To Dream of Snow by Rosalind Laker Page A

lights are called. They only appear at times of intense cold. Her husband told her about them. She said we’ll see them often from now on.’
    Sophie shivered. ‘They look ghostly, don’t they? I’m going back indoors.’
    Marguerite took a last lingering look. To her they only added to the strange beauty of these snow-covered lands.

Four
    T here was a final overnight stay en route for Sarah before her destination was reached.
    â€˜You’ve been a wonderful friend to me in my hour of need,’ she said gratefully as Marguerite helped her into bed. ‘I don’t know what I would have done without you.’
    â€˜I’ve been glad to do it,’ Marguerite replied, smiling. ‘Go to sleep now. Tomorrow we’ll be in Riga and Tom will be waiting for you. We’ll send word to him as soon as we get there that you’ve arrived.’
    â€˜I feel too excited to sleep,’ Sarah declared, ‘but I’ll try.’
    By the time Marguerite had undressed and slipped into the neighbouring bed, she could tell by Sarah’s steady breathing that exhaustion from the day’s journey had overcome all excitement. Before extinguishing the candle, Marguerite rested her head on the pillow and let her thoughts drift. She could empathize with her friend’s glorious anticipation of being reunited with the man she loved. Had she not felt exactly the same whenever she and Jacques met again after a temporary absence from each other, no matter how short the time between?
    A quiet sigh of surprise escaped her as she realized that for the first time her thoughts had gone past the day of tragedy to the many joyous moments when, full of laughter, she and Jacques, sighting each other from a distance, had rushed into each other’s arms. How often he had swung her up off her feet to whirl her around with the speed of a child’s spinning top.
    She propped herself up on one elbow, scarcely able to believe that after so long in a black abyss of despair she was gradually emerging to find him again. With this comforting thought filling her mind, she took up the candle-snuffer from the table by her bed and put out the flame.
    In the morning the Comtesse returned to the hostelry, having spent the night at the home of an acquaintance, and he and his wife appeared to have loaded her with gifts, for several boxes were being stowed away. They were there to see her off and she was very gracious and smiling. Everybody else had to wait impatiently until her final farewells were said. Never once throughout the whole journey had she even nodded in Marguerite’s direction. Hendrick seemed to be the only fellow traveller to whom she had directed a smile since leaving Paris.
    In heavily falling snow the frozen River Dwina was crossed and by evening the lights of the city of Riga twinkled through the flakes. As the whole convoy came to a halt in front of a large hostelry peasants came flocking forward in the hope of carrying baggage.
    Once again Sarah was carried indoors where the welcome heat from a great stove met them in a comforting wave full of the aromas of food, pipe smoke and beer. As previously arranged by Tom, the landlord had only to be informed of her arrival and a message would be sent to him immediately. Marguerite had to wait ten minutes to gain the landlord’s attention, for he was busy serving the swarm of new arrivals, and from how he addressed them in turn he appeared to have a smattering of several languages. When he finally turned to her he understood her request immediately.
    â€˜I’ll send a boy now,’ he said as he continued pouring beer for one of his many thirsty customers.
    â€˜Now we have only to wait,’ Marguerite said as she rejoined Sarah, who had been seated in a high-backed chair in a quiet corner of the busy room.
    â€˜I know these minutes will be longer to me than the whole journey,’ Sarah confessed smilingly. ‘Do watch for Tom. I