"_Isolde_. So stürben wir, Um ungetrennt— _Tristan_. Ewig einig— _Isolde_. Ohne End’— _Tristan_. Ohn’ Erwachen— _Isolde_. Ohne Bangen— _Tristan_. Namenlos In Leib’ umfangen— _Isolde_. Ganz uns selbst gegeben, Der Liebe nur zu leben?" The spell of the music, rising to that passionate climax of the love song in the second act where Night the Revealer points the way of human transport to culminate in the superb Song of Death, broke the earthly barriers of speculation, and two souls in the audience called to each other as before the judgment seat and became temporarily one. Such things have been since the world came out of chaos, and will be until it returns again to the void. There is but one mate for each man and woman in the world, and until they recognize the fact and learn with patience to await that note of absolute conviction which is the one infallible guide to happiness, marriages will fail as they fail now, and the Church will give its empty blessing to those ill-assorted pairs whom God for ever leaves unblessed. "... Traut allein, Ewig heim.... Du Isolde, Tristan ich, Nicht mehr Tristan, Nicht Isolde.... Endloss ewig Ein-bewusst: Heiss erglühter Brust Hochste Leibes-Lust!" "I always wish that the music of _Peer Gynt_ could have been written by Wagner," said Evelyn. "Think what he would have made of Anitas’ last words: and the magic of the Troll Kingdom, and the great scene, as eerie in its way as the Brocken scene in _Faust_—don’t you really know it? Towards the end of the play, just before he meets the Button-Moulder, Peer Gynt, the failure, is standing alone on the moor with charred trees and desolation all about him. Mist has risen, and all the world is full of little voices. Tiny thread balls sweep before him—they are the thoughts he should have followed. Dewdrops fall—his unshed tears; withered leaves drift to and fro in his path and dazzle him—watchwords he should have spoken; broken straws lie at his feet—an epitome of his life. It’s all so like one’s own life, void and valueless. And yet things started well enough. The very trees flowered, the dewdrops were like gold in the sunshine, and one heard pleasant voices in the woods, as a child." "I’ve been thinking of my childhood too to-night," said Farquharson. "My love for Glune has been with me through everything. Out in Taorna, that night I was waiting in the Place of Sepulchres, I had a dream—a vision, if you like to call it so—and Glune stood before me, as brave, as broken, as courageous as of old. I could see the gorse in bloom and the peewits circling round and round, and Dan waiting patiently as he always waited.... I shall never forget the day that dog died mercifully, it was in my arms. The man who made this music must have been through heaven and hell too in his day. Glune has been through both, and so have most of us Farquharsons."