Sir T. If failure rings the curtain down, perhaps That way as well as any. Lady S. Will you promise? Sir T. No; I'll not promise! A thousand things may chance. Lady S. A thousand things? Yes; should a foe of yours Or Warwick's--Tristram, they may drown his wits In all good fellowship! Then where are we? Will you not go and guard him? Sir T. Presently. I have a thing to settle in my mind. Lady S. May I go, Tristram? Sir T. If you think it well. Lady S. Oh, better than well, I think it. [Knocking.] Not for me I hope. [Opens the door] What? Who? The Bishop of St. James's! Sir T. St. James's! Come--come in! [Enter Gervase Sackville, Bishop of St. James's.] I thought the east Had held you captive for another month. St. J. I finished what I gave myself to do In half the time I judged the work would take. Lady S. Oh, welcome, Gervase! Like a single sorrow You come to bless us: wonder at my words; They have the sweetest meaning. Fortune comes With Gervase, Tristram--how, I cannot tell: Or short, or long, it comes: I feel it here; But yet I go to guard the ark. St. J. The ark? Lady S. The theatre, the play, the purse--our lives! [Goes out.] St. J. My cousin's moody, Tristram. Sir T. I never thought To need a friend for the last rite of friendship, The revelation and unbosoming Of weakness. Had you come a day, an hour, Some heart-beats later, business, theatre, world, With permanent eclipse of insight, soul, Of something nameless yet, had spared you this That I am going to tell you. Will you sit, Or must you walk about? St. J. The highest mood Is stillest. [They sit.] Sir T. Still as death! I loved my wife, And she loved me: she loves me strangely yet In some dispassionate absorbing way That tortures her. I do not love her now; And why I know: we have no children. St. J. What! Sir T. There must be fruit of love, if love's to last. St. J. Now you perplex me, Tristram. Sir T. There were children: You christened four--and buried them. Ah, yes; If they had lived! St. J. If they had lived? What then? Sir T. Profound affection for the hallowed womb That gave my passion form and brought to light Its ecstasy in boys and girls of mine: Desire had changed to deep affection then; But often now I loathe this childless woman, And think with horror how she knows my heart, My tendernesses, selfishnesses, thoughts Inchoate, wanton follies, baby talk: My wife became my mistress in the end. St. J. Oh now I see into the depths of it!