“Yes,” sighed Albert; for he knew that his answer meant an end to their chat; for whenever during these visits of hers a party of tourists were so fortunate as to secure the services of the verier, Mr. Brooke, Marie-Celeste invariably followed in their train, listening to every word as it fell from the good old man's lips. She already knew many of the monument inscriptions by heart, but that made no difference; for her the old chapel possessed a never-ending fascination, and she rarely crossed the threshold of the choir--which was a beautiful chapel in itself--without an actual thrill of pleasure. So, as Albert had expected, this morning proved no exception, and he was unceremoniously left to communion with his own thoughts upon the doorstep; but it did not prove a long separation. In their tour of the chapel the travellers from across the water had but reached the wonderful cenotaph of the Princess Charlotte, when a sweet single chord from the great organ broke upon the air, as though the player simply wanted to make sure that the instrument would respond when the time came. But in that single chord lay a summons for Marie-Celeste and for Albert; at least, they chose so to regard it, and meeting at the foot of the organ-loft stairway, they climbed it hand-in-hand.