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Polaris, v. 1, issue 1, December 1939
12
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12 POLARIS ous array of trees and shrubs along the walk -- and that was all gone. But I knew that this was Diane's abode in spite of the heavy shroud of fog; and knew, too, that somewhere in it she must be lying. How I would surprise her! Then I recalled, with some force, that during the past week of convalescence my attendants had said very little about Diane -- so little, in fact, that I had become greatly worried. But as I stood before her door even this morning, I knew that she was alive and waiting. And indeed, when I passed through the heavy front door and toward her bedchamber, I felt assured again, as I heard light footsteps from within. But surely, I reasoned, she too could not be up and about, or she would have come to visit me. Hoping that the sound would not awaken any of her family, I rapped lightly on the portal, the echoes from the noise ringing loudly in the narrow corridor. My heart was near to bursting as I waited for her to answer the summons. Then the door came open, and she stood before me, attired in purest white. But surprise was not upon her pale countenance--only a welcoming smile, which, though it gladdened my heart, was not what I had expected. When I questioned her she explained that she too had risen against the doctor's orders, and had been awaiting my call. This I could not understand, though for the moment I was so overcome with joy that I did not see fit to ask how she had known that I was coming. I realized what a pity it was that I had not secured some flowers as an offering to her pale, ethereal beauty. But she did not complain, and we asked many questions in turn about each other, since we were secretly betrothed and planned to wed before the year was past, even though my family frowned upon our acquaintance. Suddenly I remembered that the day was Sunday; and when I mentioned it to Diane, a queer light came into her eyes -- a light of happiness, I thought--which disturbed me strangely. Upon Diane's suggestion, we decided to attend service that morning: by going early we would have a few hours together and be free from the usual bustle which was a regular part of the Sunday program. And since she was already fully attired, we set out immediately for the parish church, after I had wrapped my cloak about her slender shoulders to keep out the dampness of the fog. As we walked side by side, a surge of strength passed through me, and I did not have to rest at intervals as before. When we drew near to the stately structure with its sharply slanting roof and quaint steeple, Diane trembled slightly; but would not tell me the cause of her shivering, which I attributed to the coldness of the morning. Once when we were on the steps she trembled again, and I had a glimpse of her throat, which puzzled me greatly. For there was a mark on her pale skin -- a plain print of an inverted cross. It stood out on her white flesh very distinctly; but I gave it only a passing through, as the portals of the church were over us then while for a moment the semi-darkness concealed us from each other. In the somber hallway her hand grew cold in mine, and I wished then that the caretaker might come and build up the fires so that Diane would not catch a chill. When we entered the main room she clutched at me queerly, saying nothing, though her eyes were upon the huge crucifix above the altar. At last we sat down side by side in a pew near the back of the church where a good view could be had of the assemblage when they arrived. The air in the room was chilly, and I had to wrap
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12 POLARIS ous array of trees and shrubs along the walk -- and that was all gone. But I knew that this was Diane's abode in spite of the heavy shroud of fog; and knew, too, that somewhere in it she must be lying. How I would surprise her! Then I recalled, with some force, that during the past week of convalescence my attendants had said very little about Diane -- so little, in fact, that I had become greatly worried. But as I stood before her door even this morning, I knew that she was alive and waiting. And indeed, when I passed through the heavy front door and toward her bedchamber, I felt assured again, as I heard light footsteps from within. But surely, I reasoned, she too could not be up and about, or she would have come to visit me. Hoping that the sound would not awaken any of her family, I rapped lightly on the portal, the echoes from the noise ringing loudly in the narrow corridor. My heart was near to bursting as I waited for her to answer the summons. Then the door came open, and she stood before me, attired in purest white. But surprise was not upon her pale countenance--only a welcoming smile, which, though it gladdened my heart, was not what I had expected. When I questioned her she explained that she too had risen against the doctor's orders, and had been awaiting my call. This I could not understand, though for the moment I was so overcome with joy that I did not see fit to ask how she had known that I was coming. I realized what a pity it was that I had not secured some flowers as an offering to her pale, ethereal beauty. But she did not complain, and we asked many questions in turn about each other, since we were secretly betrothed and planned to wed before the year was past, even though my family frowned upon our acquaintance. Suddenly I remembered that the day was Sunday; and when I mentioned it to Diane, a queer light came into her eyes -- a light of happiness, I thought--which disturbed me strangely. Upon Diane's suggestion, we decided to attend service that morning: by going early we would have a few hours together and be free from the usual bustle which was a regular part of the Sunday program. And since she was already fully attired, we set out immediately for the parish church, after I had wrapped my cloak about her slender shoulders to keep out the dampness of the fog. As we walked side by side, a surge of strength passed through me, and I did not have to rest at intervals as before. When we drew near to the stately structure with its sharply slanting roof and quaint steeple, Diane trembled slightly; but would not tell me the cause of her shivering, which I attributed to the coldness of the morning. Once when we were on the steps she trembled again, and I had a glimpse of her throat, which puzzled me greatly. For there was a mark on her pale skin -- a plain print of an inverted cross. It stood out on her white flesh very distinctly; but I gave it only a passing through, as the portals of the church were over us then while for a moment the semi-darkness concealed us from each other. In the somber hallway her hand grew cold in mine, and I wished then that the caretaker might come and build up the fires so that Diane would not catch a chill. When we entered the main room she clutched at me queerly, saying nothing, though her eyes were upon the huge crucifix above the altar. At last we sat down side by side in a pew near the back of the church where a good view could be had of the assemblage when they arrived. The air in the room was chilly, and I had to wrap
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