“The dawn!” said Miss Miniver, with her glasses reflecting the fire like pools of blood-red flame. ” The lights sank, the prelude to the third act was beginning, the music rose and fell in crowded intimations of lovers separated—lovers separated with scars and memories between them, and the curtain went reefing up to display Tristan lying wounded on his couch and the shepherd crouching with his pipe. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. The queer phase of the dream was this, she was at no time a woman; she was symbolical of something, and he followed to learn what this something was. ‘Major Gerald Alderley, I arrest you in the name of the King.
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