SCENE III.

[BRANGÆNA _utters a piercing cry_. TRISTAN _and_ ISOLDA
_remain in their absorbed state_. KURVENAL _rushes in with
drawn sword_.]

KURVENAL. Save yourself, Tristan!

[_He looks fearfully off behind him_. MARK, MELOT, _and
courtiers, in hunting dress, come swiftly up the avenue and pause in
the foreground in consternation before the lovers_. BRANGÆNA _at
the same time descends from the roof and hastens towards_ ISOLDA.
_The latter in involuntary shame leans on the flowery bank with
averted face_. TRISTAN _with an equally unconscious action
stretches his mantle wide out with one arm, so as to conceal_
ISOLDA _from the gaze of the new-comers. In this position he remains
for some time, turning a changeless look upon the men, who gaze at him
in varied emotion. The morning dawns_.]

TRISTAN. The dreary day--
its last time comes!

MELOT (_to Mark_). Now say to me, my sov'reign,
was my impeachment just?
I staked my head thereon:
How is the pledge redeemed?
Behold him in
the very act: