Meanwhile a shepherd played upon his pipe, on the rocks below the castle, looking out to sea. The melody was low and plaintive, and as Kurneval listened to it his heart sank; for he had posted the shepherd there and bidden him play thus sadly so long as there was no sail in sight. Now he knew that if Isolde did not come that day, the sun would set upon his master for the last time.
And now, in his delirium, Tristan was telling of the ship which was bringing Isolde from Cornwall.
"Do you not see it?" he asked. "Look! the sails are all filled up, and the ship is steering straight for us. How high the waves pile up about the bows! There on deck is her- pavilion, just as it was on that other lonely voyage. And see! there she stands looking eagerly toward me, her hair garlanded with flowers and her arms outstretched! It is my Isolde! *Mine! She is forsaking all the world and its thrones to come to the side of a poor outcast. Ah, why is that music so sad? They should pipe merrily upon my wedding-day!"
As if in answer to his last words, the shepherd on the lookout suddenly changed his tune and piped shrilly and merrily. The faithful Kurneval sprang to his feet and ran hastily to the rocks. Yes, there was a broad sail and it was heading straight for them. And on the deck stood a slender, white-robed figure that waved a scarf. Unable to restrain himself, Kurneval hastened back to the sleeping knight.
"My lord, my lord!" he exclaimed, shaking him gently. "Awake! a ship is sailing straight to the foot of the castle. We hope it may be the Lady Isolde!"
"Yes, it is my dear lady," answered Tristan, sitting up. "I saw her in my dreams. Go to her and welcome her in my stead. Hasten, good Kurneval, hasten!"
Kurneval urged him to be as quiet as possible, and went to obey his commands. But Tristan could not be patient. Not knowing what he did, he rose from his couch, in his exertion tearing his bandages loose and causing his wound to bleed afresh. He staggered half-way across the courtyard, dizzy but unconscious of pain; for clear as a bell, from the rocks below, he heard his beloved's voice; "Tristan!"
"She is coming—my Princess!" he muttered. "That is the voice I have heard in my dream."
He tried to answer her, but could not. His knees tottered beneath him and he groped blindly as if in the dark.
"Tristan!" called the voice, nearer this time.