II
"Don't go back to your dreary old post office. We're going to havesupper in my room--something hot. Come and join us. Hurry up!"
There had been an ice carnival, and the last party, tailing up thesnow-slope to the hotel, called him. The Chinese lanterns smoked andsputtered on the wires; the band had long since gone. The cold wasbitter and the moon came only momentarily between high, driving clouds.From the shed where the people changed from skates to snow-boots heshouted something to the effect that he was "following"; but no answercame; the moving shadows of those who had called were already mergedhigh up against the village darkness. The voices died away. Doorsslammed. Hibbert found himself alone on the deserted rink.
And it was then, quite suddenly, the impulse came to--stay and skatealone. The thought of the stuffy hotel room, and of those noisy peoplewith their obvious jokes and laughter, oppressed him. He felt a longingto be alone with the night; to taste her wonder all by himself therebeneath the stars, gliding over the ice. It was not yet midnight, and hecould skate for half an hour. That supper party, if they noticed hisabsence at all, would merely think he had changed his mind and gone tobed.
It was an impulse, yes, and not an unnatural one; yet even at the timeit struck him that something more than impulse lay concealed behind it.More than invitation, yet certainly less than command, there was a vaguequeer feeling that he stayed because he had to, almost as though therewas something he had forgotten, overlooked, left undone. Imaginativetemperaments are often thus; and impulse is ever weakness. For with suchill-considered opening of the doors to hasty action may come an invasionof other forces at the same time--forces merely waiting theiropportunity perhaps!
He caught the fugitive warning even while he dismissed it as absurd, andthe next minute he was whirling over the smooth ice in delightful curvesand loops beneath the moon. There was no fear of collision. He couldtake his own speed and space as he willed. The shadows of the toweringmountains fell across the rink, and a wind of ice came from the forests,where the snow lay ten feet deep. The hotel lights winked and went out.The village slept. The high wire netting could not keep out the wonderof the winter night that grew about him like a presence. He skated onand on, keen exhilarating pleasure in his tingling blood, and wearinessall forgotten.
And then, midway in the delight of rushing movement, he saw a figuregliding behind the wire netting, watching him. With a start that almostmade him lose his balance--for the abruptness of the new arrival was sounlooked for--he paused and stared. Although the light was dim he madeout that it was the figure of a woman and that she was feeling her wayalong the netting, trying to get in. Against the white background of thesnow-field he watched her rather stealthy efforts as she passed with asilent step over the banked-up snow. She was tall and slim and graceful;he could see that even in the dark. And then, of course, he understood.It was another adventurous skater like himself, stolen down unawaresfrom hotel or chalet, and searching for the opening. At once, making asign and pointing with one hand, he turned swiftly and skated over tothe little entrance on the other side.
But, even before he got there, there was a sound on the ice behind himand, with an exclamation of amazement he could not suppress, he turnedto see her swerving up to his side across the width of the rink. She hadsomehow found another way in.
Hibbert, as a rule, was punctilious, and in these free-and-easy places,perhaps, especially so. If only for his own protection he did not seekto make advances unless some kind of introduction paved the way. But forthese two to skate together in the semi-darkness without speech, oftenof necessity brushing shoulders almost, was too absurd to think of.Accordingly he raised his cap and spoke. His actual words he seemsunable to recall, nor what the girl said in reply, except that sheanswered him in accented English with some commonplace about doingfigures at midnight on an empty rink. Quite natural it was, and right.She wore grey clothes of some kind, though not the customary long glovesor sweater, for indeed her hands were bare, and presently when he skatedwith her, he wondered with something like astonishment at their dry andicy coldness.
And she was delicious to skate with--supple, sure, and light, fast as aman yet with the freedom of a child, sinuous and steady at the sametime. Her flexibility made him wonder, and when he asked where she hadlearned she murmured--he caught the breath against his ear and recalledlater that it was singularly cold--that she could hardly tell, for shehad been accustomed to the ice ever since she could remember.
But her face he never properly saw. A muffler of white fur buried herneck to the ears, and her cap came over the eyes. He only saw that shewas young. Nor could he gather her hotel or chalet, for she pointedvaguely, when he asked her, up the slopes. "Just over there--" she said,quickly taking his hand again. He did not press her; no doubt she wishedto hide her escapade. And the touch of her hand thrilled him more thananything he could remember; even through his thick glove he felt thesoftness of that cold and delicate softness.
The clouds thickened over the mountains. It grew darker. They talkedvery little, and did not always skate together. Often they separated,curving about in corners by themselves, but always coming together againin the centre of the rink; and when she left him thus Hibbert wasconscious of--yes, of missing her. He found a peculiar satisfaction,almost a fascination, in skating by her side. It was quite anadventure--these two strangers with the ice and snow and night!
Midnight had long since sounded from the old church tower before theyparted. She gave the sign, and he skated quickly to the shed, meaning tofind a seat and help her take her skates off. Yet when he turned--shehad already gone. He saw her slim figure gliding away across the snow... and hurrying for the last time round the rink alone he searched invain for the opening she had twice used in this curious way.
"How very queer!" he thought, referring to the wire netting. "She musthave lifted it and wriggled under ...!"
Wondering how in the world she managed it, what in the world hadpossessed him to be so free with her, and who in the world she was, hewent up the steep slope to the post office and so to bed, her promise tocome again another night still ringing delightfully in his ears. Andcurious were the thoughts and sensations that accompanied him. Most ofall, perhaps, was the half suggestion of some dim memory that he hadknown this girl before, had met her somewhere, more--that she knew him.For in her voice--a low, soft, windy little voice it was, tender andsoothing for all its quiet coldness--there lay some faint reminder oftwo others he had known, both long since gone: the voice of the woman hehad loved, and--the voice of his mother.
But this time through his dreams there ran no clash of battle. He wasconscious, rather, of something cold and clinging that made him think ofsifting snowflakes climbing slowly with entangling touch and thicknessround his feet. The snow, coming without noise, each flake so lightand tiny none can mark the spot whereon it settles, yet the mass of itable to smother whole villages, wove through the very texture of hismind--cold, bewildering, deadening effort with its clinging network often million feathery touches.
Four Weird Tales Page 11