The ship sails on. Love’s need conquered. They talk together of the past, how he had once come in a little boat, and of the lessons: “Fair Iseult, what is troubling you?”
“What I know, that troubles me; what I see, the heaven and sea, that weighs on me; body and life are heavy.”
They leaned toward each other; bright eyes began to fill from the heart’s spring; her head sank, his arm sustained her;—“Ah! sweet, tell me, what is it?”
Answered love’s feather-play, Iseult: “Love is my need, love is my pain.”
He answered painfully: “Fair Iseult, it is the rude wind and sea.”
“No, no, it is not wind or sea; love is my pain.”
“Beauty, so with me! Love and you make my need. Heart’s lady, dear Iseult, you and the love of you have seized me. I am dazed. I cannot find myself. All the world has become naught, save thee alone.”
They loved, and in each other saw one mind, one heart, one will. Their silent kiss was long. In the night, love the physician brought their only balm. Sweet had the voyage become; alas! that it must end.
With their landing begins the trickery and falsehood compelled by the situation. The fearful Iseult plotted to murder the true Brangaene, who alone knew. After a while Mark’s suspicion is aroused, to be lulled by guile. Plot and counterplot go on; the lovers win and win again; truth and honour, everything save love’s joy and fear and all-sufficiency, are cast to the winds. Even the “Judgment of God” is tricked; the hot iron does not burn Iseult swearing her false oath, literally true. Many a time Mark’s jealousy has been fiercely stirred, only to be tricked to sleep again. Yet he knows that Tristan and Iseult are lovers. He calls them to him; he tells them he will not avenge himself, they are too dear to him. But let them take each other by the hand and leave him. So, together, they disappear in the forest.