Rondah; or, thirty-three years in a star

by Florence Carpenter Dieudonné

He leaned his head upon his hand and seemed in deep study.

The shade had been for hours beside the fire. Now it crossed the floor and touched him upon the shoulder.

“Come!” it said.

“It is Gregg Dempster!” cried Regan. “It is his voice! There is no God! Oh! if there were He would do this!”

Father Renaudin rose, took his staff and his books and went after his guide. We followed along the corridors, through doors which we had not opened, out into the last corridor, where the cold stopped us.

We saw them go out into the dark cold, the two, side by side, like spirits moving across the snow, Father Renaudin in his crimson robe, his hair blown like silver, his books clasped in one hand, his staff in the other.

The darkness hid them.

I would have married Isabella if I could have ever gained courage to so defy Regan. Now Father Renaudin was gone and there was no hope of his return.

“There are things in this star which were never on Earth!” said Isabella.

Then she threw herself down beside Regan and, leaning her head upon the arm of his chair, sobbed and wept in frightful passion. She looked only at Regan, Regan—never at me!