“Isn't this a beautiful inscription?” she said, pausing for a moment before the monument of George V., the last king of Hanover. “They say he was blind, and that after his death his kingdom became just a part of Germany, and that is the reason they wrote here, 'Receiving a kingdom which cannot be moved,' and, 'In thy light shall he see light.'”
And so the tour of the chapel was at last made; and although his little guide had omitted much historical detail that the professional would have furnished, she had put in with telling force many little points of her own.
When they reached the doorway of the chapel, Mr. Belden stood watch in hand, for he had decided he would take the two-o'clock train back to London, while Marie-Celeste ran on telling how Donald had gone to stay with Chris at Nuneham, and various other matters about Ted and Harold that were of more interest to Mr. Belden than she had any idea of. Finally, in breathless, excited fashion, she told of the visit to the Queen she and Albert had made, and of how she had handled with her own hands treasures that had belonged to Madame La Petite Reine. Of course it seemed almost incredible, but then the “incredible” was coming to seem rather a part of Marie-Celeste's make-up in Mr. Belden's mind. At last, when he felt that he must not delay another moment, he took leave of her, saying as he went, “Well, as usual you have set me thinking, my little friend,” but as though he were grateful for the same; and Marie-Celeste, turning back to finish the copying of the Prince Imperial's prayer, wondered in her practical little way if anything would come of the thinking, and if so, if she would ever happen to hear what it was; and yet at the same time not a little sceptical as to any tangible result whatsoever.
CHAPTER XVI.—MARIE-CELESTE'S DISCOVERY.
Everything was ready for the start, but no one knew how much that meant as well as Harold and Uncle Fritz, for they had thought of nothing else for three whole weeks together. The others would find out by degrees what a delightful thing it was to have had everything so carefully arranged and well thought out beforehand. The start was to be for the English Lake Country, and the being ready meant that everything that could by any possibility be needed on a month's driving tour had been carefully stowed away somewhere. It was a select little party of six—Uncle Fritz and Aunt Lou, Marie-Celeste, Miss Allyn, Harold and Mr. Farwell, a young American artist whom Uncle Fritz had come to know. Mr. Farwell was invited, if the truth be told, more to fill up than for any other reason; for three in a row is the invariable rule for an English break, unless you are willing to be shaken about rather more than is by any means agreeable. The back seat was reserved for the two grooms, and a bundle of wraps and rugs strapped to the cushion between them showed that they at any rate recognized the desirability of not having too much room at their disposal. The break that was brought into requisition belonged to Theodore, and was simply appropriated by Harold, for there was no saying “by your leave” to a fellow who went driving through the country himself without even taking the pains to enlighten you as to his whereabouts.