The boat was still there, rocking placidly on the black water. Christine stared across the lake, seeing in the distance a dim glow of a candle, as remote and solitary as a star. Except for the faint lapping of the wavelets on the shore, the air was deathly silent. The woman blew out her own candle and stepped cautiously into the boat, praying that her sense of balance would keep her on her feet. Carefully she pushed off and poled slowly past the black, empty candlestands, her eyes fixed on that distant light. For the first time she questioned her wisdom in coming here. How would he receive her? In joy, or in bitter anger? At the thought of that anger, she stopped poling and glided, almost ready to turn back. How was she going to face him, knowing how cruel she had been? Christine bowed her head and for the first time in two years, forced herself to think - really think - about their past. Erik. All he had wanted was to be loved and understood, and all she had given him was pity. What a miserable substitute for love. No wonder he had chased her out. But what about now? Would he set the pain aside long enough to listen to her? Would he believe her when she told him everything she had felt then, but had been afraid to admit? And there was so much to tell him, indeed. That she remembered his songs-every one...that the the memory of his voice drove her to tears....that she dreamt of their kiss... That kiss. That fleeting taste of heavenly sensation, so entirely unexpected. Christine felt herself blushing in the darkness. How could she tell him how much she....she had felt more in that one moment then in any of Raoul's embraces....for an instant, she let the memory fill her mind; felt the softness of that black dress coat against her breast, the warmth of his skin under her hands as she slipped them around his neck....the gentle, stunned expression in his mismatched eyes when she had pulled away.... She shook her head sharply. There wasn't time to think about that. And perhaps it was all in vain...perhaps he no longer cared for her. Maybe...maybe he even hated her. If so, he had good reason. He had loved her so completely, so passionately, and she had been so blind. Maybe he would push aside her explanations and turn from her in disgust. But she had to try. The music of the night just couldn't end that way.
		The sound of the boat grating against the gravel shore brought her out of her musings. Christine looked up at the house looming before her, black on black like a bizarre painting in a gallary. Cautiously she approached, putting her hand on the doorknob...that simple doorknob that had always amused her. Such an ordinary entrance for such an extraordinary house! She tried turning it...it was unlocked. Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to open the door, to go inside... She couldn't turn back now. "Past the point of no return," the woman whispered, a small smile twitching her lips. And with that, she crossed the threshhold and shut the door behind her. The hallway she found herself in was dark, deserted. She eased around the corner and peered into the drawing room, where she had spent so many pleasant hours with Erik; sitting by his chair, listening to his voice, singing, telling stories, gazing up into his eyes so full of love... Her own eyes widened as she looked at the desolation that surrounded her. As a whole, the chamber had not changed a bit, but it had been sadly neglected, much like her dressing room. The ony object not covered by dust and cobwebs was his pipe organ, sitting alone against the wall. His organ. Of course he wouldn't allow the precious insturment to fall into disrepair. After all, what else did he have left but his music? The single candle burning steadily beside it cast a eerie glow over the ivory keys, reminding her of the hands that could play it, so gracefully.... Wait. Something had changed. Where was Erik?