And the incident was simply

this—that he remembered passing the church. Catching the outline of

its tower against the stars, he was aware of a faint sense of

hesitation. A vague uneasiness came and went—jarred unpleasantly

across the flow of his excited feelings, chilling exhilaration. He

caught the instant’s discord, dismissed it, and—passed on. The

seduction of the snow smothered the hint before he realised that it had

brushed the skirts of warning.

And then he saw her. She stood there waiting in a little clear space

of shining snow, dressed all in white, part of the moonlight and the

glistening background, her slender figure just discernible.

“I waited, for I knew you would come,” the silvery little voice of

windy beauty floated down to him. “You had to come.”

“I’m ready,” he answered, “I knew it too.”

The world of Nature caught him to its heart in those few words—the

wonder and the glory of the night and snow. Life leaped within him. The

passion of his pagan soul exulted, rose in joy, flowed out to her. He

neither reflected nor considered, but let himself go like the veriest

schoolboy in the wildness of first love.

“Give me your hand,” he cried, “I’m coming …!”

“A little farther on, a little higher,” came her delicious answer.

“Here it is too near the village—and the church.”

And the words seemed wholly right and natural; he did not dream of

questioning them; he understood that, with this little touch of

civilisation in sight, the familiarity he suggested was impossible.

Once out upon the open mountains, ‘mid the freedom of huge slopes and

towering peaks, the stars and moon to witness and the wilderness of

snow to watch, they could taste an innocence of happy intercourse free

from the dead conventions that imprison literal minds.

He urged his pace, yet did not quite overtake her. The girl kept

always just a little bit ahead of his best efforts…. And soon they

left the trees behind and passed on to the enormous slopes of the sea

of snow that rolled in mountainous terror and beauty to the stars. The

wonder of the white world caught him away. Under the steady moonlight

it was more than haunting. It was a living, white, bewildering power

that deliciously confused the senses and laid a spell of wild

perplexity upon the heart. It was a personality that cloaked, and yet

revealed, itself through all this sheeted whiteness of snow. It rose,

went with him, fled before, and followed after. Slowly it dropped

lithe, gleaming arms about his neck, gathering him in….

Certainly some soft persuasion coaxed his very soul, urging him ever

forwards, upwards, on towards the higher icy slopes. Judgment and

reason left their throne, it seemed, completely, as in the madness of

intoxication. The girl, slim and seductive, kept always just ahead, so

that he never quite came up with her. He saw the white enchantment of

her face and figure, something that streamed about her neck flying like

a wreath of snow in the wind, and heard the alluring accents of her

whispering voice that called from time to time: “A little farther on, a

little higher…. Then we’ll run home together!”

Sometimes he saw her hand stretched out to find his own, but each

time, just as he came up with her, he saw her still in front, the hand

and arm withdrawn. They took a gentle angle of ascent. The toil seemed

nothing. In this crystal, wine-like air fatigue vanished. The sishing

of the ski through the powdery surface of the snow was the only sound

that broke the stillness; this, with his breathing and the rustle of

her skirts, was all he heard. Cold moonshine, snow, and silence held

the world. The 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….