light save the great glow of the heavens, no shadows under gaunt oaks or huddled evergreens.

[Pg 24]

He was in harmony with the night. He followed the sleigh-rutted highway for several miles, then swung back to town along a woodcutter's trail that edged the lakeshore, winding through the new growths of pine and balsam whose night-black branches were outlined by the white fall.

He loved the open: there was no loneliness here.... Magic-wrought, Deane's phantom figure kept apace, matched step with step along the shore trail through the hushed woods, across the white sheen of open spaces. Ever, when summoned thus, she came to share the hours and the places that he loved best.

Love surged hot through his veins: love of friends, of living, of youth, love of a woman ... probably his gift lay at her bedside now, as she slept....

Unconsciously he slowed his pace and lifted his fine, pale face upward: his low, clear baritone flooded the broken woods, carried far out across the silent frozen lake, unechoed; it was vibrant with the very spirit of yuletide—love of man and woman.

Love, to share again those winged scented days,

Those starry skies:

To see once more your joyous face,

Your tender eyes:

Just to know that years so fair might come again,

Awhile:

Oh! To thrill again to your dear voice—

Your smile!

[Pg 25]

It was long past midnight when he reached town, his mood chilling indefinably at sight of its dark houses.

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