IV

That night there was excitement in the little hotel-world, first because

there was a _bal costume_, but chiefly because the new snow had come.

And Hibbert went--felt drawn to go; he did not go in costume, but he

wanted to talk about the slopes and ski-ing with the other men, and at

the same time....

Ah, there was the truth, the deeper necessity that called. For the

singular connection between the stranger and the snow again betrayed

itself, utterly beyond explanation as before, but vital and insistent.

Some hidden instinct in his pagan soul--heaven knows how he phrased it

even to himself, if he phrased it at all--whispered that with the snow

the girl would be somewhere about, would emerge from her hiding place,

would even look for him.

Absolutely unwarranted it was. He laughed while he stood before the

little glass and trimmed his moustache, tried to make his black tie sit

straight, and shook down his dinner jacket so that it should lie upon

the shoulders without a crease. His brown eyes were very bright. "I

look younger than I usually do," he thought. It was unusual, even

significant, in a man who had no vanity about his appearance and

certainly never questioned his age or tried to look younger than he was.

Affairs of the heart, with one tumultuous exception that left no fuel

for lesser subsequent fires, had never troubled him. The forces of his

soul and mind not called upon for "work" and obvious duties, all went to

Nature. The desolate, wild places of the earth were what he loved;

night, and the beauty of the stars and snow. And this evening he felt

their claims upon him mightily stirring. A rising wildness caught his

blood, quickened his pulse, woke longing and passion too. But chiefly

snow. The snow whirred softly through his thoughts like white, seductive

dreams.... For the snow had come; and She, it seemed, had somehow come

with it--into his mind.

And yet he stood before that twisted mirror and pulled his tie and coat

askew a dozen times, as though it mattered. "What in the world is up

with me?" he thought. Then, laughing a little, he turned before leaving

the room to put his private papers in order. The green morocco desk that

held them he took down from the shelf and laid upon the table. Tied to

the lid was the visiting card with his brother's London address "in case

of accident." On the way down to the hotel he wondered why he had done

this, for though imaginative, he was not the kind of man who dealt in

presentiments. Moods with him were strong, but ever held in leash.

"It's almost like a warning," he thought, smiling. He drew his thick

coat tightly round the throat as the freezing air bit at him. "Those

warnings one reads of in stories sometimes ...!"

A delicious happiness was in his blood. Over the edge of the hills

across the valley rose the moon. He saw her silver sheet the world of

snow. Snow covered all. It smothered sound and distance. It smothered

houses, streets, and human beings. It smothered--life.

V

In the hall there was light and bustle; people were already arriving

from the other hotels and chalets, their costumes hidden beneath many

wraps. Groups of men in evening dress stood about smoking, talking

"snow" and "ski-ing." The band was tuning up. The claims of the

hotel-world clashed about him faintly as of old. At the big glass

windows of the verandah, peasants stopped a moment on their way home

from the _cafe_ to peer. Hibbert thought laughingly of that conflict he

used to imagine. He laughed because it suddenly seemed so unreal. He

belonged so utterly to Nature and the mountains, and especially to those

desolate slopes where now the snow lay thick and fresh and sweet, that

there was no question of a conflict at all. The power of the newly

fallen snow had caught him, proving it without effort. Out there, upon

those lonely reaches of the moonlit ridges, the snow lay ready--masses

and masses of it--cool, soft, inviting. He longed for it. It awaited

him. He thought of the intoxicating delight of ski-ing in the

moonlight....

Thus, somehow, in vivid flashing vision, he thought of it while he stood

there smoking with the other men and talking all the "shop" of ski-ing.

And, ever mysteriously blended with this power of the snow, poured also

through his inner being the power of the girl. He could not disabuse his

mind of the insinuating presence of the two together. He remembered that

queer skating-impulse of ten days ago, the impulse that had let her in.

That any mind, even an imaginative one, could pass beneath the sway of

such a fancy was strange enough; and Hibbert, while fully aware of the

disorder, yet found a curious joy in yielding to it. This insubordinate

centre that drew him towards old pagan beliefs had assumed command. With

a kind of sensuous pleasure he let himself be conquered.

And snow that night seemed in everybody's thoughts. The dancing couples

talked of it; the hotel proprietors congratulated one another; it meant

good sport and satisfied their guests; every one was planning trips and

expeditions, talking of slopes and telemarks, of flying speed and

distance, of drifts and crust and frost. Vitality and enthusiasm pulsed

in the very air; all were alert and active, positive, radiating currents

of creative life even into the stuffy atmosphere of that crowded

ball-room. And the snow had caused it, the snow had brought it; all this

discharge of eager sparkling energy was due primarily to the--Snow.

But in the mind of Hibbert, by some swift alchemy of his pagan

yearnings, this energy became transmuted. It rarefied itself, gleaming

in white and crystal currents of passionate anticipation, which he

transferred, as by a species of electrical imagination, into the

personality of the girl--the Girl of the Snow. She somewhere was waiting

for him, expecting him, calling to him softly from those leagues of

moonlit mountain. He remembered the touch of that cool, dry hand; the

soft and icy breath against his cheek; the hush and softness of her

presence in the way she came and the way she had gone again--like a

flurry of snow the wind sent gliding up the slopes. She, like himself,

belonged out there. He fancied that he heard her little windy voice come

sifting to him through the snowy branches of the trees, calling his name

... that haunting little voice that dived straight to the centre of his

life as once, long years ago, two other voices used to do....

But nowhere among the costumed dancers did he see her slender figure. He

danced with one and all, distrait and absent, a stupid partner as each

girl discovered, his eyes ever turning towards the door and windows,

hoping to catch the luring face, the vision that did not come ... and at

length, hoping even against hope. For the ball-room thinned; groups left

one by one, going home to their hotels and chalets; the band tired

obviously; people sat drinking lemon-squashes at the little tables, the

men mopping their foreheads, everybody ready for bed.

It was close on midnight. As Hibbert passed through the hall to get his

overcoat and snow-boots, he saw men in the passage by the "sport-room,"

greasing their ski against an early start. Knapsack luncheons were being

ordered by the kitchen swing doors. He sighed. Lighting a cigarette a

friend offered him, he returned a confused reply to some question as to

whether he could join their party in the morning. It seemed he did not

hear it properly. He passed through the outer vestibule between the

double glass doors, and went into the night.

The man who asked the question watched him go, an expression of anxiety

momentarily in his eyes.

"Don't think he heard you," said another, laughing. "You've got to shout

to Hibbert, his mind's so full of his work."

"He works too hard," suggested the first, "full of queer ideas and

dreams."

But Hibbert's silence was not rudeness. He had not caught the

invitation, that was all. The call of the hotel-world had faded. He no

longer heard it. Another wilder call was sounding in his ears.

For up the street he had seen a little figure moving. Close against the

shadows of the baker's shop it glided--white, slim, enticing.