sky was black, and the peaks beyond cut into it like frosted wedges of
iron and steel. Far below the valley slept, the village long since
hidden out of sight. He felt that he could never tire.... The sound of
the church clock rose from time to time faintly through the air--more
and more distant.

"Give me your hand. It's time now to turn back."

"Just one more slope," she laughed. "That ridge above us. Then we'll
make for home." And her low voice mingled pleasantly with the purring of
their ski. His own seemed harsh and ugly by comparison.

"But I have never come so high before. It's glorious! This world of
silent snow and moonlight--and _you_. You're a child of the snow, I
swear. Let me come up--closer--to see your face--and touch your little
hand."

Her laughter answered him.

"Come on! A little higher. Here we're quite alone together."

"It's magnificent," he cried. "But why did you hide away so long? I've
looked and searched for you in vain ever since we skated--" he was going
to say "ten days ago," but the accurate memory of time had gone from
him; he was not sure whether it was days or years or minutes. His
thoughts of earth were scattered and confused.

"You looked for me in the wrong places," he heard her murmur just above
him. "You looked in places where I never go. Hotels and houses kill me.
I avoid them." She laughed--a fine, shrill, windy little laugh.