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.




VI


And at once into his mind passed the hush and softness of the snow--yet
with it a searching, crying wildness for the heights. He knew by some
incalculable, swift instinct she would not meet him in the village
street. It was not there, amid crowding houses, she would speak to him.
Indeed, already she had disappeared, melted from view up the white vista
of the moonlit road. Yonder, he divined, she waited where the highway
narrowed abruptly into the mountain path beyond the chalets.

It did not even occur to him to hesitate; mad though it seemed, and