at her realization of
the decisive moment so near, reconquers her composure, and replies
with contrasting dignity and calm to Kurwenal's familiar and rude
pressing of the high-born ladies to haste. "To Sir Tristan bear my
greetings and report to him what I say. If he look to have me walk
at his side and stand before King Mark, as custom and seemliness
demand, let him know that this shall in no wise happen if he have
not before sought pardon of me for an uncondoned offence. Let him
therefore cast himself upon my clemency!" As Kurwenal by a gesture
signifies his stiff-necked resistance to her command, she repeats
it, more regally peremptory than before: "Take careful heed of what
I say and carefully report it. I refuse to make ready to accompany
him to land, I refuse to walk beside him and stand before King
Mark, unless he have before, as is fit and b