CHAPTER XXI.

WHAT THE ORGAN SAID.

THE Choir has taken its departure. The Choir Leader hasnot taken his departure, but remains after the others have gone, as is his wont at times, — only the bellows-boy keeping him company.

He is seated before the organ now and plays one of those sublime sonatas of Beethoven’s; and as its cadences rise and fall through the master-touch of his hand, he appears lost in the sweetness of the harmony which his own hands produce. As some strain sweeter than the one preceding it gushes from the instrument, he fancies that the air is filled with sweet voices; anon, when the Melody breaks out in more sonorous chords, he feels that a presence of Something is standing near him, and, with a voice whose tones are like the moaning of the winds, murmurs a name — the name of Edwin Drood!

Still he plays on, seeing naught but the instrument before him, while the Melody still proceeds from its hundred throats.

Now he hears another and yet sweeter voice proceeding from the Melody — a sad, sweet voice — murmuring a name that brings to his mind a fair young girl, who, years before, had wakened from a dream of love to find that she had been deceived and left to die of a broken heart.

Still the Melody goes on; — There is a slight rustle in the aisle — soft steps approach him — but still he hears naught but the voices, and the Melody continues. Softly, yet nearer, app