There was a caretaker who went about in sloppy rubber shoes,
scrubbing marbles and polishing brasses, and behind a high screen or
temporary partition some one was playing softly on an organ.

We stood in a quiet circle by Stella's resting-place, and Dr. Gerald,
who never forgets anything, apparently, was reminding us of Thackeray's
gracious and pathetic tribute:--

'Fair and tender creature, pure and affectionate heart! Boots it to you
now that the whole world loves you and deplores you? Scarce any man
ever thought of your grave that did not cast a flower of pity on it,
and write over it a sweet epitaph. Gentle lady! so lovely, so loving,
so unhappy. You have had countless champions, millions of manly hearts
mourning for you. From generation to generation we take up the fond
tradition of your beauty; we watch and follow your story, your bright
morning love and purity, your constancy, your grief, your sweet
martyrdom. We know your legend by heart. You are one of the saints of
English story.'

As Dr. Gerald's voice died away, the strains of 'Love's Young Dream'
floated out from the distant end of the building.

"The organist must be practising for a wedding," said Francesca, very
much alive to anything of that sort.

"'Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life,'"

she hummed. "Isn't it charming?"

"You ought to know," Dr. Gerald answered, looking at her affectionately,
though somewhat too sadly for my taste; "but an old fellow like me must
take refuge in the days of 'milder, calmer beam,' of which the poet
speaks."

Ronald and Himself, guide-books in hand, walked away to talk about the
'Burial of Sir John Moore,' and look for Wolfe's tablet, and I stole
behind the great screen which had been thrown up while repairs of some
sort were being made or a new organ built. A young man was evidently
taking a lesson, for the old organist was sitting on the bench beside
him, pulling out the stops, and indicating the time with his hand. There
was to be a wedding--that was certain; for 'Love's Young Dream' was
taken off the music rack at that moment, while 'Believe me, if all
those endearing young charms' was put in its place, and the melody came
singing out to us on the vox humana stop.

'Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,
Let thy loveliness fade as it will,
And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart
Would entwine itself verdantly still.'

Francesca joined me just t