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diff --git a/31635-h/31635-h.htm b/31635-h/31635-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c56b392 --- /dev/null +++ b/31635-h/31635-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10397 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Silent Barrier, by Louis Tracy. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + td.top {vertical-align: top;} + td.bottom {vertical-align: bottom;} + + hr.large {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.medium {width: 45%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + hr.total {width: 100%; margin-top: 0.5em; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + + div.centered {text-align:center;} /*work around for IE centering with CSS problem part 1 */ + div.centered table {margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; text-align:left;} /* work around for IE problem part 2 */ + + body{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + + .pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; + } /* page numbers */ + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + .double {display: block; /* fake hr for double rules */ + width: 100%; + height: 3px; + line-height: 3px; + color: black; + margin: 10px auto 10px auto; + padding: 0; + border-top: 1px solid black; + border-bottom: 1px solid black; } + .double2 {display: block; /* fake hr for double rules */ + width: 100%; + height: 3px; + line-height: 3px; + color: black; + margin: 10px auto 10px auto; + padding: 0; + border-top: 2px solid black; + border-bottom: 1px solid black; } + .double3 {display: block; /* fake hr for double rules */ + width: 100%; + height: 3px; + line-height: 3px; + color: black; + margin: 10px auto 10px auto; + padding: 0; + border-top: 1px solid black; + border-bottom: 2px solid black; } + + .bbox {border: double;} + .bbox2 {border: none;} + + .centerbox {width: 30em; /* heading box */ + margin: 0 auto; + text-align: center;} + .n {text-indent:0%;} + + .center {text-align: center;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .caption {font-weight: bold;} + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + .illogap {margin-top: 1.5em;} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Silent Barrier, by Louis Tracy + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Silent Barrier + +Author: Louis Tracy + +Illustrator: J. V. McFall + A. W. Parsons + +Release Date: March 14, 2010 [EBook #31635] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SILENT BARRIER *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="centerbox bbox"><h1>The<br /> +Silent Barrier</h1> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>LOUIS TRACY</h2> + +<p class="center">AUTHOR OF<br /> +CYNTHIA’S CHAUFFEUR, A SON OF THE<br /> +IMMORTALS, THE WINGS OF THE MORNING, ETC.</p> + +<h4>ILLUSTRATIONS BY</h4> +<h3>J. V. M<small>C</small>FALL</h3> + +<p class="center">Page decorations by A. W. PARSONS from<br /> +photographs by THE ENGADINE PRESS</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 82px;"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="82" height="80" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h3>NEW YORK</h3> +<h2>GROSSET & DUNLAP</h2> +<h3>PUBLISHERS</h3></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright, 1908, 1911, by</span><br /> +EDWARD J. CLODE</p> + +<p class="center">Entered at Stationers’ Hall</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 364px;"> +<img src="images/i003.jpg" class="illogap" width="364" height="500" alt="“Spare me one moment, Miss Wynton,” he said." +title="" /> +<span class="caption">“Spare me one moment, Miss Wynton,” he said. +<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><i>Frontispiece</i></span></span> +</div> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="70%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS"> + +<tr> +<td align="right"><small>CHAPTER</small></td> +<td align="left"> </td> +<td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">I.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Wish</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">II.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Fulfillment of the Wish</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right" class="top">III.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Wherein Two People Become Better<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Acquainted</span></span></td> +<td align="right" class="bottom"><a href="#Page_41">41</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">IV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">How Helen Came to Maloja</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">V.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">An Interlude</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">VI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Battlefield</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">VII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Some Skirmishing</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_122">122</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">VIII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Shadows</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">IX.</td> +<td align="left">“<span class="smcap">Etta’s Father</span>”</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">X.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">On the Glacier</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_189">189</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right" class="top">XI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Wherein Helen Lives a Crowded<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hour</span></span></td> +<td align="right" class="bottom"><a href="#Page_212">212</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Allies</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_232">232</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XIII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Compact</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_253">253</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right" class="top">XIV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Wherein Millicent Arms for the<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Fray</span></span></td> +<td align="right" class="bottom"><a href="#Page_275">275</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Coward’s Victory</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_298">298</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XVI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Spencer Explains</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_321">321</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="right">XVII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Settlement</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_337">337</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox2"><p>Ich muss—Das ist die Schrank, in welcher mich die Welt +Von einer, die Natur von andrer Seite hält.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Fr. Rückert</span>: <i>Die Weisheit des Brahmenen</i>.</p> + +<p>[I must—That is the Barrier within which I am pent by the World on +the one hand and Nature on the other.]</p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i006.jpg" width="500" height="265" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h1>THE SILENT BARRIER</h1> + +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>THE WISH</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>ail in?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir; just arrived. What name?”</p> + +<p>“Charles K. Spencer.”</p> + +<p>The letter clerk seized a batch of correspondence and sorted it with +nimble fingers. The form of the question told him that Spencer was +interested in letters stamped for the greater part with bland +presentments of bygone Presidents of the United States. In any event, +he would have known, by long experience of the type, that the well +dressed, straight limbed, strong faced young man on the other side of +the counter was an American. He withdrew four missives from the +bundle. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>His quick eyes saw that three bore the Denver postmark, and +the fourth hailed from Leadville.</p> + +<p>“That is all at present, sir,” he said. “Would you like your mail sent +to your room in future, or shall I keep it here?”</p> + +<p>“Right here, please, in No. 20 slot. I could receive a reply by cable +while I was going and coming along my corridor.”</p> + +<p>The clerk smiled deferentially. He appreciated not only the length of +the corridor, but the price paid by the tenant of a second floor suite +overlooking the river.</p> + +<p>“Very well, sir,” he said, glancing again at Spencer, “I will attend +to it;” and he took a mental portrait of the man who could afford to +hire apartments that ranked among the most expensive in the hotel. +Obviously, the American was a recent arrival. His suite had been +vacated by a Frankfort banker only three days earlier, and this was +the first time he had asked for letters. Even the disillusioned +official was amused by the difference between the two latest occupants +of No. 20,—Herr Bamberger, a tub of a man, bald headed and +bespectacled, and this alert, sinewy youngster, with the cleancut +features of a Greek statue, and the brilliant, deep set, earnest eyes +of one to whom thought and action were alike familiar.</p> + +<p>Spencer, fully aware that he was posing for a necessary picture, +examined the dates on his letters, nipped the end off a green cigar, +helped himself <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>to a match from a box tendered by a watchful boy, +crossed the entrance hall, and descended a few steps leading to the +inner foyer and restaurant. At the foot of the stairs he looked about +for a quiet corner. The luncheon hour was almost ended. Groups of +smokers and coffee drinkers were scattered throughout the larger room, +which widened out below a second short flight of carpeted steps. The +smaller anteroom in which he stood was empty, save for a few people +passing that way from the restaurant, and he decided that a nook near +a palm shaded balcony offered the retreat he sought.</p> + +<p>He little dreamed that he was choosing the starting point of the most +thrilling adventure in a life already adventurous; that the soft +carpet of the Embankment Hotel might waft him to scenes not within the +common scope. That is ever the way of true romance. Your knight errant +may wander in the forest for a day or a year,—he never knows the +moment when the enchanted glade shall open before his eyes; nay, he +scarce has seen the weeping maiden bound to a tree ere he is called in +to couch his lance and ride a-tilt at the fire breathing dragon. It +was so when men and maids dwelt in a young world; it is so now; and it +will be so till the crack of doom. Manners may change, and costume; +but hearts filled with the wine of life are not to be altered. They +are fashioned that way, and the world does not vary, else Eve might +regain Paradise, and all the fret and fume have an end.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p><p>Charles K. Spencer, then, would certainly have been the most +astonished, though perhaps the most self possessed, man in London had +some guardian sprite whispered low in his ear what strange hazard lay +in his choice of a chair. If such whisper were vouchsafed to him he +paid no heed. Perhaps his occupancy of that particular corner was +preordained. It was inviting, secluded, an upholstered backwash in the +stream of fashion; so he sat there, nearly stunned a waiter by asking +for a glass of water, and composed himself to read his letters.</p> + +<p>The waiter hesitated. He was a Frenchman, and feared he had not heard +aright.</p> + +<p>“What sort of water, sir,” he asked,—“Vichy, St. Galmier, +Apollinaris?”</p> + +<p>Spencer looked up. He thought the man had gone. “No, none of those,” +he said. “Just plain, unemotional water,—<i>eau naturelle</i>,—straight +from the pipe,—the microbe laden fluid that runs off London tiles +most days. I haven’t been outside the hotel during the last hour; but +if you happen to pass the door I guess you’ll see the kind of essence +I mean dripping off umbrellas. If you don’t keep it in the house, try +to borrow a policeman’s cape and shoot a quart into a decanter.”</p> + +<p>The quelled waiter hurried away and brought a carafe. Spencer +professed to be so pleased with his rare intelligence that he gave him +a shilling. Then he opened the envelop with the Leadville postmark. It +contained a draft for 205 pounds, 15 shillings, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>11 pence, and the +accompanying letter from a firm of solicitors showed that the +remittance of a thousand dollars was the moiety of the proceeds of a +clean-up on certain tailings taken over by the purchasers of the +Battle Mountain tunnel. The sum was not a large one; but it seemed to +give its recipient such satisfaction that the movement of chairs on +the floor of the big room just beneath failed to draw his attention +from the lawyer’s statement.</p> + +<p>A woman’s languid, well bred voice broke in on this apparently +pleasant reverie.</p> + +<p>“Shall we sit here, Helen?”</p> + +<p>“Anywhere you like, dear. It is all the same to me. Thanks to you, I +am passing an afternoon in wonderland. I find my surroundings so novel +and entertaining that I should still be excited if you were to put me +in the refrigerator.”</p> + +<p>The eager vivacity of the second speaker—the note of undiluted and +almost childlike glee with which she acknowledged that a visit to a +luxurious hotel was a red letter day in her life—caused the man to +glance at the two young women who had unconsciously disturbed him. +Evidently, they had just risen from luncheon in the restaurant, and +meant to dispose themselves for a chat. It was equally clear that each +word they uttered in an ordinary conversational tone must be audible +to him. They were appropriating chairs which would place the plumes of +their hats within a few inches of his feet. When seated, their faces +would be hidden from him, save for a possible <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>glimpse of a profile as +one or other turned toward her companion. But for a few seconds he had +a good view of both, and he was young enough to find the scrutiny to +his liking.</p> + +<p>At the first glance, the girl who was acting as hostess might be +deemed the more attractive of the pair. She was tall, slender, +charmingly dressed, and carried herself with an assured elegance that +hinted of the stage. Spencer caught a glint of corn flower blue eyes +beneath long lashes, and a woman would have deduced from their color +the correct explanation of a blue sunshade, a blue straw hat, and a +light cape of Myosotis blue silk that fell from shapely shoulders over +a white lace gown.</p> + +<p>The other girl,—she who answered to the name of Helen,—though nearly +as tall and quite as graceful, was robed so simply in muslin that she +might have provided an intentional contrast. In the man’s esteem she +lost nothing thereby. He appraised her by the fine contour of her oval +face, the wealth of glossy brown hair that clustered under her hat, +and the gleam of white teeth between lips of healthy redness. Again, +had he looked through a woman’s eyes, he would have seen how the +difference between Bond-st. and Kilburn as shopping centers might be +sharply accentuated. But that distinction did not trouble him. Beneath +a cold exterior he had an artist’s soul, and “Helen” met an ideal.</p> + +<p>“Pretty as a peach!” he said to himself, and he continued to gaze at +her. Indeed, for an instant he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>forgot himself, and it was not until +she spoke again that he realized how utterly oblivious were both girls +of his nearness.</p> + +<p>“I suppose everybody who comes here is very rich,” was her rather +awe-stricken comment.</p> + +<p>Her companion laughed. “How nice of you to put it that way! It makes +me feel quite important. I lunch or dine or sup here often, and the +direct inference is that I am rolling in wealth.”</p> + +<p>“Well, dear, you earn a great deal of money——”</p> + +<p>“I get twenty pounds a week, and this frock I am wearing cost +twenty-five. Really, Helen, you are the sweetest little goose I ever +met. You live in London, but are not of it. You haven’t grasped the +first principle of social existence. If I dressed within my means, and +never spent a sovereign until it was in my purse, I should not even +earn the sovereign. I simply must mix with this crowd whether I can +afford it or not.”</p> + +<p>“But surely you are paid for your art, not as a mannikin. You are +almost in the front rank of musical comedy. I have seen you +occasionally at the theater, and I thought you were the best dancer in +the company.”</p> + +<p>“What about my singing?”</p> + +<p>“You have a very agreeable and well trained voice.”</p> + +<p>“I’m afraid you are incorrigible. You ought to have said that I sang +better than I danced, and the fib would have pleased me immensely; we +women like <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>to hear ourselves praised for accomplishments we don’t +possess. No, my dear, rule art out of the cast and substitute +advertisement. Did you notice a dowdy creature who was lunching with +two men on your right? She wore a brown Tussore silk and a +turban—well, she writes the ‘Pars About People’ in ‘The Daily +Journal.’ I’ll bet you a pair of gloves that you will see something +like this in to-morrow’s paper: ‘Lord Archie Beaumanoir entertained a +party of friends at the Embankment Hotel yesterday. At the next table +Miss Millicent Jaques, of the Wellington Theater, was lunching with a +pretty girl whom I did not know. Miss Jaques wore an exquisite,’ etc., +etc. Fill in full details of my personal appearance, and you have the +complete paragraph. The public, the stupid, addle-headed public, +fatten on that sort of thing, and it keeps me going far more +effectively than my feeble attempts to warble a couple of songs which +you could sing far better if only you made up your mind to come on the +stage. But there! After such unwonted candor I must have a smoke. You +won’t try a cigarette? Well, don’t look so shocked. This isn’t a +church, you know.”</p> + +<p>Spencer, who had listened with interest to Miss Jaques’s outspoken +views, suddenly awoke to the fact that he was playing the part of an +eavesdropper. He had all an American’s chivalrous instincts where +women were concerned, and his first impulse was to betake himself and +his letters to his own room. Yet, when all was said and done, he was +in a hotel; the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>girls were strangers, and likely to remain so; and it +was their own affair if they chose to indulge in unguarded +confidences. So he compromised with his scruples by pouring out a +glass of water, replacing the decanter on its tray with some degree of +noise. Then he struck an unnecessary match and applied it to his cigar +before opening the first of the Denver letters.</p> + +<p>As his glance was momentarily diverted, he did not grasp the essential +fact that neither of the pair was disturbed by his well meant efforts. +Millicent Jaques was lighting a cigarette, and this, to a woman, is an +all absorbing achievement, while her friend was so new to her palatial +surroundings that she had not the least notion of the existence of +another open floor just above the level of her eyes.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know how in the world you manage to exist,” went on the +actress, tilting herself back in her chair to watch the smoke curling +lazily upward. “What was it you said the other day when we met? You +are some sort of secretary and amanuensis to a scientist? Does that +mean typewriting? And what is the science?”</p> + +<p>“Professor von Eulenberg is a well known man,” was the quiet reply. “I +type his essays and reports, it is true; but I also assist in his +classification work, and it is very interesting.”</p> + +<p>“What does he classify?”</p> + +<p>“Mostly beetles.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p><p>“Oh, how horrid! Do you ever see any?”</p> + +<p>“Thousands.”</p> + +<p>“I should find one enough. If it is a fair question, what does your +professor pay you?”</p> + +<p>“Thirty shillings a week. In his own way he is as poor as I am.”</p> + +<p>“And do you mean to tell me that you can live in those nice rooms you +took me to, and dress decently on that sum?”</p> + +<p>“I do, as a matter of fact; but I have a small pension, and I earn a +little by writing titbits of scientific gossip for ‘The Firefly.’ Herr +von Eulenberg helps. He translates interesting paragraphs from the +foreign technical papers, and I jot them down, and by that means I +pick up sufficient to buy an extra hat or wrap, and go to a theater or +a concert. But I have to be careful, as my employer is absent each +summer for two months. He goes abroad to hunt new specimens, and of +course I am not paid then.”</p> + +<p>“Is he away now?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And how do you pass your time?”</p> + +<p>“I write a good deal. Some day I hope to get a story accepted by one +of the magazines; but it is so hard for a beginner to find an +opening.”</p> + +<p>“Yet when I offered to give you a start in the chorus of the best +theater in London,—a thing, mind you, that thousands of girls are +aching for,—you refused.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p><p>“I’m sorry, Millie dear; but I am not cut out for the stage. It does +not appeal to me.”</p> + +<p>“Heigho! Tastes differ. Stick to your beetles, then, and marry your +professor.”</p> + +<p>Helen laughed, with a fresh joyousness that was good to hear. “Herr +von Eulenberg is blessed with an exceedingly stout wife and five very +healthy children already,” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Then that settles it. You’re mad, quite mad! Let us talk of something +else. Do you ever have a holiday? Where are you going this year? I’m +off to Champèry when the theater closes.”</p> + +<p>“Champèry,—in Switzerland, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that is the dream of my life,—to see the everlasting snows; to +climb those grand, solemn mountains; to cross the great passes that +one reads of in the travel books. Now at last you have made me +envious. Are you going alone? But of course that is a foolish +question. You intend to join others from the theater, no doubt?”</p> + +<p>“Well—er—something of the sort. I fear my enthusiasm will not carry +me far on the lines that would appeal to you. I suppose you consider a +short skirt, strong boots, a Tyrolese hat, and an alpenstock to be a +sufficient rig-out, whereas my mountaineering costumes will fill five +large trunks and three hat boxes. I’m afraid, Helen, we don’t run on +the same rails, as our American cousins say.”</p> + +<p>There was a little pause. Millicent’s words, apparently <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>tossed +lightly into the air after a smoke spiral, had in them a touch of +bitterness, it might be of self analysis. Her guest seemed to take +thought before she answered:</p> + +<p>“Perhaps the divergence is mainly in environment. And I have always +inclined to the more serious side of life. Even when we were together +in Brussels——”</p> + +<p>“You? Serious? At Madam Bérard’s? I like that. Who was it that kicked +the plaster off the dormitory wall higher than her head? Who put +pepper in Signor Antonio’s snuff box?”</p> + +<p>Spencer saw the outer waves of a flush on Helen’s cheeks. “This is +exceedingly interesting,” he thought; “but I cannot even persuade +myself that I ought to listen any longer. Yet, if I rise now and walk +away they will know I heard every word.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, he meant to go, at the risk of their embarrassment; but +he waited for Helen’s reply. She laughed, and the ripple of her mirth +was as musical as her voice, whereas many women dowered with +pleasantly modulated notes for ordinary conversation should be careful +never to indulge in laughter, which is less controllable and therefore +natural.</p> + +<p>“That is the worst of having a past,” she said. “Let me put it, then, +that entomology as a pursuit sternly represses frivolousness.”</p> + +<p>“Does entomology mean beetles?”</p> + +<p>“My dear, if you asked Herr von Eulenberg that question he would sate +your curiosity with page extracts from one of his books. He has +written a whole <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>volume to prove that the only true entoma, or +insects, are Condylopoda and Hexapoda, which means——”</p> + +<p>“Cockroaches! Good gracious! To think of Helen Wynton, who once hit a +Belgian boy very hard on the nose for being rude, wasting her life on +such rubbish! And you actually seem to thrive on it. I do believe you +are far happier than I.”</p> + +<p>“At present I am envying you that trip to Champèry. Why cannot some +fairy godmother call in at No. 5, Warburton Gardens, to-night and wave +over my awed head a wand that shall scatter sleeping car tickets and +banknotes galore, or at any rate sufficient thereof to take me to the +Engadine and back?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, the Engadine. I am not going there this year, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Haven’t you planned your tour yet?”</p> + +<p>“No—that is, not exactly.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know, that is one of my greatest pleasures. With a last year’s +Continental Bradshaw and a few tattered Baedekers I journey far +afield. I know the times, the fares, and the stopping places of all +the main routes from Calais and Boulogne. I could pass a creditable +examination in most of the boat and train services by way of Ostend, +Flushing, and the Hook of Holland. I assure you, Millie, when my ship +does come home, or the glittering lady whom I have invoked deigns to +visit my lodgings, I shall call a cab for Charing Cross or Victoria +with the assurance of a seasoned traveler.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p><p>For some reason, Miss Jaques refused to share her friend’s enthusiasm. +“You are easily pleased,” she said listlessly. “For my part, after one +shuddering glance at the Channel, I try to deaden all sensation till I +find myself dressing for dinner at the Ritz. I positively refuse to go +beyond Paris the first day. Ah, bother! Here comes a man whom I wish +to avoid. Let us be on the move before he sees us, which he cannot +fail to do. Don’t forget that I have a rehearsal at three. I haven’t, +really; but we must escape somehow.”</p> + +<p>Spencer, who had salved his conscience by endeavoring to read a +technical letter on mining affairs, would be less than human if he did +not lift his eyes then. It is odd how the sense of hearing, when left +to its unfettered play by the absence of the disturbing influence of +facial expression, can discriminate in its analysis of the subtler +emotions. He was quite sure that Miss Jaques was startled, even +annoyed, by the appearance of some person whom she did not expect to +meet, and he surveyed the new arrival critically, perhaps with latent +hostility.</p> + +<p>He saw a corpulent, well dressed man standing at the foot of the +stairs and looking around the spacious room. Obviously, he had not +come from the restaurant. He carried his hat, gloves, and stick in his +left hand. With his right hand he caressed his chin, and his glance +wandered slowly over the little knots of people in the foyer. Beyond +the fact that a large diamond sparkled on one of his plump fingers, +and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>that his olive tinted face was curiously opposed to the whiteness +of the uplifted hand, he differed in no essential from the hundreds of +spick and span idlers who might be encountered at that hour in the +west end of London. He had the physique and bearing of a man athletic +in his youth but now over-indulgent. An astute tailor had managed to +conceal the too rounded curves of the fourth decade by fashioning his +garments skillfully. His coat fitted like a skin across his shoulders +but hung loosely in front. The braid of a colored waistcoat was a +marvel of suggestion in indicating a waist, and the same adept +craftsmanship carried the eye in faultless lines to his verni boots. +Judged by his profile, he was not ill looking. His features were +regular, the mouth and chin strong, the forehead slightly rounded, and +the nose gave the merest hint of Semitic origin. Taken altogether, he +had the style of a polished man of the world, and Spencer smiled at +the sudden fancy that seized him.</p> + +<p>“I am attending the first act of a little play,” he thought. “Helen +and Millicent rise and move to center of stage; enter the conventional +villain.”</p> + +<p>Miss Jaques was not mistaken when she said that her acquaintance would +surely see her. She and Helen Wynton had not advanced a yard from +their corner before the newcomer discovered them. He hastened to meet +them, with the aspect of one equally surprised and delighted. His +manners were courtly, and displayed great friendliness; but Spencer +was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>quick to notice the air of interest with which his gaze rested on +Helen. It was possible to see now that Millicent’s unexpected friend +had large, prominent dark eyes which lent animation and vivacity to a +face otherwise heavy and coarse. It was impossible to hear all that +was said, as the trio stood in the middle of the room and a couple of +men passing up the stairs at the moment were talking loudly. But +Spencer gathered that Millicent was explaining volubly how she and +Miss Wynton had “dropped in here for luncheon by the merest chance,” +and was equally emphatic in the declaration that she was already +overdue at the theater.</p> + +<p>The man said something, and glanced again at Helen. Evidently, he +asked for an introduction, which Miss Jaques gave with an affability +that was eloquent of her powers as an actress. The unwished for +cavalier was not to be shaken off. He walked with them up the stairs +and crossed the entrance hall. Spencer, stuffing his letters into a +pocket, strolled that way too, and saw this pirate in a morning coat +bear off both girls in a capacious motor car.</p> + +<p>Not to be balked of the dénouement of the little comedy in real life +for which he had provided the audience, the American grabbed the hall +porter.</p> + +<p>“Say,” he said, “do you know that gentleman?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. That is Mr. Mark Bower.”</p> + +<p>Spencer beamed on the man as though he had just discovered that Mr. +Mark Bower was his dearest friend.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span></p><p>“Well, now, if that isn’t the queerest thing!” he said. “Is that Mark? +He’s just gone round to the Wellington Theater, I guess. How far is it +from here?”</p> + +<p>“Not a hundred yards, sir.”</p> + +<p>Off went Spencer, without his hat. He had intended to follow in a cab, +but a sprint would be more effective over such a short distance. He +crossed the Strand without heed to the traffic, turned to the right, +and, to use his own phrase, “butted into a policeman” at the first +corner.</p> + +<p>“I’m on the hunt for the Wellington Theater,” he explained.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t hunt much farther,” said the constable good humoredly. +“There it is, a little way up on the left.”</p> + +<p>At that instant Spencer saw Bower raise his hat to the two women. They +hurried inside the theater, and their escort turned to reënter his +motor. The American had learned what he wanted to know. Miss Jaques +had shaken off her presumed admirer, and Miss Wynton had aided and +abetted her in the deed.</p> + +<p>“You don’t say!” he exclaimed, gazing at the building admiringly. +“It looks new. In fact the whole street has a kind of San +Francisco-after-the-fire appearance.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, sir. It’s not so long since some of the worst slums in +London were pulled down to make way for it.”</p> + +<p>“It’s fine; but I’m rather stuck on antiquities. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>I’ve seen plenty of +last year’s palaces on the other side. Have a drink, will you, when +time’s up?”</p> + +<p>The policeman glanced surreptitiously at the half-crown which Spencer +insinuated into his palm, and looked after the donor as he went back +to the hotel.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m jiggered!” he said to himself. “I’ve often heard tell of +the way some Americans see London; but I never came across a chap who +rushed up in his bare head and took a squint at any place in that +fashion. He seemed to have his wits about him too; but there must be a +screw loose somewhere.”</p> + +<p>And indeed Charles K. Spencer, had he paused to take stock of his +behavior, must have admitted that it was, to say the least, erratic. +But his imagination was fired; his sympathies were all a-quiver with +the thought that it lay within his power to share with a kin soul some +small part of the good fortune that had fallen to his lot of late.</p> + +<p>“Wants a fairy godmother, does she?” he asked himself, and the quiet +humor that gleamed in his face caused more than one passerby to turn +and watch him as he strode along the pavement. “Well, I guess I’ll +play a character not hitherto heard of in the legitimate drama. What +price the fairy godfather? I’ve a picture of myself in that rôle. Oh, +my! See me twirl that wand! Helen, you shall climb those rocks. But I +don’t like your friend. I sha’n’t send you to Champèry. No—Champèry’s +off the map for you.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i024.jpg" width="500" height="270" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">E</span>xplanations of motive are apt to become tedious. They are generally +inaccurate too; for who can reduce a fantasy to a formula? Nor should +they ever be allowed to clip the wings of romance. But the painter who +bade his subject sit under a sodium light would justly be deemed a +lunatic, and any analysis of Spencer’s character drawn from his latest +prank would be faulty in the extreme.</p> + +<p>In all London at that moment there was not a more level headed man of +his years. He was twenty-eight, an expert mining engineer, and the +successful pioneer of a new method of hauling ore. Even in Western +America, “God’s own country,” as it is held to be by those who live +there, few men “arrive” so early in life. Some, it is true, amass +wealth by lucky speculation before they are fitted by experience to +earn the price of a suit of clothes. But they are of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>the freak order. +They are not to be classed with one who by hard work wrests a fortune +out of the grim Colorado granite. Spencer had been called on to endure +long years of rebuff and scorn. Though scoffed at by many who thought +he was wrong, he persisted because he knew he was right.</p> + +<p>Ofttimes Fate will test such a man almost to breaking point. Then she +yields, and, being feminine, her obduracy is the measure of her +favors, for she will bestow on her dogged suitor all, and more than +all, that he desired.</p> + +<p>The draft from Leadville, crammed so carelessly into a pocket when he +followed the three to the door, was a fair instance of this trick of +hers. A tunnel, projected and constructed in the teeth of ridicule and +financial opposition, had linked up the underground workings of +several mines, and proved conclusively that it was far cheaper to +bring minerals to the rail in that manner than to sink expensive +shafts, raise the ore to the top of a mountain, and cart it to its old +level in the valley.</p> + +<p>Once the thing was indisputable, the young engineer found himself rich +and famous. To increase the feeders of the main bore, he drove another +short gallery through a mining claim acquired for a few dollars,—a +claim deemed worthless owing to a geological fault that traversed its +whole length. That was Fate’s opportunity. Doubtless she smiled +mischievously when she gave him a vein of rich quartz through which to +quarry his way. The mere delving <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>of the rock had produced two +thousand dollars’ worth of ore, of which sum he took a moiety by +agreement with the company that purchased his rights.</p> + +<p>People in Leadville soon discovered that Spencer was a bright +man,—“yes, sir, a citizen of whom the chief mining city of the Rocky +Mountains has every reason to be proud,”—and the railway magnate who +had nearly ruined him by years of hostility buried the past +grandiloquently with a <i>mot</i>.</p> + +<p>“Charles K. Spencer can’t be sidetracked,” he said. “That K isn’t in +his name by accident. Look at it,—a regular buffer of a letter! Tell +you what, you may monkey with Charles; but when you hit the K look out +for trouble.”</p> + +<p>Whereupon the miners laughed, and said that the president was a mighty +smart man too, and Spencer, who knew he was a thief, but was unwilling +to quarrel with him for the sake of the company, thought that a six +months’ vacation in Europe would make for peace and general content.</p> + +<p>He had no plans. He was free to wander whithersoever chance led him. +Arriving in London from Plymouth late on a Thursday evening, he took a +bus-driver’s holiday on Friday. Finding a tunnel under the Thames in +full progress near the hotel, he sought the resident engineer, spoke +to him in the lingua franca of the craft, and spent several dangerous +and enjoyable hours in crawling through all manner of uncomfortable +passages bored by human worms beneath the bed of the river.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p><p>And this was Saturday, and here he was, at three o’clock in the +afternoon, turning over in his mind the best way of sending on an +expensive trip abroad a girl who had not the remotest notion of his +existence. It was a whim, and a harmless one, and he excused it to his +practical mind by the reflection that he was entitled to one day of +extravagance after seven years of hard labor. For his own part, he was +weary of mountains. He had wrought against one, frowning and stubborn +as any Alp, and had not desisted until he reached its very heart with +a four thousand foot lance. Switzerland was the last place in Europe +he would visit. He wanted to see old cities and dim cathedrals, to +lounge in pleasant lands where rivers murmured past lush meadows. +Though an American born and bred, there was a tradition in his home +that the Spencers were once people of note on the border. When tired +of London, he meant to go north, and ramble through Liddesdale in +search of family records. But the business presently on hand was to +arrange that Swiss excursion for “Helen,” and he set about it with +characteristic energy.</p> + +<p>In the first instance, he noted her name and address on the back of +the Leadville envelop. Then he sought the manager.</p> + +<p>“I guess you know Switzerland pretty well,” he said, when a polite man +was produced by a boy.</p> + +<p>The assumption was well founded. In fact, the first really important +looking object the manager <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>remembered seeing in this world was the +giant Matterhorn, because his mother told him that if he was a bad boy +he would be carried off by the demons that dwelt on its summit.</p> + +<p>“What sort of places are Evian-les-Bains and Champèry?” went on +Spencer.</p> + +<p>“Evian is a fashionable lakeside town. Champèry is in the hills behind +it. When Evian becomes too hot in August, one goes to Champèry to cool +down.”</p> + +<p>“Are they anywhere near the Engadine?”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious, no! They are as different as chalk and cheese.”</p> + +<p>“Is the Engadine the cheese? Does it take the biscuit?”</p> + +<p>The manager laughed. Like all Londoners, he regarded every American as +a humorist. “It all depends,” he said. “For my part, I think the Upper +Engadine is far and away the most charming section of Switzerland; but +there are ladies of my acquaintance who would unhesitatingly vote for +Evian, and for a score of other places where there are promenades and +casinos. Are you thinking of making a tour there?”</p> + +<p>“There’s no telling where I may bring up when I cross the Channel,” +said Spencer. “I have heard some talk of the two districts, and it +occurred to me that you were just the man to give me a few useful +pointers.”</p> + +<p>“Well, the average tourist rushes from one valley <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>to another, tramps +over a pass each morning, and spends the afternoon in a train or on +board a lake steamer. But if I wanted a real rest, and wished at the +same time to be in a center from which pleasant walks, or stiff climbs +for that matter, could be obtained, I should go by the Engadine +Express to St. Moritz, and drive from there to the Maloja-Kulm, where +there is an excellent hotel and usually a number of nice people.”</p> + +<p>“English?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, English and Americans. They select the best as a rule, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“It sounds attractive,” said Spencer.</p> + +<p>“And it is, believe me. Don’t forget the name, Maloja-Kulm. It is +twelve miles from everywhere, and practically consists of the one big +hotel.”</p> + +<p>Spencer procured his hat, gloves, and stick, and called a cab. “Take +me to ‘The Firefly’ office,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Beg pawdon, sir, but where’s that?” asked the driver.</p> + +<p>“It’s up to you to find out.”</p> + +<p>“Then w’at is it, guv’nor? I’ve heerd of the ’Orse an’ ’Ound, the +Chicken’s Friend, the Cat, an’ the Bee; but the Firefly leaves me +thinkin’. Is it a noospaper?”</p> + +<p>“Something of the sort.”</p> + +<p>“All right, sir. Jump in. We’ll soon be on its track.”</p> + +<p>The hansom scampered off to Fleet-st. As the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>result of inquiries +Spencer was deposited at the entrance to a dingy court, the depths of +which, he was assured, were illumined by “The Firefly.” There is +nothing that so mystifies the citizen of the New World as the +hole-and-corner aspect of some of the business establishments of +London. He soon learns, however, to differentiate between the spidery +dens where money is amassed and the soot laden tenements in which the +struggle for existence is keen. A comprehensive glance at the exterior +of the premises occupied by “The Firefly” at once explained to Spencer +why the cabman did not know its whereabouts. Three small rooms +sufficed for its literary and commercial staff, and “To let” notices +stared from several windows in the same building.</p> + +<p>“Appearances are deceptive ever,” murmured he, as he scanned the +legends on three doors in a narrow lobby; “but I think I’m beginning +to catch on to the limited extent of Miss Helen’s earnings from her +scientific paragraphs.”</p> + +<p>He knocked at each door; but received no answer. Then, having sharp +ears, he tried the handle of one marked “Private.” It yielded, and he +entered, to be accosted angrily by a pallid, elderly, bewhiskered man, +standing in front of a much littered table.</p> + +<p>“Confound it, sir!” came the growl, “don’t you know it is Saturday +afternoon? And what do you mean by coming in unannounced?”</p> + +<p>“Guess you’re the editor?” said Spencer.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p><p>“What if I am?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve just happened along to have a few quiet words with you. If +there’s no callers Saturdays, why, that’s exactly what I want, and I +came right in because you didn’t answer my knock.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you I’m not supposed to be here.”</p> + +<p>“Then you shouldn’t draw corks while anybody is damaging the paint +outside.”</p> + +<p>Spencer smiled so agreeably that the editor of “The Firefly” softened. +At first, he had taken his visitor for an unpaid contributor; but the +American accent banished this phantom of the imagination. He continued +to pour into a tumbler the contents of a bottle of beer.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, “now that you are here, what can I do for you, +Mr.——”</p> + +<p>“Spencer—Charles K. Spencer.”</p> + +<p>Instantly it struck the younger man that little more than an hour had +elapsed since he gave his name to the letter clerk in the hotel. The +singularity of his proceedings during that hour was thereby brought +home to him. He knew nothing of newspapers, daily or weekly; but +commonsense suggested that “The Firefly’s” radiance was not +over-powering. His native shrewdness advised caution, though he felt +sure that he could, in homely phrase, twist this faded journalist +round his little finger.</p> + +<p>“Before I open the ball,” he said, “may I see a copy of your +magazine?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p><p>Meanwhile the other was trying to sum him up. He came to the +conclusion that his visitor meant to introduce some new advertising +scheme, and, as “The Firefly” was sorely in need of advertisements, he +decided to listen.</p> + +<p>“Here is last week’s issue,” he said, handing to Spencer a small +sixteen-page publication. The American glanced through it rapidly, +while the editor sampled the beer.</p> + +<p>“I see,” said Spencer, after he had found a column signed “H. W.,” +which consisted of paragraphs translated from a German article on +airships,—“I see that ‘The Firefly’ scintillates around the Tree of +Knowledge.”</p> + +<p>The editor relaxed sufficiently to smile. “That is a good description +of its weekly flights,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You don’t use many cuts?”</p> + +<p>“N-no. They are expensive and hard to obtain for such subjects as we +favor.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you think it would be a good notion to brighten it up a +bit—put in something lively, and more in keeping with the name?”</p> + +<p>“I have no opening for new matter, if that is what you mean,” and the +editor stiffened again.</p> + +<p>“But you have the say-so as to the contents, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. The selection rests with me.”</p> + +<p>“Good. I’m sort of interested in a young lady, Miss Helen Wynton by +name. She lives in Warburton Gardens, and does work for you +occasionally. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>Now, I propose to send her on a month’s trip to +Switzerland, where she will represent ‘The Firefly.’ You must get her +to turn out a couple of pages of readable stuff each week, which you +will have illustrated by a smart artist at a cost of say, twenty +pounds an article for drawings and blocks. I pay all expenses, she +gets the trip, and you secure some good copy for nothing. Is it a +deal?”</p> + +<p>The editor sat down suddenly and combed his whiskers with nervous +fingers. He was a weak man, and a too liberal beer diet was not good +for him.</p> + +<p>“Are you in earnest, Mr. Spencer?” he queried in a bewildered way.</p> + +<p>“Dead in earnest. You write the necessary letter to Miss Wynton while +I am here, and I hand you the first twenty in notes. You are to tell +her to call Monday noon at any bank you may select, and she will be +given her tickets and a hundred pounds. When I am certain that she has +started I undertake to pay you a further sum of sixty pounds. I make +only two conditions. You must guarantee to star her work, as it should +help her some, and my identity must not be disclosed to her under any +circumstances. In a word, she must regard herself as the accredited +correspondent of ‘The Firefly.’ If she appears to be a trifle rattled +by your generosity in the matter of terms, you must try and look as if +you did that sort of thing occasionally and would like to do it +often.”</p> + +<p>The editor pushed his chair away from the table. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>He seemed to require +more air. “Again I must ask you if you actually mean what you say?” he +gasped.</p> + +<p>Spencer opened a pocketbook and counted four five-pound notes out of a +goodly bundle. “It is all here in neat copperplate,” he said, placing +the notes on the table. “Maybe you haven’t caught on to the root idea +of the proposition,” he continued, seeing that the other man was +staring at him blankly. “I want Miss Wynton to have a real good time. +I also want to lift her up a few rungs of the journalistic ladder. But +she is sensitive, and would resent patronage; so I must not figure in +the affair at all. I have no other motive at the back of my head. I’m +putting up two hundred pounds out of sheer philanthropy. Will you +help?”</p> + +<p>“There are points about this amazing proposal that require +elucidation,” said the editor slowly. “Travel articles might possibly +come within the scope of ‘The Firefly’; but I am aware that Miss +Wynton is what might be termed an exceedingly attractive young lady. +For instance, you wouldn’t be philanthropic on my account.”</p> + +<p>“You never can tell. It all depends how your case appealed to me. But +if you are hinting that I intend to use my scheme for the purpose of +winning Miss Wynton’s favorable regard, I must say that she strikes me +as the kind of girl who would think she had been swindled if she +learned the truth. In any event, I may never see her again, and it is +certainly not my design to follow her to Switzerland. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>I don’t kick at +your questions. You’re old enough to be her father, and mine, for that +matter. Go ahead. This is Saturday afternoon, you know, and there’s no +business stirring.”</p> + +<p>Spencer had to cover the ground a second time before everything was +made clear. At last the fateful letter was written. He promised to +call on Monday and learn how the project fared. Then he relieved the +cabman’s anxiety, as the alley possessed a second exit, and was driven +to the Wellington Theater, where he secured a stall for that night’s +performance of the Chinese musical comedy in which Miss Millicent +Jaques played the part of a British Admiral’s daughter.</p> + +<p>While Spencer was watching Helen’s hostess cutting capers in a +Mandarin’s palace, Helen herself was reading, over and over again, a +most wonderful letter that had fallen from her sky. It had all the +appearance of any ordinary missive. The King’s face on a penny stamp, +or so much of it as was left uninjured by a postal smudge, looked +familiar enough, and both envelop and paper resembled those which had +brought her other communications from “The Firefly.” But the text was +magic, rank necromancy. No wizard who ever dealt in black letter +treatises could have devised a more convincing proof of his occult +powers than this straightforward offer made by the editor of “The +Firefly.” Four articles of five thousand words each,—tickets and 100 +pounds awaiting her at a bank,—go to the Maloja-Kulm <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>Hotel; leave +London at the earliest possible date; please send photographs and +suggestions for black-and-white illustrations of mountaineering and +society! What could it possibly mean?</p> + +<p>At the third reading Helen began to convince herself that this rare +stroke of luck was really hers. The concluding paragraph shed light on +“The Firefly’s” extraordinary outburst.</p> + +<p>“As this commission heralds a new departure for the paper, I have to +ask you to be good enough not to make known the object of your +journey. In fact, it will be as well if you do not state your +whereabouts to any persons other than your near relatives. Of course, +all need for secrecy ceases with the appearance of your first article; +but by that time you will practically be on your way home again. I am +anxious to impress on you the importance of this instruction.”</p> + +<p>Helen found herein the germ of understanding. “The Firefly” meant to +boom itself on its Swiss correspondence; but even that darksome piece +of journalistic enterprise did not explain the princely munificence of +the hundred pounds. At last, when she calmed down sufficiently to be +capable of connected thought, she saw that “mountaineering” implied +the hire of guides, and that “society” meant frocks. Of course it was +intended that she should spend the whole of the money, and thus give +“The Firefly” a fair return for its outlay. And a rapid calculation +revealed the dazzling fact that after setting aside the fabulous sum +of two pounds a day for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>expenses she still had forty pounds left +wherewith to replenish her scanty stock of dresses.</p> + +<p>Believing that at any instant the letter might dissolve into a curt +request to keep her scientific jottings strictly within the limits +of a column, Helen sat with it lying open on her lap, and searched the +pages of a tattered guidebook for particulars of the Upper Engadine. +She had read every line before; but the words now seemed to live. +St. Moritz, Pontresina, Sils-Maria, Silvaplana,—they ceased to be +mere names,—they became actualities. The Julier Pass, the Septimer, +the Forno Glacier, the Diavolezza Route, and the rest of the +stately panorama of snow capped peaks, blue lakes, and narrow +valleys,—valleys which began with picturesque chalets, dun colored +cattle, and herb laden pastures, and ended in the yawning mouths of +ice rivers whence issued the milky white streams that dashed through +the lower gorges,—they passed before her eyes as she read till she +was dazzled by their glories.</p> + +<p>What a day dream to one who dwelt in smoky London year in and year +out! What an experience to look forward to! What memories to treasure! +Nor was she blind to the effect of the undertaking on her future. +Though “The Firefly” was not an important paper, though its editor was +of a half-forgotten day and generation, she would now have good work +to show when asked what she had done. She was not enamored of beetles. +Even the classifying of them was monotonous, and she had striven +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>bravely to push her way through the throng of would-be writers that +besieged the doors of every popular periodical in London. It was a +heartbreaking struggle. The same post that gave her this epoch marking +letter had brought back two stories with the stereotyped expression of +editorial regret.</p> + +<p>“Now,” thought Helen, when her glance fell on the bulky envelops, “my +name will at least become known. And editors very much resemble the +public they cater for. If a writer achieves success, they all want +him. I have often marveled how any author got his first chance. Now I +know. It comes this way, like a flash of lightning from a summer sky.”</p> + +<p>It was only fit and proper that she should magnify her first real +commission. No veteran soldier ever donned a field marshal’s uniform +with the same zest that he displayed when his subaltern’s outfit came +from the tailor. So Helen glowed with that serious enthusiasm which is +the soul of genius, for without it life becomes flat and gray, and +she passed many anxious, half-doubting hours until a courteous bank +official handed her a packet at the appointed time on Monday, and gave +her a receipt to sign, and asked her how she would take her hundred +pounds—did she want it all in notes or some in gold?</p> + +<p>She was so unnerved by this sudden confirmation of her good fortune +that she stammered confusedly, “I—really—don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it would be rather heavy in gold,” came <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span>the smiling comment. +“This money, I understand, is paid to you for some journalistic +enterprise that will take you abroad. May I suggest that you should +carry, say, thirty pounds in notes and ten in gold, and allow me to +give you the balance in the form of circular notes, which are payable +only under your signature?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Helen, rosy red at her own awkwardness, “that will be very +nice.”</p> + +<p>The official pushed across the counter some banknotes and sovereigns, +and summoned a commissionaire to usher her into the waiting room till +he had prepared the circular notes. The respite was a blessing. It +gave Helen time to recover her self possession. She opened the packet +and found therein coupons for the journey to and from St. Moritz, +together with a letter from the sleeping car company, from which she +gathered that a berth on the Engadine Express was provisionally +reserved in her name for the following Thursday, but any change to +a later date must be made forthwith, as the holiday pressure was +beginning. It was advisable too, she was reminded, that she should +secure her return berth before leaving London.</p> + +<p>Each moment the reality of the tour became more patent. She might +feel herself bewitched; but pounds sterling and railway tickets were +tangible things, and not to be explained away by any fantasy. By the +time her additional wealth was ready she was better fitted to guard +it. She hurried away quite <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>unconscious of the admiring eyes that were +raised from dockets and ledgers behind the grille. She made for the +court in which “The Firefly” had its abode. The squalor of the +passage, the poverty stricken aspect of the stairs,—items which had +prepared her on other occasions for the starvation rate of pay offered +for her work,—now passed unheeded. This affectation of scanty means +was humorous. Obviously, some millionaire had secured what the +newspapers called “a controlling interest” in “The Firefly.”</p> + +<p>She sought Mackenzie, the editor, and he received her with a manifest +reluctance to waste his precious time over details that was almost as +convincing as the money and vouchers she carried.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Thursday will suit admirably,” he said in reply to her +breathless questions. “You will reach Maloja on Friday evening, and +if you post the first article that day week it will arrive in good +time for the next number. As for the style and tone, I leave those +considerations entirely to you. So long as the matter is bright and +readable, that is all I want. I put my requirements clearly in my +letter. Follow that, and you cannot make any mistake.”</p> + +<p>Helen little realized how precise were the instructions given two +hours earlier to the editor, the bank clerk, and the sleeping car +company. Mackenzie’s curt acceptance of her mission brought a +wondering cry to her lips.</p> + +<p>“I am naturally overjoyed at my selection for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>this work,” she said. +“May I ask how you came to think of me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it is hard to say how these things are determined,” he answered. +“We liked your crisp way of putting dull facts, I suppose, and thought +that a young lady’s impressions of life in an Anglo-Swiss summer +community would be fresher and more attractive than a man’s. That is +all. I hope you will enjoy your experiences.”</p> + +<p>“But, please, I want to thank you——”</p> + +<p>“Not a word! Business is business, you know. If a thing is worth +doing, it must be done well. Good-by!”</p> + +<p>He flattered himself that he could spend another man’s money with as +lordly an air as the youngest journalist on Fleet-st. The difficulty +was to find the man with the money, and Mackenzie had given much +thought during the Sabbath to the potentialities that lay behind +Spencer’s whim. He was sure the incident would not close with the +publication of Miss Wynton’s articles. Judiciously handled, her +unknown benefactor might prove equally beneficial to “The Firefly.”</p> + +<p>So Helen tripped out into Fleet-st., and turned her pretty face +westward, and looked so eager and happy that it is not surprising if +many a man eyed her as she passed, and many a woman sighed to think +that another woman could find life in this dreary city such a joyous +thing.</p> + +<p>A sharp walk through the Strand and across <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>Trafalgar Square did a +good deal toward restoring the poise of her wits. For safety, she had +pinned the envelop containing her paper money and tickets inside her +blouse. The mere presence of the solid little parcel reminded her at +every movement that she was truly bound for the wonderful Engadine, +and, now that the notion was becoming familiar, she was the more +astonished that the choice of “The Firefly” had fallen on her. It was +all very well for Mr. Mackenzie to say that the paper would be +brightened by a woman’s views on life in the high Alps. The poor worn +man looked as if such a holiday would have done him a world of good. +But the certain fact remained that there was no room for error. It was +she, Helen Wynton, and none other, for whom the gods had contrived +this miracle. If it had been possible, she would have crossed busy +Cockspur-st. with a hop, skip, and a jump in order to gain the +sleeping car company’s premises.</p> + +<p>She knew the place well. Many a time had she looked at the attractive +posters in the windows,—those gorgeous fly sheets that told of winter +in summer among the mountains of Switzerland and the Tyrol, and of +summer in winter along the sunlit shores of the Côte d’Azur. She +almost laughed aloud at the thought that possessed her as she waited +for a moment on the curb to allow a press of traffic to pass.</p> + +<p>“If my luck holds till Christmas, I may be sent to Monte Carlo,” she +said to herself. “And why <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>not? It’s the first step that counts, and +‘The Firefly,’ once fairly embarked on a career of wild extravagance, +may keep it up.”</p> + +<p>Under the pressure of that further inspiration she refused to wait any +longer, but dodged an omnibus, a motor car, and some hansoms, and +pushed open the swing doors of the Bureau de la Campagnie des +Wagons-Lits. She did not notice that the automobile stopped very +quickly a few yards higher up the street. The occupant, Mark Bower, +alighted, looked at her through the window to make sure he was not +mistaken, and followed her into the building. He addressed some +question to an attendant, and heard Helen say:</p> + +<p>“Yes, please. Thursday will suit admirably. I am going straight +through to St. Moritz. I shall call on Wednesday and let you know what +day I wish to return.”</p> + +<p>If Bower had intended to speak to her, he seemed to change his mind +rather promptly. Helen’s back was turned. She was watching a clerk +writing out a voucher for her berth in the sleeping car, and the +office was full of other prospective travelers discussing times and +routes with the officials. Bower thanked his informant for information +which he could have supplied in ampler detail himself. Then he went +out, and looked again at Helen from the doorway; but she was wholly +unaware of his presence.</p> + +<p>Thus it came about, quite simply and naturally, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>that Mark Bower met Miss Helen Wynton on the platform of Victoria +Station on Thursday morning, and learned that, like himself, she was a +passenger by the Engadine Express. He took her presence as a matter of +course, hoped she would allow him to secure her a comfortable chair on +the steamer, told her that the weather report was excellent, and +remarked that they might expect a pleasant crossing in the new turbine +steamer.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 359px;"> +<img src="images/i044.jpg" class="illogap" width="359" height="500" alt="“I am going through to St. Moritz.”" +title="" /> +<span class="caption">“I am going through to St. Moritz.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;"><i>Page <a href="#Page_38">38</a></i></span></span> +</div> + +<p>Then, having ascertained that she had a corner seat, and that her +luggage was registered through to St. Moritz (Helen having arrived at +the station a good hour before the train was due to start), he bowed +himself away, being far too skilled a stalker of such shy game to +thrust his company on her at that stage.</p> + +<p>His attitude was very polite and friendly, and Helen was almost +grateful to the chance which had brought him there. She was feeling +just a trifle lonely in the midst of the gay and chattering throng +that crowded the station. The presence of one who was not wholly a +stranger, of a friend’s friend, of a man whose name was familiar, made +the journey look less dreamlike. She was glad he had not sought to +travel in her carriage. That was tactful, and indeed his courtesy and +pleasant words during her first brief meeting with him in the +Embankment Hotel had conveyed the same favorable impression.</p> + +<p>So when the hour hand of the big clock overhanging the center of the +platform pointed to eleven, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>long train glided quietly away with +its load of pleasure-seekers, and neither Helen nor her new +acquaintance could possibly know that their meeting had been +witnessed, with a blank amazement that was rapidly transmuted into +sheer annoyance, by a young American engineer named Charles K. +Spencer.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i047.jpg" width="500" height="275" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>WHEREIN TWO PEOPLE BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>ackenzie, of course, was aware that Miss Wynton would leave London by +the eleven o’clock train on Thursday, and Spencer saw no harm in +witnessing her departure. He found a good deal of quiet fun in noting +her animated expression and businesslike air. Her whole-souled +enjoyment of novel surroundings was an asset for the outlay of his two +hundred pounds, and he had fully and finally excused that piece of +extravagance until he caught sight of Bower strolling along the +platform with the easy confidence of one who knew exactly whom he +would meet and how he would account for his unbidden presence.</p> + +<p>Spencer at once suspected the man’s motives, not without fair cause. +They were, he thought, as plain to him as they were hidden from the +girl. Bower counterfeited the genuine surprise on Helen’s face <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>with +admirable skill; but, to the startled onlooker, peering beneath the +actor’s mask, his stagy artifice was laid bare.</p> + +<p>And Spencer was quite helpless, a condition that irritated him almost +beyond control. He had absolutely no grounds for interference. He +could only glower angrily and in silence at a meeting he could not +prevent. Conjecture might run riot as to the causes which had given +this sinister bend to an idyl, but perforce he must remain dumb.</p> + +<p>From one point of view, it was lucky that Helen’s self appointed +“godfather” was in a position not to misjudge her; from another, it +would have been better for Spencer’s peace of mind were he left in +ignorance of the trap that was apparently being laid for her. Perhaps +Fate had planned this thing—having lately smiled on the American, she +may have determined to plague him somewhat. At any rate, in that +instant the whole trend of his purpose took a new turn. From a general +belief that he would never again set eyes on one in whose fortunes he +felt a transient interest, his intent swerved to a fixed resolve to +protect her from Bower. It would have puzzled him to assign a motive +for his dislike of the man. But the feeling was there, strong and +active. It even gave him a certain satisfaction to remember that he +was hostile to Bower before he had seen him.</p> + +<p>Indeed, he nearly yielded to the momentary impulse that bade him +hasten to the booking office <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>and secure a ticket for St. Moritz +forthwith. He dismissed the notion as quixotic and unnecessary. +Bower’s attitude in not pressing his company on Miss Wynton at this +initial stage of the journey revealed a subtlety that demanded equal +restraint on Spencer’s part. Helen herself was so far from suspecting +the truth that Bower would be compelled to keep up the pretense of a +casual rencontre. Nevertheless, Spencer’s chivalric nature was stirred +to the depths. The conversation overheard in the Embankment Hotel had +given him a knowledge of the characteristics of two women that would +have amazed both of them were they told of it. He was able to measure +too the exact extent of Bower’s acquaintance with Helen, while he was +confident that the relationship between Bower and Millicent Jaques had +gone a great deal further than might be inferred from the actress’s +curt statement that he was one whom she “wished to avoid.” These two +extremes could be reconciled only by a most unfavorable estimate of +Bower, and that the American conceded without argument.</p> + +<p>Of course, there remained the possibility that Bower was really a +traveler that day by idle chance; but Spencer blew aside this +alternative with the first whiff of smoke from the cigar he lit +mechanically as soon as the train left the station.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said, in grim self communing, “the skunk found out somehow +that she was going abroad, and planned to accompany her. I could see +it in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>the smirk on his face as soon as he discovered her whereabouts +on the platform. If he means to summer at Maloja, I guess my thousand +dollars was expended to no good purpose, and the quicker I put up +another thousand to pull things straight the happier I shall be. And +let me tell you, mother, that if I get Helen through this business +well and happy, I shall quit fooling round as godfather, or stage +uncle, or any other sort of soft-hearted idiot. Meanwhile, Bower has +jumped my claim.”</p> + +<p>His glance happened to fall on an official with the legend “Ticket +Inspector” on the collar of his coat. He remembered that this man, or +some other closely resembling him, had visited the carriage in which +Bower traveled.</p> + +<p>“Say,” he cried, hailing him on the spur of the moment, “when does the +next train leave for St. Moritz?”</p> + +<p>“At two-twenty from Charing Cross, sir. But the Engadine Express is +the best one. Did you miss it?”</p> + +<p>“No. I just blew in here to see a friend off, and the trip kind of +appealed to me. Did you notice a reserved compartment for a Mr. Mark +Bower?”</p> + +<p>“I know Mr. Bower very well, sir. He goes to Paris or Vienna twenty +times a year.”</p> + +<p>“To-day he is going to Switzerland.”</p> + +<p>“So he is, to Zurich, I think. First single he had. But he’s sure to +bring up in Vienna or Frankfort. I wish I knew half what he knows +about <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>foreign money business. I shouldn’t be punching tickets here +very long. Thank you, sir. Charing Cross at two-twenty; but you may +have difficulty about booking a berth in the sleeper. Just now +everybody is crossing the Channel.”</p> + +<p>“It looks like that,” said Spencer, who had obtained the information +he wanted. Taking a cab, he drove to the sleeping car company’s +office, where he asked for a map of the Swiss railways. Zurich, as +Bower’s destination, puzzled him; but he did not falter in his +purpose.</p> + +<p>“The man is a rogue,” he thought, “or I have never seen one. Anyhow, a +night in the train doesn’t cut any ice, and Switzerland can fill the +bill for a week as well as London or Scotland.”</p> + +<p>He was fortunate in the fact that some person wished to postpone a +journey that day, and the accident assured him of comfortable quarters +from Calais onward. Then he drove to a bank, and to “The Firefly” +office. Mackenzie had just opened his second bottle of beer. By this +time he regarded Spencer as an amiable lunatic. He greeted him now +with as much glee as his dreary nature was capable of.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” he said. “Been to see the last of the lady?”</p> + +<p>“Not quite. I want to take back what I said about not going to +Switzerland. I’m following this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“Great Scott! You’re sudden.”</p> + +<p>“I’m built that way,” said Spencer dryly. “Here <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>are the sixty pounds +I promised you. Now I want you to do me a favor. Send a messenger to +the Wellington Theater with a note for Miss Millicent Jaques, and ask +her if she can oblige you with the present address of Miss Helen +Wynton. Make a pretext of work. No matter if she writes to her friend +and the inquiry leads to talk. You can put up a suitable fairy tale, I +have no doubt.”</p> + +<p>“Better still, let my assistant write. Then if necessary I can curse +him for not minding his own business. But what’s in the wind?”</p> + +<p>“I wish to find out whether or not Miss Jaques knows of this Swiss +journey; that is all. If the reply reaches you by one o’clock send it +to the Embankment Hotel. Otherwise, post it to me at the Kursaal, +Maloja-Kulm; but not in an office envelop.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll come back, Mr. Spencer?” said the editor plaintively, for he +had visions of persuading the eccentric American to start a magazine +of his own.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. You’ll probably see me again within six days. I’ll look in +and report progress. Good by.”</p> + +<p>A messenger caught him as he was leaving the hotel. Mackenzie had not +lost any time, and Miss Jaques happened to be at the theater.</p> + +<p>“Sorry,” she wrote, in the artistic script that looks so well in face +cream and soap advertisements, “I can’t for the life of me remember +the number; but Miss Wynton lives somewhere in Warburton Gardens.” The +signature, “Millicent Jaques,” was an elegant thing in itself, +carefully thought out and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>never hurried in execution, no matter how +pressed she might be for time. Spencer was on the point of scattering +the note in little pieces along the Strand; but he checked himself.</p> + +<p>“Guess I’ll keep this as a souvenir,” he said, and it found a place in +his pocketbook.</p> + +<p>Helen Wynton, having crossed the Channel many times during her +childhood, was no novice amid the bustle and crush on the narrow pier +at Dover. She had dispensed with all accessories for the journey, +except the few articles that could be crammed into a handbag. Thus, +being independent of porters, she was one of the first to reach the +steamer’s gangway. As usual, all the most sheltered nooks on board +were occupied. There seems to be a mysterious type of traveler who +inhabits the cross-Channel vessels permanently. No matter how speedy +may be the movements of a passenger by the boat-train, either at Dover +or Calais, the best seats on the upper deck invariably reveal the +presence of earlier arrivals by deposits of wraps and packages. This +phenomenon was not strange to Helen. A more baffling circumstance was +the altered shape of the ship. The familiar lines of the paddle +steamer were gone, and Helen was wondering where she might best bestow +herself and her tiny valise, when she heard Bower’s voice.</p> + +<p>“I took the precaution to telegraph from London to one of the ship’s +officers,” he said, and nodded toward a couple of waterproof rugs +which guarded <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>a recess behind the Captain’s cabin. “That is our +corner, I expect. My friend will be here in a moment.”</p> + +<p>Sure enough, a man in uniform approached and lifted his gold laced +cap. “We have a rather crowded ship, Mr. Bower,” he said; “but you +will be quite comfortable there. I suppose you deemed the weather too +fine to need your usual cabin?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I have a companion to-day, you see.”</p> + +<p>Helen was a little bewildered by this; but it was very pleasant to +claim undisputed possession of a quiet retreat from which to watch +others trying to find chairs. And, although Bower had a place reserved +by her side, he did not sit down. He chatted for a few minutes on such +eminently safe topics as the smooth sea, the superiority of turbine +engines in the matter of steadiness, the advisability of lunching in +the train after leaving Calais, rather than on board the ship, and +soon betook himself aft, there to smoke and chat with some +acquaintances whom he fell in with. Dover Castle was becoming a gray +blur on the horizon when he spoke to Helen again.</p> + +<p>“You look quite comfortable,” he said pleasantly, “and it is wise not +to risk walking about if you are afraid of being ill.”</p> + +<p>“I used to cross in bad weather without consequences,” she answered; +“but I am older now, and am doubtful of experiments.”</p> + +<p>“You were educated abroad, then?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span></p><p>“Yes. I was three years in Brussels—three happy years.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Why qualify them? All your years are happy, I should imagine, if +I may judge by appearances.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if happiness can be defined as contentment, you are right; but +I have had my sad periods too, Mr. Bower. I lost my mother when I was +eighteen, and that was a blow under which I have never ceased to +wince. Fortunately, I had to seek consolation in work. Added to good +health, it makes for content.”</p> + +<p>“You are quite a philosopher. Will you pardon my curiosity? I too lead +the strenuous life. Now, I should like to have your definition of +work. I am not questioning your capacity. My wonder is that you should +mention it at all.”</p> + +<p>“But why? Any man who knows what toil is should not regard women as +dolls.”</p> + +<p>“I prefer to look on them as goddesses.”</p> + +<p>Helen smiled. “I fear, then, you will deem my pedestal a sorry one,” +she said. “Perhaps you think, because you met me once in Miss Jaques’s +company, and again here, traveling <i>de luxe</i>, that I am in her set. I +am not. By courtesy I am called a ‘secretary’; but the title might be +shortened into ‘typist.’ I help Professor von Eulenberg with +his—scientific researches.”</p> + +<p>Though it was on the tip of her tongue to say “beetles,” she +substituted the more dignified phrase. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>Bower was very nice and kind; +but she felt that “beetles” might sound somewhat flippant and lend a +too familiar tone to their conversation.</p> + +<p>“Von Eulenberg? I have heard of him. Quite a distinguished man in his +own line; an authority on—moths, is it?”</p> + +<p>“Insects generally.”</p> + +<p>She blushed and laughed outright, not only at the boomerang effect of +her grandiloquent description of the professor’s industry, but at the +absurdity of her position. Above all else, Helen was candid, and there +was no reason why she should not enlighten a comparative stranger who +seemed to take a friendly interest in her.</p> + +<p>“I ought to explain,” she went on, “that I am going to the Engadine as +a journalist. I have had the good fortune to be chosen for a very +pleasant task. Hence this present grandeur, which, I assure you, is +not a usual condition of entomological secretaries.”</p> + +<p>Bower pretended to ward off some unexpected attack. “I have done +nothing to deserve a hard word like that, Miss Wynton,” he cried. “I +shall not recover till we reach Calais. May I sit beside you while you +tell me what it means?”</p> + +<p>She made room for him. “Strictly speaking, it is nonsense,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Excellent. That is the better line for women who are young and +pretty. We jaded men of the world hate to be serious when we leave +business behind. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>Now, you would scarce credit what a lively youngster +I am when I come abroad for a holiday. I always kiss my fingers to +France at the first sight of her fair face. She bubbles like her own +champagne, whereas London invariably reminds me of beer.”</p> + +<p>“Do I take it that you prefer gas to froth?”</p> + +<p>“You offer me difficult alternatives, yet I accept them. Though gas is +as dreadful a description of champagne as entomological is of a +certain type of secretary, I would venture to point out that it +expands, effervesces, soars ever to greater heights; but beer, froth +and all, tends to become flat, stale, and unprofitable.”</p> + +<p>“I assure you my knowledge of both is limited. I had never even tasted +champagne until the other day.”</p> + +<p>“When you lunched with Millicent at the Embankment Hotel?”</p> + +<p>“Well—yes. She was at school with me, and we met last week by +accident. She is making quite a success at the Wellington Theater, is +she not?”</p> + +<p>“So I hear. I am a director of that concern; but I seldom go there.”</p> + +<p>“How odd that sounds to one who saves up her pennies to attend a +favorite play!”</p> + +<p>“Then you must have my address, and when I am in town you need never +want a stall at any theater in London. Now, that is no idle promise. I +mean it. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>to think you +were enjoying something through my instrumentality.”</p> + +<p>“How exceedingly kind of you! I shall take you at your word. What girl +wouldn’t?”</p> + +<p>“I know quite a number who regard me as an ogre. I am not a lady’s man +in the general sense of the term, Miss Wynton. I might tell you more +about myself if it were not for signs that the next five minutes will +bring us to Calais. You are far too independent, I suppose, that I +should offer to carry your bag; but will you allow me to reserve a +joint table for <i>déjeuner</i>? There will be a rush for the first +service, which is the best, as a rule, and I have friends at court on +this line. Please don’t say you are not hungry.”</p> + +<p>“That would be impolite, and horribly untrue,” laughed Helen.</p> + +<p>He took the implied permission, and hurried away. They did not meet +again until he came to her carriage in the train.</p> + +<p>“Is this where you are?” he cried, looking up at her through the open +window. “I am in the next block, as they say in America. When you are +ready I shall take you to the dining car. Come out on the platform. +The corridors are simply impassable. And here are baskets of peaches, +and ripe pears, and all manner of pleasant fruits. Yes, try the +corridor to the right, and charge resolutely. If you inflict the +maximum injury on others, you seldom damage yourself.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p><p>In a word, Mark Bower spoke as lightheartedly as he professed to feel, +and Helen had no cause whatever to be other than thankful for the +chance that brought him to Switzerland on the same day and in the same +train as herself. His delicate consideration for her well being was +manifested in many ways. That such a man, whom she knew to be a figure +of importance in the financial world, should take an interest in the +simple chronicles of her past life was a flattering thing in itself. +He listened sympathetically to the story of her struggles since the +death of her mother. The consequent stoppage of the annuity paid to +the widow of an Indian civilian rendered it necessary that Helen +should supplement by her own efforts the fifty pounds a year allotted +to her “until death or marriage.”</p> + +<p>“There are plenty of country districts where I could exist quite +easily on such a sum,” she said; “but I declined to be buried alive in +that fashion, and I made up my mind to earn my own living. Somehow, +London appeals to young people situated as I was. It is there that the +great prizes are to be gained; so I came to London.”</p> + +<p>“From——” broke in Bower, who was peeling one of the peaches bought +at Calais.</p> + +<p>“From a village near Sheringham, in Norfolk.”</p> + +<p>He nodded with smiling comprehension when she detailed her struggles +with editors who could detect no originality in her literary work.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><p>“But that phase has passed now,” he said encouragingly.</p> + +<p>“Well, it looks like it. I hope so; for I am tired of classifying +beetles.”</p> + +<p>There—the word was out at last. Perhaps Bower wondered why she +laughed and blushed at the recollection of her earlier determination +to suppress von Eulenberg’s “specimens” as a topic of conversation. +Already the stiffness of their talk on board the steamship seemed to +have vanished completely. It was really a pleasant way of passing the +time to sit and chat in this glass palace while the train skimmed over +a dull land of marshes and poplars.</p> + +<p>“Beetles, though apt to be flighty, are otherwise dull creatures,” he +said. “May I ask what paper you are representing on your present +tour?”</p> + +<p>It was an obvious and harmless question; but Helen was loyal to her +bond. “It sounds absurd to have to say it, but I am pledged to +secrecy,” she answered.</p> + +<p>“Good gracious! Don’t tell me you intend to interview anarchists, or +runaway queens, or the other disgruntled people who live in +Switzerland. Moreover, they usually find quarters in Geneva, while you +presumably are bound for the Engadine.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no. My work lies in less excitable circles. ‘Life in a Swiss +hotel’ would be nearer the mark.”</p> + +<p>“Apart from the unusual surroundings, you will find it suspiciously +like life in a quiet Norfolk village, Miss Wynton,” said Bower. He +paused, tasted the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>peach, and made a grimace. “Sour!” he protested. +“Really, when all is said and done, the only place in which one can +buy a decent peach is London.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, a distinct score for Britain!”</p> + +<p>“And a fair hit to your credit. Let me urge in self defense that if +life in France bubbles, it occasionally leaves a bitter taste in the +mouth. Now you shall go and read, and sleep a little perhaps, if that +is not a heretical thing to suggest. We have the same table for +afternoon tea and dinner.”</p> + +<p>Helen had never met such a versatile man. He talked of most things +with knowledge and restraint and some humor. She could not help +admitting that the journey would have been exceedingly dull without +his companionship, and he had the tact to make her feel that he was +equally indebted to her for passing the long hours. At dinner she +noticed that they were served with dishes not supplied to others in +the dining car.</p> + +<p>“I hope you have not been ordering a dreadfully expensive meal,” she +ventured to say. “I must pay my share, you know, and I am quite an +economical person.”</p> + +<p>“There!” he vowed. “That is the first unkind word you have uttered. +Surely you will not refuse to be my guest? Indeed, I was hoping that +to-day marked the beginning of a new era, wherein we might meet at +times and criticize humanity to our hearts’ content.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span></p><p>“I should feel unhappy if I did not pay,” she insisted.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I shall charge you table d’hôte prices. Will that content +you?”</p> + +<p>So, when the attendant came to the other tables, Helen produced her +purse, and Bower solemnly accepted her few francs; but no bill was +presented to him.</p> + +<p>“You see,” he said, smiling at her through a glass of golden wine, +“you have missed a great opportunity. Not one woman in a million can +say that she has dined at the railway company’s expense in France.”</p> + +<p>She was puzzled. His manner had become slightly more confidential +during the meal. It needed no feminine intuition to realize that he +admired her. Excitement, the sea air, the heated atmosphere, and +unceasing onrush of the train, had flushed her cheeks and lent a +deeper shade to her brown eyes. She knew that Bower’s was not the only +glance that dwelt on her with a curious and somewhat unnerving +appraisement. Other men, and not a few women, stared at her. The +mirror in her dressing room had told her that she was looking her +best, and her heart fluttered a little at the thought that she had +succeeded, without effort, in winning the appreciation of a man highly +placed in the world of fashion and finance. The conceit induced an odd +feeling of embarrassment. To dispel it she took up his words in a vein +of playful sarcasm.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p><p>“If you assure me that for some unexplained reason the railway +authorities are giving us this excellent dinner for nothing, please +return my money,” she said.</p> + +<p>“The gifts of the gods, and eke of railway companies, must be taken +without question,” he answered. “No, I shall keep your pieces of +silver. I mean to invest them. It will amuse me to learn how much I +can make on an initial capital of twelve francs, fifty centimes. Will +you allow that? I shall be scrupulously accurate, and submit an +audited account at Christmas. Even my worst enemies have never alleged +dishonesty against me. Is it a bargain?”</p> + +<p>“Y-yes,” she stammered confusedly, hardly knowing what he meant. He +was leaning over the small table and looking steadfastly at her. She +noticed that the wine and food had made his skin greasy. It suddenly +occurred to her that Mark Bower resembled certain exotic plants which +must be viewed from a distance if they would gratify the critical +senses. The gloss of a careful toilet was gone. He was altogether +cruder, coarser, more animal, since he had eaten, though his +consumption of wine was quite moderate. His big, rather fierce eyes +were more than prominent now; they bulged. Certain Jewish +characteristics in his face had become accentuated. She remembered the +ancient habit of anointing with oil, and laughed at the thought, for +that was a little trick of hers to conceal nervousness.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span></p><p>“You doubt me, then?” he half whispered. “Or do you deem it beyond the +power of finance to convert so small a sum into hundreds—it may be +thousands—of pounds in six months?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed I should credit you with ability to do that and more, Mr. +Bower,” she said; “but I was wondering why you made such an offer to a +mere acquaintance,—one whom it is more than likely you will never +meet again.”</p> + +<p>The phrase had a harsh and awkward sound in her ears. Bower, to her +relief, seemed to ignore it.</p> + +<p>“It is permissible to gratify an impulse once in awhile,” he +countered. “And not to mention the audited accounts, there was a +matter of theater tickets that should serve to bring us together +again. Won’t you give me your address, in London if not in +Switzerland? Here is mine.”</p> + +<p>He produced a pocketbook, and picked out a card. It bore his name and +his club. He added, in pencil, “50 Hamilton Place.”</p> + +<p>“Letters sent to my house reach me, no matter where I may happen to +be,” he said.</p> + +<p>The incident brought fresh tremors to Helen. Indeed, the penciled +address came as an unpleasant shock; for Millicent Jaques, on the day +they met in Piccadilly, having gone home with Helen to tea, excused an +early departure on the ground that she was due to dinner at that very +house.</p> + +<p>But she took the card, and strove desperately to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>appear at ease, for +she had no cause to quarrel with one whose manners were so courteous.</p> + +<p>“Thank you very much,” she said. “If you care to see my articles in +the—in the paper, I shall send you copies. Now I must say good by. I +am rather tired. Before I go let me say how deeply indebted I feel for +your kindness to-day.”</p> + +<p>She rose. Bower stood up too, and bowed with smiling deference. “Good +night,” he said. “You will not be disturbed by the customs people at +the frontier. I have arranged all that.”</p> + +<p>Helen made the best of her way along the swaying corridors till she +reached her section of the sleeping car; but Bower resumed his seat at +the table. He ordered a glass of fine champagne and held it up to the +light. There was a decided frown on his strong face, and the attendant +who served him imagined that there was something wrong with the +liqueur.</p> + +<p>“<i>N’est-ce pas bon, m’sieur?</i>” he began.</p> + +<p>“Will you go to the devil?” said Bower, speaking very slowly without +looking at him.</p> + +<p>“<i>Oui, m’sieur, Je vous assure</i>,” and the man disappeared.</p> + +<p>It was not the wine, but the woman, that was perplexing him. Not often +had the lure of gold failed so signally. And why was she so manifestly +startled at the last moment? Had he gone too far? Was he mistaken in +the assumption that Millicent Jaques had said little or nothing +concerning him to her friend? And this commission too,—there were +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>inexplicable features about it. He knew a great deal of the ways of +newspapers, daily and weekly, and it was not the journalistic habit to +send inexperienced young women on costly journeys to write up Swiss +summer resorts.</p> + +<p>He frowned still more deeply as he thought of the Maloja-Kulm Hotel, +for Helen had innocently affixed a label bearing her address on her +handbag. He peopled it with dozens of smart young men and not a few +older beaux of his own type. His features relaxed somewhat when he +remembered the women. Helen was alone, and far too good-looking to +command sympathy. There should be the elements of trouble in that +quarter. If he played his cards well, and he had no reason to doubt +his skill, Helen should greet him as her best friend when he surprised +her by appearing unexpectedly at the Maloja-Kulm.</p> + +<p>Then he waxed critical. She was young, and lively, and unquestionably +pretty; but was she worth all this planning and contriving? She was by +way of being a prude too, and held serious notions of women’s place in +the scheme of things. At any rate, the day’s hunting had not brought +him far out of his path, Frankfort being his real objective, and he +would make up his mind later. Perhaps she would remove all obstacles +by writing to him on her return to London; but the recollection of her +frank, clear gaze, of lips that were molded for strength as well as +sweetness, of the dignity and grace with which the well shaped head +was poised on a white firm neck, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>warned him that such a woman might +surrender to love, but never to greed.</p> + +<p>Then he laughed, and ordered another liqueur, and drank a toast to +to-morrow, when all things come to pass for the man who knows how to +contrive to-day.</p> + +<p>In the early morning, at Basle, he awoke, and was somewhat angry with +himself when he found that his thoughts still dwelt on Helen Wynton. +In the cold gray glimmer of dawn, and after the unpleasant shaking his +pampered body had received all night, some of the romance of this +latest quest had evaporated. He was stiff and weary, and he regretted +the whim that had led him a good twelve hours astray. But he roused +himself and dressed with care. Some twenty minutes short of Zurich he +sent an attendant to Miss Wynton’s berth to inquire if she would join +him for early coffee at that station, there being a wait of a quarter +of an hour before the train went on to Coire.</p> + +<p>Helen, who was up and dressed, said she would be delighted. She too +had been thinking, and, being a healthy-minded and kind-hearted girl, +had come to the conclusion that her abrupt departure the previous +night was wholly uncalled for and ungracious.</p> + +<p>So it was with a smiling face that she awaited Bower on the steps of +her carriage. She shook hands with him cordially, did not object in +the least degree when he seized her arm to pilot her through a noisy +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>crowd of foreigners, and laughed with utmost cheerfulness when they +both failed to drink some extraordinarily hot coffee served in glasses +that seemed to be hotter still.</p> + +<p>Helen had the rare distinction of being quite as bright and pleasing +to the eye in the searching light of the sun’s first rays as at any +other hour. Bower, though spruce and dandified, looked rather worn.</p> + +<p>“I did not sleep well,” he explained. “And the rails to the frontier +on this line are the worst laid in Europe.”</p> + +<p>“It is early yet,” she said. “Why not turn in again when you reach +your hotel?”</p> + +<p>“Perish the thought!” he cried. “I shall wander disconsolate by the +side of the lake. Please say you will miss me at breakfast. And, by +the way, you will find a table specially set apart for you. I suppose +you change at Coire?”</p> + +<p>“How kind and thoughtful you are. Yes, I am going to the Engadine, you +know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, give my greetings to the high Alps. I have climbed most of them +in my time. More improbable things have happened than that I may renew +the acquaintance with some of my old friends this year. What fun if +you and I met on the Matterhorn or Jungfrau! But they are far away +from the valley of the inn, and perhaps you do not climb.”</p> + +<p>“I have never had the opportunity; but I mean to try. Moreover, it is +part of my undertaking.”</p> + +<p>“Then may we soon be tied to the same rope!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>Thus they parted, with cheery words, and, on Helen’s side, a genuine +wish that they might renew a pleasant acquaintance. Bower waited on +the platform to see the last of her as the train steamed away.</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is worth while,” he muttered, when the white feathers on her +hat were no longer visible. He did not go to the lake, but to the +telegraph office, and there he wrote two long messages, which he +revised carefully, and copied. Yet he frowned again, even while he was +paying for their transmission. Never before had he taken such pains to +win any woman’s regard. And the knowledge vexed him, for the taking of +pains was not his way with women.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i070.jpg" width="500" height="270" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>t Coire, or Chur, as the three-tongued Swiss often term it—German +being the language most in vogue in Switzerland—Helen found a +cheerful looking mountain train awaiting the coming of its heavy +brother from far off Calais. It was soon packed to the doors, for +those Alpine valleys hum with life and movement during the closing +days of July. Even in the first class carriages nearly every seat was +filled in a few minutes, while pandemonium reigned in the cheaper +sections.</p> + +<p>Helen, having no cumbersome baggage to impede her movements, was swept +in on the crest of the earliest wave, and obtained a corner near the +corridor. She meant to leave her handbag there, stroll up and down the +station for a few minutes, mainly to look at the cosmopolitan crowd, +and perhaps buy some fruit; but the babel of English, German, French, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>and Italian, mixed with scraps of Russian and Czech, that raged round +a distracted conductor warned her that the wiser policy was to sit +still.</p> + +<p>An Englishwoman, red faced, elderly, and important, was offered a +center seat, facing the engine, in Helen’s compartment. She refused +it. Her indignation was magnificent. To face the engine, she declared, +meant instant illness.</p> + +<p>“I never return to this wretched country that I do not regret it!” she +shrilled. “Have you no telegraphs? Cannot your officials ascertain +from Zurich how many English passengers may be expected, and make +suitable provision for them?”</p> + +<p>As this tirade was thrown away on the conductor, she proceeded to +translate it into fairly accurate French; but the man was at his wits’ +end to accommodate the throng, and said so, with the breathless +politeness that such a <i>grande dame</i> seemed to merit.</p> + +<p>“Then you should set apart a special train for passengers from +England!” she declared vehemently. “I shall never come here +again—never! The place is overrun with cheap tourists. Moreover, I +shall tell all my friends to avoid Switzerland. Perhaps, when British +patronage is withdrawn from your railways and hotels, you will begin +to consider our requirements.”</p> + +<p>Helen felt that her irate fellow countrywoman was metaphorically +hurling large volumes of the peerage, baronetage, and landed gentry at +the unhappy conductor’s head. Again he pointed out that there <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>was a +seat at madam’s service. When the train started he would do his best +to secure another in the desired position.</p> + +<p>As the woman, whose proportions were generous, was blocking the +gangway, she received a forcible reminder from the end of a heavy +portmanteau that she must clear out of the way. Breathing dire +reprisals on the Swiss federal railway system, she entered +unwillingly.</p> + +<p>“Disgraceful!” she snorted. “A nation of boors! In another second I +should have been thrown down and trampled on.”</p> + +<p>A stolid German and his wife occupied opposite corners, and the man +probably wondered why the <i>Englischer frau</i> glared at him so fiercely. +But he did not move.</p> + +<p>Helen, thinking to throw oil on the troubled waters, said pleasantly, +“Won’t you change seats with me? I don’t mind whether I face the +engine or not. In any case, I intend to stand in the corridor most of +the time.”</p> + +<p>The stout woman, hearing herself addressed in English, lifted her +mounted eyeglasses and stared at Helen. In one sweeping glance she +took in details. As it happened, the girl had expended fifteen of her +forty pounds on a neat tailor made costume, a smart hat, well fitting +gloves, and the best pair of walking boots she could buy; for, having +pretty feet, it was a pardonable vanity that she should wish them well +shod. Apparently, the other was satisfied <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>that there would be no loss +of caste in accepting the proffered civility.</p> + +<p>“Thank you. I am very much obliged,” she said. “It is awfully sweet of +you to incommode yourself for my sake.”</p> + +<p>It was difficult to believe that the woman who had just stormed at the +conductor, who had the effrontery to subject Helen to that stony +scrutiny before she answered, could adopt such dulcet tones so +suddenly. Helen, frank and generous-minded to a degree, would have +preferred a gradual subsidence of wrath to this remarkable +<i>volte-face</i>. But she reiterated that she regarded her place in a +carriage as of slight consequence, and the change was effected.</p> + +<p>The other adjusted her eyeglasses again, and passed in review the +remaining occupants of the compartment. They were “foreigners,” whose +existence might be ignored.</p> + +<p>“This line grows worse each year,” she remarked, by way of a +conversational opening. “It is horrid traveling alone. Unfortunately, +I missed my son at Lucerne. Are your people on the train?”</p> + +<p>“No. I too am alone.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Going to St. Moritz?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; but I take the diligence there for Maloja.”</p> + +<p>“The diligence! Who in the world advised that? Nobody ever travels +that way.”</p> + +<p>By “nobody,” she clearly conveyed the idea that she mixed in the +sacred circle of “somebodies,” carriage folk to the soles of their +boots, because Helen’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>guidebook showed that a diligence ran twice +daily through the Upper Engadine, and the Swiss authorities would not +provide those capacious four-horsed vehicles unless there were +passengers to fill them.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” cried Helen. “Should I have ordered a carriage beforehand?”</p> + +<p>“Most decidedly. But your friends will send one. They know you are +coming by this train?”</p> + +<p>Helen smiled. She anticipated a certain amount of cross examination at +the hands of residents in the hotel; but she saw no reason why the +ordeal should begin so soon.</p> + +<p>“I must take my luck then,” she said. “There ought to be plenty of +carriages at St. Moritz.”</p> + +<p>Without being positively rude, her new acquaintance could not repeat +the question thus shirked. But she had other shafts in her quiver.</p> + +<p>“You will stay at the Kursaal, of course?” she said.</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“A passing visit, or for a period? I ask because I am going there +myself.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, how nice! I am glad I have met you. I mean to remain at Maloja +until the end of August.”</p> + +<p>“Quite the right time. The rest of Switzerland is unbearable in +August. You will find the hotel rather full. The Burnham-Joneses are +there,—the tennis players, you know,—and General and Mrs. Wragg and +their family, and the de la Veres, nominally husband and wife,—a most +charming couple <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>individually. Have you met the de la Veres? No? Well, +don’t be unhappy on Edith’s account if Reginald flirts with you. She +likes it.”</p> + +<p>“But perhaps I might not like it,” laughed Helen.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Reginald has such fascinating manners!” A sigh seemed to deplore +the days of long ago, when Reginald’s fascination might have displayed +itself on her account.</p> + +<p>Again there was a break in the flow of talk, and Helen began to take +an interest in the scenery. Not to be balked, her inquisitor searched +in a <i>portmonnaie</i> attached to her left wrist with a strap, and +produced a card.</p> + +<p>“We may as well know each other’s names,” she cooed affably. “Here is +my card.”</p> + +<p>Helen read, “Mrs. H. de Courcy Vavasour, Villa Menini, Nice.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry,” she said, with a friendly smile that might have disarmed +prejudice, “but in the hurry of my departure from London I packed my +cards in my registered baggage. My name is Helen Wynton.”</p> + +<p>The eyeglasses went up once more.</p> + +<p>“Do you spell it with an I? Are you one of the Gloucestershire +Wintons?”</p> + +<p>“No. I live in town; but my home is in Norfolk.”</p> + +<p>“And whose party will you join at the Maloja?”</p> + +<p>Helen colored a little under this rigorous heckling. “As I have +already told you, Mrs. Vavasour, I am <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>alone,” she said. “Indeed, I +have come here to—to do some literary work.”</p> + +<p>“For a newspaper?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Vavasour received this statement guardedly. If Helen was on the +staff of an important journal there was something to be gained by +being cited in her articles as one of the important persons +“sojourning” in the Engadine.</p> + +<p>“It is really wonderful,” she admitted, “how enterprising the great +daily papers are nowadays.”</p> + +<p>Helen, very new to a world of de Courcy Vavasours, and Wraggs, and +Burnham-Joneses, forgave this hawklike pertinacity for sake of the +apparent sympathy of her catechist. And she was painfully candid.</p> + +<p>“The weekly paper I represent is not at all well known,” she +explained; “but here I am, and I mean to enjoy my visit hugely. It is +the chance of a lifetime to be sent abroad on such a mission. I little +dreamed a week since that I should be able to visit this beautiful +country under the best conditions without giving a thought to the +cost.”</p> + +<p>Poor Helen! Had she delved in many volumes to obtain material that +would condemn her in the eyes of the tuft hunter she was addressing, +she could not have shocked so many conventions in so few words. She +was poor, unknown, unfriended! Worse than these negative defects, she +was positively attractive! Mrs. Vavasour almost shuddered as she +thought of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>the son “missed” at Lucerne, the son who would arrive at +Maloja on the morrow, in the company of someone whom he preferred to +his mother as a fellow traveler. What a pitfall she had escaped! She +might have made a friend of this impossible person! Nevertheless, +rendered wary by many social skirmishes, she did not declare war at +once. The girl was too outspoken to be an adventuress. She must wait, +and watch, and furbish her weapons.</p> + +<p>Helen, whose brain was nimble enough to take in some of Mrs. +Vavasour’s limitations, hoped that the preliminary inquiry into her +caste was ended. She went into the corridor. A man made room for her +with an alacrity that threatened an attempt to draw her into +conversation, so she moved somewhat farther away, and gave herself to +thought. If this prying woman was a fair sample of the people in the +hotel, it was obvious that the human element in the high Alps held a +suspicious resemblance to society in Bayswater, where each street is a +faction and the clique in the “Terrace” is not on speaking terms with +the clique in the “Gardens.” Thus far, she owned to a feeling of +disillusionment in many respects.</p> + +<p>Two years earlier, a naturalist in the Highlands had engaged von +Eulenberg to classify his collection, and Helen had gone to Inverness +with the professor’s family. She saw something then of the glories of +Scotland, and her memories of the purple hills, the silvery lakes, the +joyous burns tumbling <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>headlong through woodland and pasture, were not +dimmed by the dusty garishness of the Swiss scenery. True, Baedeker +said that these pent valleys were suffocating in midsummer. She could +only await in diminished confidence her first glimpse of the eternal +snows.</p> + +<p>And again, the holiday makers were not the blithesome creatures of her +imagination. Some were reading, many sleeping, and the rest, for the +most part, talking in strange tongues of anything but the beauties of +the landscape. The Britons among them seemed to be brooding on +glaciers. A party of lively Americans were playing bridge, and a scrap +of gossip in English from a neighboring compartment revealed that some +woman who went to a dance at Montreux, “wore a cheap voile, my dear, a +last year’s bargain, all crumpled and dirty. You never saw such a +fright!”</p> + +<p>These things were trivial and commonplace; a wide gap opened between +them and Helen’s day dreams of Alpine travel. By natural sequence of +ideas she began to contrast her present loneliness with yesterday’s +pleasant journey, and the outcome was eminently favorable to Mark +Bower. She missed him. She was quite sure, had he accompanied her from +Zurich, that he would have charmed away the dull hours with amusing +anecdotes. Instead of feeling rather tired and sleepy, she would now +be listening to his apt expositions of the habits and customs of the +places and people seen from the carriage windows. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>For fully five +minutes her expressive mouth betrayed a little moue of disappointment.</p> + +<p>And then the train climbed a long spiral which gave a series of +delightful views of a picturesque Swiss village,—exactly such a +cluster of low roofed houses as she had admired many a time in +photographs of Alpine scenery. An exclamation from a little boy who +clapped his hands in ecstasy caused her to look through a cleft in the +nearer hills. With a thrill of wonder she discovered there, remote and +solitary, all garbed in shining white, a majestic snow capped +mountain. Ah! this was the real Switzerland! Her heart throbbed, and +her breath came in fluttering gasps of excitement. How mean and +trivial were class distinctions in sight of nature’s nobility! She was +uplifted, inspirited, filled with a sedate happiness. She wanted to +voice her gladness as the child had done. A high pitched female voice +said:</p> + +<p>“Of course I had to call, because Jack meets her husband in the city; +but it is an awful bore knowing such people.”</p> + +<p>Then the train plunged into a noisome tunnel, and turned a complete +circle in the heart of the rock, and when it panted into daylight +again the tall square tower of the village church had sunk more deeply +into the valley. Far beneath, two bright steel ribbons—swallowed by a +cavernous mouth that belched clouds of dense smoke—showed the +strangeness of the route that led to the silent peaks. At times the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>rails crossed or ran by the side of a white, tree lined track that +mounted ever upward. Though she could not recall the name of the pass, +Helen was aware that this was one of the fine mountain roads for which +Switzerland is famous. Pedestrians, singly or in small parties, were +trudging along sturdily. They seemed to be mostly German tourists, +jolly, well fed folk, nearly as many women as men, each one carrying a +rucksack and alpenstock, and evidently determined to cover a set +number of kilometers before night.</p> + +<p>“That is the way in which I should like to see the Alps,” thought +Helen. “I am sure they sing as they walk, and they miss nothing of the +grandeur and exquisite coloring of the hills. A train is very +comfortable; but it certainly brings to these quiet valleys a great +many people who would otherwise never come near them.”</p> + +<p>The force of this trite reflection was borne in on her by a loud +wrangle between the bridge players. A woman had revoked, and was quite +wroth with the man who detected her mistake.</p> + +<p>At the next stopping place Helen bought some chocolates, and made a +friend of the boy, a tiny Parisian. The two found amusement in +searching for patches of snow on the northerly sides of the nearest +hills. Once they caught a glimpse of a whole snowy range, and they +shrieked so enthusiastically that the woman whose husband was also in +the city glanced at them with disapproval, as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>they interrupted a full +and particular if not true account of the quarrel between the Firs and +the Limes.</p> + +<p>At last the panting engine gathered speed and rushed along a wide +valley into Samaden, Celerina, and St. Moritz. Mrs. Vavasour seemed to +be absorbed in a Tauchnitz novel till the last moment, and the next +sight of her vouchsafed to Helen was her departure from the terminus +in solitary state in a pair-horse victoria. It savored somewhat of +unkindness that she had not offered to share the roomy vehicle with +one who had befriended her.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps she was afraid I might not pay my share of the hire,” said +Helen to herself rather indignantly. But a civil hotel porter helped +her to clear the customs shed rapidly, secured a comfortable carriage, +advised her confidentially as to the amount that should be paid, and +promised to telephone to the hotel for a suitable room. She was +surprised to find how many of her fellow passengers were bound for +Maloja. Some she had encountered at various stages of the journey all +the way from London, while many, like Mrs. Vavasour, had joined the +train in Switzerland. She remembered too, with a quiet humor that had +in it a spice of sarcasm, that her elderly acquaintance had not come +from England, and had no more right to demand special accommodation at +Coire than the dozens of other travelers who put in an appearance at +each station after Basle.</p> + +<p>She noticed that as soon as the luggage was handed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>to the driver to +be strapped behind each vehicle, the newcomers nearly all went to a +neighboring hotel for luncheon. Being a healthy young person, and +endowed with a sound digestion, Helen deemed this example too good not +to be followed. Then she began a two hours’ drive through a valley +that almost shook her allegiance to Scotland. The driver, a fine +looking old man, with massive features and curling gray hair that +reminded her of Michelangelo’s head of Moses, knowing the nationality +of his fare, resolutely refused to speak any other language than +English. He would jerk round, flourish his whip, and cry:</p> + +<p>“Dissa pless St. Moritz Bad; datta pless St. Moritz Dorp.”</p> + +<p>Soon he announced the “Engelish kirch,” thereby meaning the round +arched English church overlooking the lake; or it might be, with a +loftier sweep of the whip, “Piz Julier montin, mit lek Silvaplaner +See.”</p> + +<p>All this Helen could have told him with equal accuracy and even +greater detail. Had she not almost learned by heart each line of +Baedeker on the Upper Engadine? Could she not have reproduced from +memory a fairly complete map of the valley, with its villages, +mountains, and lakes clearly marked? But she would not on any account +repress the man’s enthusiasm, and her eager acceptance of his quaint +information induced fresh efforts, with more whip waving.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span></p><p>“Piz Corvatsch! Him ver’ big fellow. Twelf t’ousen foots. W’en me +guide him bruk ze leg.”</p> + +<p>She had seen that he was very lame as he hobbled about the carriage +tying up her boxes. So here was a real guide. That explained his +romantic aspect, his love of the high places. And he had been maimed +for life by that magnificent mountain whose scarred slopes were now +vividly before her eyes. The bright sunshine lit lakes and hills with +its glory. A marvelous atmosphere made all things visible with +microscopic fidelity. From Campfer to Silvaplana looked to be a ten +minutes’ drive, and from Silvaplana to Sils-Maria another quarter of +an hour. Helen had to consult her watch and force herself to admit +that the horses were trotting fully seven miles an hour before she +realized that distances could be so deceptive. The summit of the +lordly Corvatsch seemed to be absurdly near. She judged it within the +scope of an easy walk between breakfast and afternoon tea from the +hotel on a tree covered peninsula that stretched far out into Lake +Sils-Maria, and she wondered why anyone should fall and break his leg +during such a simple climb. Just to make sure, she glanced at the +guidebook, and it gave her a shock when she saw the words, “Guides +necessary,”—“Descent to Sils practicable only for experts,”—“Spend +night at Roseg Inn,”—the route followed being that from Pontresina.</p> + +<p>Then she recollected that the lovely valley she was traversing from +beginning to end was itself six <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>thousand feet above sea level,—that +the observatory on rugged old Ben Nevis, which she had visited when in +Scotland, was, metaphorically speaking, two thousand feet beneath the +smooth road along which she was being driven, and that the highest +peak on Corvatsch was still six thousand feet above her head. All at +once, Helen felt subdued. The fancy seized her that the carriage was +rumbling over the roof of the world. In a word, she was yielding to +the exhilaration of high altitudes, and her brain was ready to spin +wild fantasies.</p> + +<p>At Sils-Maria she was brought suddenly to earth again. It must not be +forgotten that her driver was a St. Moritz man, and therefore at +constant feud with the men from the Kursaal, who brought empty +carriages to St. Moritz, and went back laden with the spoil that would +otherwise have fallen to the share of the local livery stables. Hence, +he made it a point of honor to pass every Maloja owned vehicle on the +road. Six times he succeeded, but, on the seventh, reversing the moral +of Bruce’s spider, he smashed the near hind wheel by attempting to +slip between a landau and a stone post. Helen was almost thrown into +the lake, and, for the life of her, she could not repress a scream. +But the danger passed as rapidly as it had risen, and all that +happened was that the carriage settled down lamely by the side of the +road, with its weight resting on one of her boxes.</p> + +<p>The driver spoke no more English. He bewailed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>his misfortune in free +and fluent Italian of the Romansch order.</p> + +<p>But he understood German, and when Helen demanded imperatively that he +should unharness the horses, and help to prop the carriage off a +crumpled tin trunk that contained her best dresses, he recovered his +senses, worked willingly, and announced with a weary grin that if the +<i>gnädische fräulein</i> would wait a little half-hour he would obtain +another wheel from a neighboring forge.</p> + +<p>Having recovered from her fright she was so touched by the poor +fellow’s distress that she promised readily to stand by him until +repairs were effected. It was a longer job than either of them +anticipated. The axle was slightly bent, and a blacksmith had to bring +clamps and a jackscrew before the new wheel could be adjusted. Even +then it had an air of uncertainty that rendered speed impossible. The +concluding five miles of the journey were taken at a snail’s pace, and +Helen reflected ruefully that it was possible to “bruk ze leg” on the +level high road as well as on the rocks of Corvatsch.</p> + +<p>Of course, she received offers of assistance in plenty. Every carriage +that passed while the blacksmith was at work pulled up and placed a +seat therein at her command. But she refused them all. It was not that +she feared to desert her baggage, for Switzerland is proverbially +honest. The unlucky driver had tried to be friendly; his fault was due +to an excess of zeal; and each time she declined the proffered help +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>his furrowed face brightened. If she did not reach the hotel until +midnight she was determined to go there in that vehicle, and in none +other.</p> + +<p>The accident threw her late, but only by some two hours. Instead of +arriving at Maloja in brilliant sunshine, it was damp and chilly when +she entered the hotel. A bank of mist had been carried over the summit +of the pass by a southwesterly wind. Long before the carriage crawled +round the last great bend in the road the glorious panorama of lake +and mountains was blotted out of sight. The horses seemed to be +jogging on through a luminous cloud, so dense that naught was visible +save a few yards of roadway and the boundary wall or stone posts on +the left side, where lay the lake. The brightness soon passed, as the +hurrying fog wraiths closed in on each other. It became bitterly cold +too, and it was with intense gladness that Helen finally stepped from +the outer gloom into a glass haven of warmth and light that formed a +species of covered-in veranda in front of the hotel.</p> + +<p>She was about to pay the driver, having added to the agreed sum half +the cost of the broken wheel by way of a solatium, when another +carriage drove up from the direction of St. Moritz.</p> + +<p>She fancied that the occupant, a young man whom she had never seen +before, glanced at her as though he knew her. She looked again to make +sure; but by that time his eyes were turned away, so he had evidently +discovered his mistake. Still, he seemed to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>take considerable +interest in her carriage, and Helen, ever ready to concede the most +generous interpretation of doubtful acts, assumed that he had heard of +the accident by some means, and was on the lookout for her.</p> + +<p>It would indeed have been a fortunate thing for Helen had some Swiss +fairy whispered the news of her mishap in Spencer’s ears during the +long drive up the mist laden valley. Then, at least, he might have +spoken to her, and used the informal introduction to make her further +acquaintance on the morrow. But the knowledge was withheld from him. +No hint of it was even flashed through space by that wireless +telegraphy which has existed between kin souls ever since men and +women contrived to raise human affinities to a plane not far removed +from the divine.</p> + +<p>He had small store of German, but he knew enough to be perplexed by +the way in which Helen’s driver expressed “beautiful thanks” for her +gift. The man seemed to be at once grateful and downhearted. Of +course, the impression was of the slightest, but Spencer had been +trained in reaching vital conclusions on meager evidence. He could not +wait to listen to Helen’s words, so he passed into the hotel, having +the American habit of leaving the care of his baggage to the hall +porter. He wondered why Helen was so late in arriving that he had +caught her up on the very threshold of the Kursaal, so to speak. He +would not forget the driver’s face, and if he met the man again, it +might be possible to find out the cause <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>of the delay. He himself was +before time. The federal railway authorities at Coire, awaking to the +fact that the holiday rush was beginning, had actually dispatched a +relief train to St. Moritz when the second important train of the day +turned up as full as its predecessor.</p> + +<p>At dinner Helen and he sat at little tables in the same section of the +huge dining hall. The hotel was nearly full, and it was noticeable +that they were the only persons who dined alone. Indeed, the head +waiter asked Spencer if he cared to join a party of men who sat +together; but he declined. There was no such general gathering of +women; so Helen was given no alternative, and she ate the meal in +silence.</p> + +<p>She saw Mrs. Vavasour in a remote part of the salon. With her was a +vacuous looking young man who seldom spoke to her but was continually +addressing remarks to a woman at another table.</p> + +<p>“That is the son lost at Lucerne,” she decided, finding in his face +some of the physical traits but none of the calculating shrewdness of +his mother.</p> + +<p>After a repast of many courses Helen wandered into the great hall, +found an empty chair, and longed for someone to speak to. At the first +glance, everybody seemed to know everybody else. That was not really +the case, of course. There were others present as neglected and +solitary as Helen; but the noise and merriment of the greater number +dominated the place. It resembled a social club rather than a hotel.</p> + +<p>Her chair was placed in an alley along which <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>people had to pass who +wished to reach the glass covered veranda. She amused herself by +trying to pick out the Wraggs, the Burnham-Joneses, and the de la +Veres. Suddenly she was aware that Mrs. Vavasour and her son were +coming that way; the son unwillingly, the mother with an air of +determination. Perhaps the Lucerne episode was about to be explained.</p> + +<p>When young Vavasour’s eyes fell on Helen, the boredom vanished from +his face. It was quite obvious that he called his mother’s attention +to her and asked who she was. Helen felt that an introduction was +imminent. She was glad of it. At that moment she would have chatted +gayly with even a greater ninny than George de Courcy Vavasour.</p> + +<p>But she had not yet grasped the peculiar idiosyncrasies of a woman who +was famous for snubbing those whom she considered to be +“undesirables.” Helen looked up with a shy smile, expecting that the +older woman would stop and speak; but Mrs. Vavasour gazed at her +blankly—looked at the back of her chair through her body—and walked +on.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, George,” Helen heard her say. “There are a lot of new +arrivals. Some person of no importance, rather déclassée, I should +imagine by appearances. As I was telling you, the General has +arranged——”</p> + +<p>Taken altogether, Helen had crowded into portions of two days many new +and some very unpleasant experiences.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i090.jpg" width="500" height="279" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>AN INTERLUDE</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">H</span>elen rose betimes next morning; but she found that the sun had kept +an earlier tryst. Not a cloud marred a sky of dazzling blue. The +phantom mist had gone with the shadows. From her bed room window she +could see the whole length of the Ober-Engadin, till the view was +abruptly shut off by the giant shoulders of Lagrev and Rosatch. The +brilliance of the coloring was the landscape’s most astounding +feature. The lakes were planes of polished turquoise, the rocks pure +grays and browns and reds, the meadows emerald green, while the +shining white patches of snow on the highest mountain slopes helped to +blacken by contrast the somber clumps of pines that gathered thick +wherever man had not disputed with the trees the tenancy of each foot +of meager loam.</p> + +<p>This morning glory of nature gladdened the girl’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>heart and drove +from it the overnight vapors. She dressed hurriedly, made a light +breakfast, and went out.</p> + +<p>There was no need to ask the way. In front of the hotel the narrow +Silser See filled the valley. Close behind lay the crest of the pass. +A picturesque château was perched on a sheer rock overhanging the Vale +of Bregaglia and commanding a far flung prospect almost to the brink +of Como. On both sides rose the mountain barriers; but toward the east +there was an inviting gorge, beyond which the lofty Cima di Rosso +flung its eternal snows heavenward.</p> + +<p>A footpath led in that direction. Helen, who prided herself on her +sense of locality, decided that it would bring her to the valley in +which were situated, as she learned by the map, a small lake and a +glacier.</p> + +<p>“That will be a fine walk before lunch,” she said, “and it is quite +impossible to lose the way.”</p> + +<p>So she set off, crossing the hotel golf course, and making for a +typical Swiss church that crowned the nearest of the foothills. +Passing the church, she found the double doors in the porch open, and +peeped in. It was a cozy little place, cleaner and less garish than +such edifices are usually on the Continent. The lamp burning before +the sanctuary showed that it was devoted to Roman Catholic worship. +The red gleam of the tiny sentinel conveyed a curiously vivid +impression of faith and spirituality. Though Helen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>was a Protestant, +she was conscious of a benign emotion arising from the presence of +this simple token of belief.</p> + +<p>“I must ascertain the hours of service,” she thought. “It will be +delightful to join the Swiss peasants in prayer. One might come near +the Creator in this rustic tabernacle.”</p> + +<p>She did not cross the threshold of the inner door. At present her mind +was fixed on brisk movement in the marvelous air. She wanted to absorb +the sunshine, to dispel once and for all the unpleasing picture of +life in the high Alps presented by the stupid crowd she had met in the +hotel overnight. Of course, she was somewhat unjust there; but women +are predisposed to trust first impressions, and Helen was no exception +to her sex.</p> + +<p>Beyond the church the path was not so definite. Oddly enough, it +seemed to go along the flat top of a low wall down to a tiny mountain +stream. Steps were cut in the opposite hillside, but they were little +used, and higher up, among some dwarf pines and azaleas, a broader way +wound back toward the few scattered chalets that nestled under the +château.</p> + +<p>As the guidebook spoke of a carriage road to Lake Cavloccio, and a +bridle path thence to within a mile of the Forno glacier, she came to +the conclusion that she was taking a short cut. At any rate, on the +summit of the next little hill she would be able to see her way quite +distinctly, so she jumped across <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>the brook and climbed through the +undergrowth. Before she had gone twenty yards she stopped. She was +almost certain that someone was sobbing bitterly up there among the +trees. It had an uncanny sound, this plaint of grief in such a quiet, +sunlit spot. Still, sorrow was not an affrighting thing to Helen. It +might stir her sympathies, but it assuredly could not drive her away +in panic.</p> + +<p>She went on, not noiselessly, as she did not wish to intrude on some +stranger’s misery. Soon she came to a low wall, and, before she quite +realized her surroundings, she was looking into a grass grown +cemetery. It was a surprise, this ambush of the silent company among +the trees. Hidden away from the outer world, and so secluded that its +whereabouts remain unknown to thousands of people who visit the Maloja +each summer, there was an aspect of stealth in its sudden discovery +that was almost menacing. But Helen was not a nervous subject. The +sobbing had ceased, and when the momentary effect of such a depressing +environment had been resolutely driven off, she saw that a rusty iron +gate was open. The place was very small. There were a few monuments, +so choked with weeds and dank grass that their inscriptions were +illegible. She had never seen a more desolate graveyard. Despite the +vivid light and the joyous breeze rustling the pine branches, its air +of abandonment was depressing. She fought against the sensation as +unworthy of her intelligence; but she had some reason for it in the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>fact that there was no visible explanation of the mourning she had +undoubtedly heard.</p> + +<p>Then she uttered an involuntary cry, for a man’s head and shoulders +rose from behind a leafy shrub. Instantly she was ashamed of her fear. +It was the old guide who acted as coachman the previous evening, and +he had been lying face downward on the grass in that part of the +cemetery given over to the unnamed dead.</p> + +<p>He recognized her at once. Struggling awkwardly to his feet, he said +in broken and halting German, “I pray your forgiveness, <i>fräulein</i>. I +fear I have alarmed you.”</p> + +<p>“It is I who should ask forgiveness,” she said. “I came here by +accident. I thought I could go to Cavloccio by this path.”</p> + +<p>She could have hit on no other words so well calculated to bring him +back to every day life. To direct the steps of wanderers in his +beloved Engadine was a real pleasure to him. For an instant he forgot +that they had both spoken German.</p> + +<p>“No, no!” he cried animatedly. “For lek him go by village. Bad road +dissa way. No cross ze field. <i>Verboten!</i>”</p> + +<p>Then Helen remembered that trespassers are sternly warned off the low +lying lands in the mountains. Grass is scarce and valuable. Until the +highest pastures yield to the arid rock, pedestrians must keep to the +beaten track.</p> + +<p>“I was quite mistaken,” she said. “I see now <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>that the path I was trying to reach leads here only. And I am very, +very sorry I disturbed you.”</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 339px;"> +<img src="images/i095.jpg" class="illogap" width="339" height="500" alt="“I fear I have alarmed you, fräulein.”" +title="" /> +<span class="caption">“I fear I have alarmed you, <i>fräulein</i>.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><i>Page <a href="#Page_88">88</a></i></span></span> +</div> + +<p>He hobbled nearer, the ruin of a fine man, with a nobly proportioned +head and shoulders, but sadly maimed by the accident which, to all +appearances, made him useless as a guide.</p> + +<p>“Pardon an old man’s folly, <i>fräulein</i>,” he said humbly. “I thought +none could hear, and I felt the loss of my little girl more than ever +to-day.”</p> + +<p>“Your daughter? Is she buried here?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Many a year has passed; but I miss her now more than ever. She +was all I had in the world, <i>fräulein</i>. I am alone now, and that is a +hard thing when the back is bent with age.”</p> + +<p>Helen’s eyes grew moist; but she tried bravely to control her voice. +“Was she young?” she asked softly.</p> + +<p>“Only twenty, <i>fräulein</i>, only twenty, and as tall and fair as +yourself. They carried her here sixteen years ago this very day. I did +not even see her. On the previous night I fell on Corvatsch.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, how sad! But why did she die at that age? And in this splendid +climate? Was her death unexpected?”</p> + +<p>“Unexpected!” He turned and looked at the huge mountain of which the +cemetery hill formed one of the lowermost buttresses. “If the Piz +della Margna were to topple over and crush me where I stand, it would +be less unforeseen than was my sweet Etta’s fate. But I frighten you, +lady,—a poor return <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>for your kindness. That is your way,—through +the village, and by the postroad till you reach a notice board telling +you where to take the path.”</p> + +<p>There was a crude gentility in his manner that added to the pathos of +his words. Helen was sure that he wished to be left alone with his +memories. Yet she lingered.</p> + +<p>“Please tell me your name,” she said. “I may visit St. Moritz while I +remain here, and I shall try to find you.”</p> + +<p>“Christian Stampa,” he said. He seemed to be on the point of adding +something, but checked himself. “Christian Stampa,” he repeated, after +a pause. “Everybody knows old Stampa the guide. If I am not there, and +you go to Zermatt some day—well, just ask for Stampa. They will tell +you what has become of me.”</p> + +<p>She found it hard to reconcile this broken, careworn old man with her +cheery companion of the previous afternoon. What did he mean? She +understood his queer jargon of Italianized German quite clearly; but +there was a sinister ring in his words that blanched her face. She +could not leave him in his present mood. She was more alarmed now than +when she saw him rising ghostlike from behind the screen of grass and +weeds.</p> + +<p>“Please walk with me to the village,” she said. “All this beautiful +land is strange to me. It will divert your thoughts from a mournful +topic if you tell me something of its wonders.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p><p>He looked at her for an instant. Then his eyes fell on the church in +the neighboring hollow, and he crossed himself, murmuring a few words +in Italian. She guessed their meaning. He was thanking the Virgin for +having sent to his rescue a girl who reminded him of his lost Etta.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said, “I will come. If I were remaining in the Maloja, +<i>fräulein</i>, I would beg you to let me take you to the Forno, and +perhaps to one of the peaks beyond. Old as I am, and lame, you would +be safe with me.”</p> + +<p>Helen breathed freely again. She felt that she had been within +measurable distance of a tragedy. Nor was there any call on her wits +to devise fresh means of drawing his mind away from the madness that +possessed him a few minutes earlier. As he limped unevenly by her +side, his talk was of the mountains. Did she intend to climb? Well, +slow and sure was the golden rule. Do little or nothing during four or +five days, until she had grown accustomed to the thin and keen Alpine +air. Then go to Lake Lunghino,—that would suffice for the first real +excursion. Next day, she ought to start early, and climb the mountain +overlooking that same lake,—up there, on the other side of the +hotel,—all rock and not difficult. If the weather was clear, she +would have a grand view of the Bernina range. Next she might try the +Forno glacier. It was a simple thing. She could go to and from the +<i>cabane</i> in ten hours. Afterward, the Cima di Rosso offered an easy +climb; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>but that meant sleeping at the hut. All of which was excellent +advice, though the reflection came that Stampa’s “slow and sure” +methods were not strongly in evidence some sixteen hours earlier.</p> + +<p>Now, the Cima di Rosso was in full view at that instant. Helen +stopped.</p> + +<p>“Do you really mean to tell me that if I wish to reach the top of that +mountain, I must devote two days to it?” she cried.</p> + +<p>Stampa, though bothered with troubles beyond her ken, forgot them +sufficiently to laugh grimly. “It is farther away than you seem to +think, <i>fräulein</i>; but the real difficulty is the ice. Unless you +cross some of the crevasses in the early morning, before the sun has +had time to undo the work accomplished by the night’s frost, you run a +great risk. And that is why you must be ready to start from the +<i>cabane</i> at dawn. Moreover, at this time of year, you get the finest +view about six o’clock.”</p> + +<p>The mention of crevasses was somewhat awesome. “Is it necessary to be +roped when one tries that climb?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“If any guide ever tells you that you need not be roped while crossing +ice or climbing rock, turn back at once, <i>fräulein</i>. Wait for another +day, and go with a man who knows his business. That is how the Alps +get a bad name for accidents. Look at me! I have climbed the +Matterhorn forty times, and the Jungfrau times out of count, and never +did I or anyone in my care come to grief. ‘Use the rope <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>properly,’ is +my motto, and it has never failed me, not even when two out of five of +us were struck senseless by falling stones on the south side of Monte +Rosa.”</p> + +<p>Helen experienced another thrill. “I very much object to falling +stones,” she said.</p> + +<p>Stampa threw out his hands in emphatic gesture. “What can one do?” he +cried. “They are always a danger, like the snow cornice and the +<i>névé</i>. There is a chimney on the Jungfrau through which stones are +constantly shooting from a height of two thousand feet. You cannot see +them,—they travel too fast for the eye. You hear something sing past +your ears, that is all. Occasionally there is a report like a gunshot, +and then you observe a little cloud of dust rising from a new scar on +a rock. If you are hit—well, there is no dust, because the stone goes +right through. Of course one does not loiter there.”</p> + +<p>Then, seeing the scared look on her face, he went on. “Ladies should +not go to such places. It is not fit. But for men, yes. There is the +joy of battle. Do not err, <i>fräulein</i>,—the mountains are alive. And +they fight to the death. They can be beaten; but there must be no +mistakes. They are like strong men, the hills. When you strive against +them, strain them to your breast and never relax your grip. Then they +yield slowly, with many a trick and false move that a man must learn +if he would look down over them all and say, ‘I am lord here.’ Ah me! +Shall <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>I ever again cross the Col du Lion or climb the Great Tower? +But there! I am old, and thrown aside. Boys whom I engaged as porters +would refuse me now as their porter. Better to have died like my +friend, Michel Croz, than live to be a goatherd.”</p> + +<p>He seemed to pull himself up with an effort. “That way—to your +left—you cannot miss the path. <i>Addio, sigñorina</i>,” and he lifted his +hat with the inborn grace of the peasantry of Southern Europe.</p> + +<p>Helen was hoping that he might elect to accompany her to Cavloccio. +She would willingly have paid him for loss of time. Her ear was +becoming better tuned each moment to his strange patois. Though he +often gave a soft Italian inflection to the harsh German syllables, +she grasped his meaning quite literally. She had read so much about +Switzerland that she knew how Michel Croz was killed while descending +the Matterhorn after having made the first ascent. That historic +accident happened long before she was born. To hear a man speak of +Croz as a friend sounded almost unbelievable, though a moment’s +thought told her that Whymper, who led the attack on the hitherto +impregnable Cervin on that July day in 1865, was still living, a keen +Alpinist.</p> + +<p>She could not refrain from asking Stampa one question, though she +imagined that he was now in a hurry to take the damaged carriage back +to St. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>Moritz. “Michel Croz was a brave man,” she said. “Did you know +him well?”</p> + +<p>“I worshiped him, <i>fräulein</i>,” was the reverent answer. “May I receive +pardon in my last hour, but I took him for an evil spirit on the day +of his death! I was with Jean Antoine Carrel in Signor Giordano’s +party. We started from Breuil, Croz and his voyageurs from Zermatt. We +failed; he succeeded. When we saw him and his Englishmen on the +summit, we believed they were devils, because they yelled in triumph, +and started an avalanche of stones to announce their victory. Three +days later, Carrel and I, with two men from Breuil, tried again. We +gained the top that time, and passed the place where Croz was knocked +over by the English milord and the others who fell with him. I saw +three bodies on the glacier four thousand feet below,—a fine +burial-ground, better than that up there.”</p> + +<p>He looked back at the pines which now hid the cemetery wall from +sight. Then, with another courteous sweep of his hat, he walked away, +covering the ground rapidly despite his twisted leg.</p> + +<p>If Helen had been better trained as a woman journalist, she would have +regarded this meeting with Stampa as an incident of much value. Long +experience of the lights and shades of life might have rendered her +less sensitive. As it was, the man’s personality appealed to her. She +had been vouchsafed a glimpse into an abyss profound as that into +which Stampa himself peered on the day he discovered <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>three of the +four who fell from the Matterhorn still roped together in death. The +old man’s simple references to the terrors lurking in those radiant +mountains had also shaken her somewhat. The snow capped Cima di Rosso +no longer looked so attractive. The Orlegna Gorge had lost some of its +beauty. Though the sun was pouring into its wooded depths, it had +grown gloomy and somber in her eyes. Yielding to impulse, she loitered +in the village, took the carriage road to the château, and sat there, +with her back to the inner heights and her gaze fixed on the smiling +valley that opened toward Italy out of the Septimer Pass.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, Stampa hurried past the stables, where his horses were +munching the remains of the little oaten loaves which form the staple +food of hard worked animals in the Alps. He entered the hotel by the +main entrance, and was on his way to the manager’s bureau, when +Spencer, smoking on the veranda, caught sight of him.</p> + +<p>Instantly the American started in pursuit. By this time he had heard +of Helen’s accident from one of yesterday’s passers by. It accounted +for the delay; but he was anxious to learn exactly what had happened.</p> + +<p>Stampa reached the office first. He was speaking to the manager, when +Spencer came in and said in his downright way:</p> + +<p>“This is the man who drove Miss Wynton from St. Moritz last night. I +don’t suppose I shall be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>able to understand what he says. Will you +kindly ask him what caused the trouble?”</p> + +<p>“It is quite an easy matter,” was the smiling response. “Poor Stampa +is not only too eager to pass every other vehicle on the road, but he +is inclined to watch the mountains rather than his horses’ ears. He +was a famous guide once; but he met with misfortune, and took to +carriage work as a means of livelihood. He has damaged his turnout +twice this year; so this morning he was dismissed by telephone, and +another driver is coming from St. Moritz to take his place.”</p> + +<p>Spencer looked at Stampa. He liked the strong, worn face, with its +half wistful, half resigned expression. An uneasy feeling gripped him +that the whim of a moment in the Embankment Hotel might exert its +crazy influence in quarters far removed from the track that seemed +then to be so direct and pleasure-giving.</p> + +<p>“Why did he want to butt in between the other fellow and the +landscape? What was the hurry, anyhow?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Stampa smiled genially when the questions were translated to him. “I +was talking to the <i>sigñorina</i>,” he explained, using his native +tongue, for he was born on the Italian side of the Bernina.</p> + +<p>“That counts, but it gives no good reason why he should risk her +life,” objected Spencer.</p> + +<p>Stampa’s weather furrowed cheeks reddened. “There was no danger,” he +muttered wrathfully. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>“Madonna! I would lose the use of another limb +rather than hurt a hair of her head. Is she not my good angel? Has she +not drawn me back from the gate of hell? Risk her life! Are people +saying that because a worm-eaten wheel went to pieces against a +stone?”</p> + +<p>“What on earth is he talking about?” demanded Spencer. “Has he been +pestering Miss Wynton this morning with some story of his present +difficulties?”</p> + +<p>The manager knew Stampa’s character. He put the words in kindlier +phrase. “Does the <i>sigñorina</i> know that you have lost your situation?” +he said.</p> + +<p>Even in that mild form, the suggestion annoyed the old man. He flung +it aside with scornful gesture, and turned to leave the office. “Tell +the gentleman to go to Zermatt and ask in the street if Christian +Stampa the guide would throw himself on a woman’s charity,” he +growled.</p> + +<p>Spencer did not wait for any interpretation. “Hold on,” he said +quietly. “What is he going to do now? Work, for a man of his years, +doesn’t grow on gooseberry bushes, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Christian, Christian! You are hot-headed as a boy,” cried the +manager. “The fact is,” he went on, “he came to me to offer his +services. But I have already engaged more drivers than I need, and I +am dismissing some stable men. Perhaps he can find a job in St. +Moritz.”</p> + +<p>“Are his days as guide ended?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>“Unfortunately, yes. I believe he is as active as ever; but people +won’t credit it. And you cannot blame them. When one’s safety depends +on a man who may have to cling to an ice covered rock like a fly to a +window-pane, one is apt to distrust a crooked leg.”</p> + +<p>“Did he have an accident?”</p> + +<p>The manager hesitated. “It is part of his sad history,” he said. “He +fell, and nearly killed himself; but he was hurrying to see the last +of a daughter to whom he was devoted.”</p> + +<p>“Is he a local man, then?”</p> + +<p>“No. Oh, no! The girl happened to be here when the end came.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess he will suit my limited requirements in the fly and +window-pane business while I remain in Maloja,” said Spencer. “Tell +him I am willing to put up ten francs a day and extras for his +exclusive services as guide during my stay.”</p> + +<p>Poor Stampa was nearly overwhelmed by this unexpected good fortune. In +his agitation he blurted out, “Ah, then, the good God did really send +an angel to my help this morning!”</p> + +<p>Spencer, however, reviewing his own benevolence over a pipe outside +the hotel, expressed the cynical opinion that the hot sun was +affecting his brain. “I’m on a loose end,” he communed. “Next time I +waft myself to Europe on a steamer I’ll bring my mother. It would be a +bully fine notion to cable for her right away. I want someone to take +care <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>of me. It looks as if I had a cinch on running this hotel +gratis. What in thunder will happen next?”</p> + +<p>He could surely have answered that query if he had the least inkling +of the circumstances governing Helen’s prior meeting with Stampa. As +it was, the development of events followed the natural course. While +Spencer strolled off by the side of the lake, the old guide lumbered +into the village street, and waited there, knowing that he would +waylay the <i>bella Inglesa</i> on her return. Though she came from the +château and not from Cavloccio, he did not fail to see her.</p> + +<p>At first she was at a loss to fathom the cause of Stampa’s delight, +and still less to understand why he should want to thank her with such +exuberance. She imagined he was overjoyed at having gone back to his +beloved profession, and it was only by dint of questioning that she +discovered the truth. Then it dawned on her that the man had been +goaded to desperation by the curt message from St. Moritz,—that he +was sorely tempted to abandon the struggle, and follow into the +darkness the daughter taken from him so many years ago,—and the +remembrance of her suspicion when they were about to part at the +cemetery gate lent a serious note to her words of congratulation.</p> + +<p>“You see, Stampa,” she said, “you were very wrong to lose faith this +morning. At the very moment of your deepest despair Heaven was +providing a good friend for you.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>“Yes, indeed, <i>fräulein</i>. That is why I waited here. I felt that I +must thank you. It was all through you. The good God sent you——”</p> + +<p>“I think you are far more beholden to the gentleman who employed you +than to me,” she broke in.</p> + +<p>“Yes, he is splendid, the young <i>voyageur</i>; but it was wholly on your +account, lady. He was angry with me at first, because he thought I +placed you in peril in the matter of the wheel.”</p> + +<p>Helen was amazed. “He spoke of me?” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes. He did not say much, but his eyes looked through me. He has +the eyes of a true man, that young American.”</p> + +<p>She was more bewildered than ever. “What is his name?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Here it is. The director wrote it for me, so that I may learn how to +pronounce it.”</p> + +<p>Stampa produced a scrap of paper, and Helen read, “Mr. Charles K. +Spencer.”</p> + +<p>“Are you quite certain he mentioned me?” she repeated.</p> + +<p>“Can I be mistaken, <i>fräulein</i>. I know, because I studied the labels +on your boxes. Mees Hélène Weenton—so? And did he not rate me about +the accident?”</p> + +<p>“Well, wonders will never cease,” she vowed; and indeed they were only +just beginning in her life, which shows how blind to excellent +material wonders can be.</p> + +<p>At luncheon she summoned the head waiter. “Is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>there a Mr. Charles K. +Spencer staying in the hotel?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, madam.”</p> + +<p>“Will you please tell me if he is in the room?”</p> + +<p>The head waiter turned. Spencer was studying the menu. “Yes, madam. +There he is, sitting alone, at the second table from the window.”</p> + +<p>It was quite to be expected that the subject of their joint gaze +should look at them instantly. There is a magnetism in the human eye +that is unfailing in that respect, and its power is increased a +hundredfold when a charming young woman tries it on a young man who +happens to be thinking of her at the moment.</p> + +<p>Then Spencer realized that Stampa had told Helen what had taken place +in the hotel bureau, and he wanted to kick himself for having +forgotten to make secrecy a part of the bargain.</p> + +<p>Helen, knowing that he knew, blushed furiously. She tried to hide her +confusion by murmuring something to the head waiter. But in her heart +she was saying, “Who in the world is he? I have never seen him before +last night. And why am I such an idiot as to tremble all over just +because he happened to catch me looking at him?”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i110.jpg" width="500" height="273" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>THE BATTLEFIELD</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">B</span>oth man and woman were far too well bred to indulge in an +<i>œillade</i>. The knowledge that each was thinking of the other led +rather to an ostentatious avoidance of anything that could be +construed into any such flirtatious overture.</p> + +<p>Though Stampa’s curious statement had puzzled Helen, she soon hit on +the theory that the American must have heard of the accident to her +carriage. Yes, that supplied a ready explanation. No doubt he kept a +sharp lookout for her on the road. He arrived at the hotel almost +simultaneously with herself, and she had not forgotten his somewhat +inquiring glance as they stood together on the steps. With the +chivalry of his race in all things concerning womankind, he was eager +to render assistance, and under the circumstances he probably wondered +what sort of damsel in distress it was that needed help. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>It was +natural enough too that in engaging Stampa he should refer to the +carelessness that brought about the collapse of the wheel. Really, +when one came to analyze an incident seemingly inexplicable, it +resolved itself into quite commonplace constituents.</p> + +<p>She found it awkward that he should be sitting between her and a +window commanding the best view of the lake. If Spencer had been at +any other table, she could have feasted her eyes on the whole expanse +of the Ober-Engadin Valley. Therefore she had every excuse for looking +that way, whereas he had none for gazing at her. Spencer appeared to +be aware of this disability. For lack of better occupation he +scrutinized the writing on the menu with a prolonged intentness worthy +of a gourmand or an expert graphologist.</p> + +<p>Helen rose first, and that gave him an opportunity to note her +graceful carriage. Though born in the States, he was of British stock, +and he did not share the professed opinion of the American humorist +that the typical Englishwoman is angular, has large feet, and does not +know how to walk. Helen, at any rate, betrayed none of these elements +of caricature. Though there were several so-called “smart” women in +the hotel,—women who clung desperately to the fringe of Society on +both sides of the Atlantic,—his protégée was easily first among the +few who had any claim to good looks.</p> + +<p>Helen was not only tall and lithe, but her movements <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>were marked by a +quiet elegance. It was her custom, in nearly all weathers, to walk +from Bayswater to Professor von Eulenberg’s study, which, needless to +say, was situated near the British Museum. She usually returned by a +longer route, unless pelting rain or the misery of London snow made +the streets intolerable. Thus there was hardly a day that she did not +cover eight miles at a rapid pace, a method of training that eclipsed +all the artifices of beauty doctors and schools of deportment. Her +sweetly pretty face, her abundance of shining brown hair, her slim, +well proportioned figure, and the almost athletic swing of her well +arched shoulders, would entitle her to notice in a gathering of +beauties far more noted than those who graced Maloja with their +presence that year. In addition to these physical attractions she +carried with her the rarer and indefinable aura of the born +aristocrat. As it happened, she merited that description both by birth +and breeding; but there is a vast company entitled to consideration on +that score to whom nature has cruelly denied the necessary +hallmarks—otherwise the pages of Burke would surely be embellished +with portraits.</p> + +<p>Indeed, so far as appearance went, it was rather ludicrous to regard +Helen as the social inferior of any person then resident in the +Kursaal, and it is probable that a glimmering knowledge of this fact +inflamed Mrs. de Courcy Vavasour’s wrath to boiling point, when a few +minutes later, she saw her son <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>coolly walk up to the “undesirable” +and enter into conversation with her.</p> + +<p>Helen was seated in a shady corner. A flood of sunlight filled the +glass covered veranda with a grateful warmth. She had picked up an +astonishingly well written and scholarly guide book issued by the +proprietors of the hotel, and was deep in its opening treatise on the +history and racial characteristics of the Engadiners, when she was +surprised at hearing herself addressed by name.</p> + +<p>“Er—Miss—er—Wynton, I believe?” said a drawling voice.</p> + +<p>Looking up, she found George de Courcy Vavasour bending over her in an +attitude that betokened the utmost admiration for both parties to the +tête-à-tête. Under ordinary conditions,—that is to say, if Vavasour’s +existence depended on his own exertions,—Helen’s eyes would have +dwelt on a gawky youth endowed with a certain pertness that might in +time have brought him from behind the counter of a drapery store to +the wider arena of the floor. As it was, a reasonably large income +gave him unbounded assurance, and his credit with a good tailor was +unquestionable. He represented a British product that flourishes best +in alien soil. There exists a foreign legion of George de Courcy +Vavasours, flaccid heroes of fashion plates, whose parade grounds +change with the seasons from Paris to the Riviera, and from the +Riviera to some nook in the Alps. Providence and a grandfather have +conspired in their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>behalf to make work unnecessary; but Providence, +more far-seeing than grandfathers, has decreed that they shall be +effete and light brained, so the type does not endure.</p> + +<p>Helen, out of the corner of her eye, became aware that Mrs. de Courcy +Vavasour was advancing with all the plumes of the British matron +ruffled for battle. It was not in human nature that the girl should +not recall the slight offered her the previous evening. With the +thought came the temptation to repay it now with interest; but she +thrust it aside.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that is my name,” she said, smiling pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Well—er—the General has asked me to—er—invite you take part in +some of our tournaments. We have tennis, you know, an’ golf, an’ +croquet, an’ that sort of thing. Of course, you play tennis, an’ I +rather fancy you’re a golfer as well. You look that kind of girl—Eh, +what?”</p> + +<p>He caressed a small mustache as he spoke, using the finger and thumb +of each hand alternately, and Helen noticed that his hands were +surprisingly large when compared with his otherwise fragile frame.</p> + +<p>“Who is the General?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Wragg, you know. He looks after everything in the amusement line, +an’ I help. Do let me put you down for the singles an’ mixed doubles. +None of the women here can play for nuts, an’ I haven’t got a partner +yet for the doubles. I’ve been waitin’ for someone like you to turn +up.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span></p><p>“You have not remained long in suspense,” she could not help saying. +“You are Mr. Vavasour, are you not?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, better known as Georgie.”</p> + +<p>“And you arrived in Maloja last evening, I think. Well, I do play +tennis, or rather, I used to play fairly well some years ago——”</p> + +<p>“By gad! just what I thought. Go slow in your practice games, Miss +Wynton, an’ you’ll have a rippin’ handicap.”</p> + +<p>“Would that be quite honest?” said Helen, lifting her steadfast brown +eyes to meet his somewhat too free scrutiny.</p> + +<p>“Honest? Rather! You wait till you see the old guard pullin’ out a bit +when they settle down to real business. But the General is up to their +little dodges. He knows their form like a book, an’ he gets every one +of ’em shaken out by the first round—Eh, what?”</p> + +<p>“The arrangement seems to be ideal if one is friendly with the +General,” said Helen.</p> + +<p>Vavasour drew up a chair. He also drew up the ends of his trousers, +thus revealing that the Pomeranian brown and myrtle green stripes in +his necktie were faithfully reproduced in his socks, while these +master tints were thoughtfully developed in the subdominant hues of +his clothes and boots.</p> + +<p>“By Jove! what a stroke of luck I should have got hold of you first!” +he chuckled. “I’m pretty good at the net, Miss Wynton. If we manage +things <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>properly, we ought to have the mixed doubles a gift with plus +half forty, an’ in the ladies’ singles you’ll be a Queen’s Club +champion at six-stone nine—Eh, what?”</p> + +<p>Though Vavasour represented a species of inane young man whom Helen +detested, she bore with him because she hungered for the sound of an +English voice in friendly converse this bright morning. At times her +life was lonely enough in London; but she had never felt her isolation +there. The great city appealed to her in all its moods. Her cheerful +yet sensitive nature did not shrink from contact with its hurrying +crowds. The mere sense of aloofness among so many millions of people +brought with it the knowledge that she was one of them, a human atom +plunged into a heedless vortex the moment she passed from her house +into the street.</p> + +<p>Here in Maloja things were different. While her own identity was laid +bare, while men and women canvassed her name, her appearance, her +occupation, she was cut off from them by a social wall of their own +contriving. The attitude of the younger women told her that +trespassers were forbidden within that sacred fold. She knew now that +she had done a daring thing—outraged one of the cheap conventions—in +coming alone to this clique-ridden Swiss valley. Better a thousand +times have sought lodgings in some small village inn, and mixed with +the homely folk who journeyed thither on the diligence or tramped +joyously afoot, than strive to win <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>the sympathy of any of these +shallow nonentities of the smart set.</p> + +<p>Even while listening to “Georgie’s” efforts to win her smiles with +slangy confidences, she saw that Mrs. Vavasour had halted in mid +career, and joined a group of women, evidently a mother and two +daughters, and that she herself was the subject of their talk. She +wondered why. She was somewhat perplexed when the conclave broke up +suddenly, the girls going to the door, Mrs. Vavasour retreating +majestically to the far end of the veranda, and the other elderly +woman drawing a short, fat, red faced man away from a discussion with +another man.</p> + +<p>“Jolly place, this,” Vavasour was saying. “There’s dancin’ most +nights. The dowager brigade want the band to play classical music, an’ +that sort of rot, you know; but Mrs. de la Vere and the Wragg girls +like a hop, an’ we generally arrange things our own way. We’ll have a +dance to-night if you wish it; but you must promise to——”</p> + +<p>“Georgie,” cried the pompous little man, “I want you a minute!”</p> + +<p>Vavasour swung round. Evidently he regarded the interruption as “a +beastly bore.” “All right, General,” he said airily. “I’ll be there +soon. No hurry, is there?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I want you now!” The order was emphatic. The General’s only +military asset was a martinet voice, and he made the most of it.</p> + +<p>“Rather rotten, isn’t it, interferin’ with a fellow <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>in this way?” +muttered Vavasour. “Will you excuse me? I must see what the old boy is +worryin’ about. I shall come back soon—Eh, what?”</p> + +<p>“I am going out,” said Helen; “but we shall meet again. I remain here +a month.”</p> + +<p>“You’ll enter for the tournament?” he asked over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“I—think so. It will be something to do.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks awfully. And don’t forget to-night.”</p> + +<p>Helen laughed. She could not help it. The younger members of the Wragg +family were eying her sourly through the glass partition. They seemed +to be nice girls too, and she made up her mind to disillusion them +speedily if they thought that she harbored designs on the callow youth +whom they probably regarded as their own special cavalier.</p> + +<p>When she passed through the inner doorway to go to her room she +noticed that the General was giving Georgie some instructions which +were listened to in sulky silence. Indeed, that remarkable ex-warrior +was laying down the law of the British parish with a clearness that +was admirable. He had been young himself once,—dammit!—and had as +keen an eye for a pretty face as any other fellow; but no gentleman +could strike up an acquaintance with an unattached female under the +very nose of his mother, not to mention the noses of other ladies who +were his friends. Georgie broke out in protest.</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I say, General, she is a lady, an’ you yourself said——”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span></p><p>“I know I did. I was wrong. Even a wary old bird like me can make a +mistake. Mrs. Vavasour has just warned my wife about her. It’s no good +arguing, Georgie, my boy. Nowadays you can’t draw the line too +rigidly. Things permissible in Paris or Nice won’t pass muster here. +I’m sorry, Georgie. She’s a high stepper and devilish taking, I admit. +Writes for some ha’penny rag—er—for some cheap society paper, I +hear. Why, dash it all, she will be lampooning us in it before we know +where we are. Just you go and tell your mother you’ll behave better in +future. Excellent woman, Mrs. Vavasour. She never makes a mistake. +Gad! don’t you remember how she spotted that waiter from the Ritz who +gulled the lot of us at the Jetée last winter? Took him for the French +marquis he said he was, every one of us, women and all, till Mrs. V. +fixed her eye on him and said, ‘Gustave!’ Damme! how he curled up!”</p> + +<p>George was still obdurate. A masquerading waiter differed from Helen +in many essentials. “He was a Frenchman, an’ they’re mostly rotters. +This girl is English, General, an’ I shall look a proper sort of an +ass if I freeze up suddenly after what I’ve said to her.”</p> + +<p>“Not for the first time, my boy, and mebbe not for the last.” Then, in +view of the younger man’s obvious defiance, the General’s white +mustache bristled. “Of course, you can please yourself,” he growled: +“but neither Mrs. Wragg nor my daughters <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>will tolerate your +acquaintance with that person!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, all right, General,” came the irritated answer. “Between you an’ +the mater I’ve got to come to heel; but it’s a beastly shame, I say, +an’ you’re all makin’ a jolly big mistake.”</p> + +<p>Georgie’s intelligence might be superficial; but he knew a lady when +he met one, and Helen had attracted him powerfully. He was thanking +his stars for the good fortune that numbered him among the earliest of +her acquaintances in the hotel, and it was too bad that the barring +edict should have been issued against her so unexpectedly. But he was +not of a fighting breed, and he quailed before the threat of Mrs. +Wragg’s displeasure.</p> + +<p>Helen, after a delightful ramble past the château and along the +picturesque turns and twists of the Colline des Artistes, returned in +time for tea, which was served on the veranda, the common rendezvous +of the hotel during daylight. No one spoke to her. She went out again, +and walked by the lake till the shadows fell and the mountains +glittered in purple and gold. She dressed herself in a simple white +evening frock, dined in solitary state, and ventured into the ball +room after dinner.</p> + +<p>Georgie was dancing with Mrs. de la Vere, a languid looking woman who +seemed to be pining for admiration. At the conclusion of the waltz +that was going on when Helen entered, Vavasour brought his partner a +whisky and soda and a cigarette. He <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>passed Helen twice, but ignored +her, and whirled one of the Wragg girls off into a polka. Again he +failed to see her when parties were being formed for a quadrille. Even +to herself she did not attempt to deny a feeling of annoyance, though +she extracted a bitter amusement from the knowledge that she had been +slighted by such a vapid creature.</p> + +<p>She was under no misconception as to what had happened. The women were +making a dead set against her. If she had been plain or dowdy, they +might have been friendly enough. It was an unpardonable offense that +she should be good looking, unchaperoned, and not one of the queerly +assorted mixture they deemed their <i>monde</i>. For a few minutes she was +really angry. She realized that her only crime was poverty. Given a +little share of the wealth held by many of these passée matrons and +bold-eyed girls, she would be a reigning star among them, and could +act and talk as she liked. Yet her shyness and reserve would have been +her best credentials to any society that was constituted on a sounder +basis than a gathering of snobs. Among really well-born people she +would certainly have been received on an equal footing until some +valid reason for ostracism was forthcoming. The imported limpets on +this Swiss rock of gentility were not sure of their own grip. Hence, +they strenuously refused to make room for a newcomer until they were +shoved aside.</p> + +<p>Poor, disillusioned Helen! When she went to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>church she prayed to the +good Lord to deliver her and everybody else from envy, hatred, and +malice, and all uncharitableness. She felt now that there might well +be added to the Litany a fresh petition which should include British +communities on the Continent in the list of avoidable evils.</p> + +<p>At that instant the piquant face and figure of Millicent Jaques rose +before her mind’s eye. She pictured to herself the cool effrontery +with which the actress would crush these waspish women by creating a +court of every eligible man in the place. It was not a healthy +thought, but it was the offspring of sheer vexation, and Helen +experienced her second temptation that day when de la Vere, the +irresistible “Reginald” of Mrs. Vavasour’s sketchy reminiscences, came +and asked her to dance.</p> + +<p>She recognized him at once. He sat with Mrs. de la Vere at table, and +never spoke to her unless it was strictly necessary. He had +distinguished manners, a pleasant voice, and a charming smile, and he +seemed to be the devoted slave of every pretty woman in the hotel +except his wife.</p> + +<p>“Please pardon the informality,” he said, with an affability that +cloaked the impertinence. “We are quite a family party at Maloja. I +hear you are staying here some weeks, and we are bound to get to know +each other sooner or later.”</p> + +<p>Helen could dance well. She was so mortified by the injustice meted +out to her that she almost accepted de la Vere’s partnership on the +spur of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>moment. But her soul rebelled against the man’s covert +insolence, and she said quietly:</p> + +<p>“No, thank you. I do not care to dance.”</p> + +<p>“May I sit here and talk?” he persisted.</p> + +<p>“I am just going,” she said, “and I think Mrs. de la Vere is looking +for you.”</p> + +<p>By happy chance the woman in question was standing alone in the center +of the ball room, obviously in quest of some man who would take her to +the foyer for a cigarette. Helen retreated with the honors of war; but +the irresistible one only laughed.</p> + +<p>“That idiot Georgie told the truth, then,” he admitted. “And she knows +what the other women are saying. What cats these dear creatures can +be, to be sure!”</p> + +<p>Spencer happened to be an interested onlooker. Indeed, he was trying +to arrive at the best means of obtaining an introduction to Helen when +he saw de la Vere stroll leisurely up to her with the assured air of +one sated by conquest. The girl brushed close to him as he stood in +the passage. She held her head high and her eyes were sparkling. He +had not heard what was said; but de la Vere’s discomfiture was so +patent that even his wife smiled as she sailed out on the arm of a +youthful purveyor of cigarettes.</p> + +<p>Spencer longed for an opportunity to kick de la Vere; yet, in some +sense, he shared that redoubtable lady-killer’s rebuff. He too was +wondering if the social life of a Swiss hotel would permit him to seek +a dance with Helen. Under existing conditions, it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>would provide quite +a humorous episode, he told himself, to strike up a friendship with +her. He could not imagine why she had adopted such an aloof attitude +toward all and sundry; but it was quite evident that she declined +anything in the guise of promiscuous acquaintance. And he, like her, +felt lonely. There were several Americans in the hotel, and he would +probably meet some of the men in the bar or smoking room after the +dance was ended. But he would have preferred a pleasant chat with +Helen that evening, and now she had gone to her room in a huff.</p> + +<p>Then an inspiration came to him. “Guess I’ll stir up Mackenzie to send +along an introduction,” he said. “A telegram will fix things.”</p> + +<p>It was not quite so easy to explain matters in the curt language of +the wire, he found, and it savored of absurdity to amaze the +beer-drinking Scot with a long message. So he compromised between +desire and expediency by a letter.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Mackenzie</span>,” he wrote, “life is not rapid at this +terminus. It might take on some new features if I had the +privilege of saying ‘How de do’ to Miss Wynton. Will you oblige me +by telling her that one of your best and newest friends happens to +be in the same hotel as her charming self, and that if she gets +him to sparkle, he (which is I) will help considerable with copy +for ‘The Firefly.’ Advise me by same post, and the rest of the +situation is up to yours faithfully,</p> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 2em;">“C. K. S.”</span></p></div> + +<p>The letter was posted, and Spencer waited five tiresome days. He saw +little or nothing of Helen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>save at meals. Once he met her on a +footpath that runs through a wood by the side of the lake to the +little hamlet of Isola, and he was minded to raise his hat, as he +would have done to any other woman in the hotel whom he encountered +under similar circumstances; but she deliberately looked away, and his +intended courtesy must have passed unheeded.</p> + +<p>As he sedulously avoided any semblance of dogging her footsteps, he +could not know how she was being persecuted by de la Vere, Vavasour, +and one or two other men of like habit. That knowledge was yet to +come. Consequently he deemed her altogether too prudish, and was so +out of patience with her that he and Stampa went off for a two days’ +climb by way of the Muretto Pass to Chiareggio and back to Sils-Maria +over the Fex glacier.</p> + +<p>Footsore and tired, but thoroughly converted to the marvels of the +high Alps, he reached the Kursaal side by side with the postman who +brought the chief English mail about six o’clock each evening.</p> + +<p>He waited with an eager crowd of residents while the hall porter +sorted the letters. There were some for him from America, and one from +London in a handwriting that was strange to him. But he had quick +eyes, and he saw that a letter addressed to Miss Helen Wynton, in the +flamboyant envelope of “The Firefly,” bore the same script.</p> + +<p>Mackenzie had risen to the occasion. He even indulged in a classical +joke. “There is something in the name of Helen that attracts,” he +said. “Were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>it not for the lady whose face drew a thousand ships to +Ilium, we should never have heard of Paris, or Troy, or the heel of +Achilles, and all these would be greatly missed.”</p> + +<p>“And I should never have heard of Mackenzie or Maloja,” thought +Spencer, sinking into a chair and looking about to learn whether or +not the girl would find her letter before he went to dress for dinner. +He was sure she knew his name. Perhaps when she read the editor’s +note, she too would search the spacious lounge with those fine eyes of +hers for the man described therein. If that were so, he meant to go to +her instantly, discuss the strangeness of the coincidence that led to +two of Mackenzie’s friends being at the hotel at the same time, and +suggest that they should dine together.</p> + +<p>The project seemed feasible, and it was decidedly pleasant in +perspective. He longed to compare notes with her,—to tell her the +quaint stories of the hills related to him by Stampa in a medley of +English, French, Italian, and German; perhaps to plan delightful trips +to the fairyland in company.</p> + +<p>People began to clear away from the hall porter’s table; yet Helen +remained invisible. He could hardly have missed her; but to make +certain he rose and glanced at the few remaining letters. Yes, “The +Firefly’s” gaudy imprint still gleamed at him. He turned way, +disappointed. After his long tramp and a night in a weird Italian inn, +a bath was imperative, and the boom of the dressing gong was imminent.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span></p><p>He was crossing the hall toward the elevator when he heard her voice.</p> + +<p>“I am so glad you are keen on an early climb,” she was saying, with a +new note of confidence that stirred him strangely. “I have been +longing to leave the sign boards and footpaths far behind, but I felt +rather afraid of going to the Forno for the first time with a guide. +You see, I know nothing about mountaineering, and you can put me up to +all the dodges beforehand.”</p> + +<p>“Show you the ropes, in fact,” agreed the man with her, Mark Bower.</p> + +<p>Spencer was so completely taken by surprise that he could only stare +at the two as though they were ghosts. They had entered the hotel +together, and had apparently been out for a walk. Helen picked up her +letter and held it carelessly in her hand while she continued to talk +with Bower. Her pleasurable excitement was undeniable. She regarded +her companion as a friend, and was evidently overjoyed at his +presence. Spencer banged into the elevator, astonished the attendant +and two other occupants by the savagery of his command, “Au deuxième, +vite!” and paced through a long corridor with noisy clatter of +hob-nailed boots.</p> + +<p>He was in a rare fret and fume when he sat down to dinner alone. Bower +was at Helen’s table. It was brightened by rare flowers not often seen +in sterile Maloja. A bottle of champagne rested in an ice bucket by +his side. He had brought with him <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>the atmosphere of London, of the +pleasant life that London offers to those who can buy her favors. +Truly this Helen, all unconsciously, had not only found the heel of a +modern Achilles, but was wounding him sorely. For now Spencer knew +that he wanted to see her frank eyes smiling into his as they were +smiling into Bower’s, and, no matter what turn events took, a sinister +element had been thrust into a harmless idyl by this man’s arrival.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i129.jpg" width="500" height="271" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>SOME SKIRMISHING</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">L</span>ater, the American saw the two sitting in the hall. They were +chatting with the freedom of old friends. Helen’s animated face showed +that the subject of their talk was deeply interesting. She was telling +Bower of the slights inflicted on her by the other women; but Spencer +interpreted her intent manner as supplying sufficient proof of a +stronger emotion than mere friendliness. He was beginning to detest +Bower.</p> + +<p>It was his habit to decide quickly when two ways opened before him. He +soon settled his course now. To remain in the hotel under present +conditions involved a loss of self respect, he thought. He went to the +bureau, asked for his account, and ordered a carriage to St. Moritz +for the morrow’s fast train to England.</p> + +<p>The manager was politely regretful. “You are <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>leaving us at the wrong +time, sir,” he said. “Within the next few days we ought to have a +midsummer storm, when even the lower hills will be covered with snow. +Then, we usually enjoy a long spell of magnificent weather.”</p> + +<p>“Sorry,” said Spencer. “I like the scramble up there,” and he nodded +in the direction of the Bernina range, “and old Stampa is a gem of a +guide; but I can hardly put off any longer some business that needs +attention in England. Anyhow, I shall come back, perhaps next month. +Stampa says it is all right here in September.”</p> + +<p>“Our best month, I assure you, and the ideal time to drop down into +Italy when you are tired of the mountains.”</p> + +<p>“I must let it go at that. I intend to fix Stampa so that he can +remain here till the end of the season. So you see I mean to return.”</p> + +<p>“He was very fortunate in meeting you, Mr. Spencer,” said the manager +warmly.</p> + +<p>“Well, it is time he had a slice of luck. I’ve taken a fancy to the +old fellow. One night, in the Forno hut, he told me something of his +story. I guess it will please him to stop at the Maloja for awhile.”</p> + +<p>“He told you about his daughter?” came the tentative question.</p> + +<p>“Not all. I am afraid there was no difficulty in filling in the +blanks. I heard enough to make me respect him and sympathize with his +troubles.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p><p>The manager shook his head, with the air of one who recalls that which +he would willingly have forgotten. “Such incidents are rare in +Switzerland,” he said. “I well remember the sensation her death +created. She was such a pretty girl. The young men at Pontresina +called her ‘The Edelweiss’ because she was so inaccessible. In fact, +poor Stampa had educated her beyond her station, and that is not +always good for a woman, especially in these quiet valleys, where +knowledge of cattle and garden produce is a better asset than speaking +French and playing the piano.”</p> + +<p>Spencer agreed. He could name other districts where the same rule held +good. He stood for a moment in the spacious hall to light a cigar. +Involuntarily he glanced at Helen. She met his gaze, and said +something to Bower that caused the latter also to turn and look.</p> + +<p>“She has read Mackenzie’s letter,” thought Spencer, taking refuge +behind a cloud of smoke. “It will be bad behavior on my part to leave +the hotel without making my bow. Shall I go to her now, or wait till +morning?”</p> + +<p>He reflected that Helen might be out early next day. If he presented +his introduction at once, she would probably ask him to sit with her a +little while, and then he must become acquainted with Bower. He +disliked the notion; but he saw no way out of it, unless indeed Helen +treated him with the chilling abruptness she meted out to other men in +the hotel <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>who tried to become friendly with her. He was weighing the +pros and cons dispassionately, when the English chaplain approached.</p> + +<p>“Do you play bridge, Mr. Spencer?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I know the leads, and call ‘without’ on the least provocation,” was +the reply.</p> + +<p>“You are the very man I am searching for, and I have the authority of +the First Book of Samuel in my quest.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, that is the last place in which I should expect to find my +bridge portrait.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you remember how Saul’s servants asked his permission to ‘seek +out a man who is a cunning player’? That is exactly what I am doing. +Come to the smoking room. There are two other men there, and one is a +fellow countryman of yours.”</p> + +<p>The Rev. Mr. Hare was a genial soul, a Somersetshire vicar who took +his annual holiday by accepting a temporary position in some Alpine +village where there was an English church. He did not dream that he +was acting the part of Hermes, messenger of the gods, at that moment, +for indeed his appearance on the scene just then changed the whole +trend of Spencer’s actions.</p> + +<p>“What a delightful place this is!” he went on as they walked together +through a long corridor. “But what is the matter with the people? They +don’t mix. I would not have believed that there were so many prigs in +the British Isles.”</p> + +<p>Some such candid opinion had occurred to Spencer; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>but, being an +American, he thought that perhaps he might be mistaken. “The English +character is somewhat adaptable to environment, I have heard. That is +why you send out such excellent colonists,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t that go rather to prove that everybody here should be hail +fellow well met?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all. They take their pose from the Alps,—snow, glaciers, hard +rock, you know,—that is the subtlety of it.”</p> + +<p>The vicar laughed. “You have given me a new point of view,” he said. +“Some of them are slippery customers too. Yes, one might carry the +parallel a long way. But here we are. Now, mind you cut me as a +partner. I have tried the others, and found them severely critical—as +bridge players. You look a stoic.”</p> + +<p>The vicar had his wish. Spencer and he opposed a man from Pittsburg, +named Holt, and Dunston, an Englishman.</p> + +<p>While the latter was shuffling the cards for Hare’s deal he said +something that took one, at least, of his hearers by surprise. “Bower +has turned up, I see. What has brought him to the Engadine at this +time of year I can’t guess, unless perhaps he is interested in a +pretty face.”</p> + +<p>“At this time of the year,” repeated Spencer. “Isn’t this the season?”</p> + +<p>“Not for him. He used to be a famous climber; but he has given it up +since he waxed fat and prosperous. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>I have met him once or twice at +St. Moritz in the winter. Otherwise, he usually shows up in the +fashionable resorts in August,—Ostend, or Trouville, or, if he is +livery, Vichy or Aix-les-Bains,—anywhere but this quiet spot. Bower +likes excitement too. He often opens a thousand pound bank at +baccarat, whereas people are shocked in Maloja at seeing Hare play +bridge at tenpence a hundred.”</p> + +<p>“I leave it, partner,” broke in the vicar, to whom the game was the +thing.</p> + +<p>“No trumps,” said Spencer, without giving the least heed to his cards. +It was true his eyes were resting on the ace, king, and queen of +spades; but his mind was tortured by the belief that by his fantastic +conceit in sending Helen to this Alpine fastness he had delivered her +bound to the vultures.</p> + +<p>“Double no trumps,” said Dunston, gloating over the possession of a +long suit of hearts and three aces. Hare looked anxious, and Spencer +suddenly awoke to the situation.</p> + +<p>“Satisfied,” he said.</p> + +<p>Holt led the three of hearts, and Spencer spread his cards on the +table with the gravity of a Sioux chief. In addition to the three high +spades he held six others.</p> + +<p>“Really!” gasped the parson, “a most remarkable declaration!”</p> + +<p>Yet there was an agitated triumph in his voice that was not pleasant +hearing for Dunston, who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span>took the trick with the ace of hearts and +led the lowest of a sequence to the queen.</p> + +<p>“Got him!” panted Hare, producing the king.</p> + +<p>The rest was easy. The vicar played a small spade and scored +ninety-six points without any further risk.</p> + +<p>“It is magnificent; but it is not bridge,” said the man from +Pittsburg. Dunston simply glowered.</p> + +<p>“Partner,” demanded Hare timidly, “may I ask why you called ‘no +trumps’ on a hand like that?”</p> + +<p>“Thought I would give you a chance of distinguishing yourself,” +replied Spencer. “Besides, that sort of thing rattles your opponents +at the beginning of a game. Keep your nerve now, <i>padre</i>, and you have +’em in a cleft stick.”</p> + +<p>As it happened, Holt made a “no trump” declaration on a very strong +hand; but Spencer held seven clubs headed by the ace and king.</p> + +<p>He doubled. Holt redoubled. Spencer doubled again.</p> + +<p>Hare flushed somewhat. “Allow me to say that I am very fond of bridge; +but I cannot take part in a game that savors of gambling, even for low +stakes,” he broke in.</p> + +<p>“Shall we let her go at forty-eight points a trick?” Spencer asked.</p> + +<p>“Yep!” snapped Holt. “Got all the clubs?”</p> + +<p>“Not all—sufficient, perhaps.”</p> + +<p>He played the ace. Dunston laid the queen and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>knave on the table. +Spencer scored the winning trick before his adversary obtained an +opening.</p> + +<p>“You have a backbone of cast steel,” commented Dunston, who was an +iron-master. “Do you play baccarat?” he went on, with curious +eagerness.</p> + +<p>“I regret to state that my education was completed in a Western mining +camp.”</p> + +<p>“Will you excuse the liberty, and perhaps Mr. Hare won’t listen for a +moment?—but I will finance you in three banks of a thousand each, +either banking or punting, if you promise to take on Bower. I can +arrange it easily. I say this because you personally may not care to +play for high sums.”</p> + +<p>The suggestion was astounding, coming as it did from a stranger; but +Spencer merely said:</p> + +<p>“You don’t like Bower, then?”</p> + +<p>“That is so. I have business relations with him occasionally, and +there he is all that could be wished. But I have seen him clean out +more than one youngster ruthlessly,—force the play to too high +stakes, I mean. I think you could take his measure. Anyhow, I am +prepared to back you.”</p> + +<p>“I’m leaving here to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, well, we may have another opportunity. If so, my offer holds.”</p> + +<p>“Guess you haven’t heard that Spencer is the man who bored a tunnel +through the Rocky Mountains?” said Holt.</p> + +<p>“No. You must tell me about it. Sorry, Mr. Hare, I am stopping the +game.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span></p><p>Spencer continued to have amazing good fortune, and he played with +skill, but without any more fireworks. At the close of the sitting the +vicar said cheerfully:</p> + +<p>“You are not a ladies’ man, Mr. Spencer. You know the old +proverb,—lucky at cards, unlucky in love? But let me hope that it +does not apply in your case.”</p> + +<p>“Talking about a ladies’ man, who is the girl your friend Bower dined +with?” asked Holt. “She has been in the hotel several days; but she +didn’t seem to be acquainted with anybody in particular until he blew +in this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>“She is a Miss Helen Wynton,” said the vicar. “I like her very much +from what little I have seen of her. She attended both services on +Sunday, and I happen to be aware of the fact that she was at mass in +the Roman church earlier. I wanted her to play the harmonium next +Sunday; but she declined, and gave me her reasons too.”</p> + +<p>“May I ask what they were?” inquired Spencer.</p> + +<p>“Well, speaking in confidence, they were grievously true. Some +miserable pandering to Mrs. Grundy has set the other women against +her; so she declined to thrust herself into prominence. I tried to +talk her out of it, but failed.”</p> + +<p>“Who is Mrs. Grundy, anyhow?” growled Holt.</p> + +<p>The others laughed.</p> + +<p>“She is the Medusa of modern life,” explained the vicar. “She turns to +stone those who gaze on <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>her. Most certainly she petrifies all good +feeling and Christian tolerance. Why, I actually heard a woman whose +conduct is not usually governed by what I hold to be good taste sneer +at Miss Wynton this evening. ‘The murder is out now,’ she said. +‘Bower’s presence explains everything.’ Yet I am able to state that +Miss Wynton was quite unprepared for his arrival. By chance I was +standing on the steps when he drove up to the hotel, and it was +perfectly clear from the words they used that neither was aware that +the other was in Maloja.”</p> + +<p>Spencer leaned over toward the iron-master. “Tell you what,” he said; +“I’ve changed my mind about the trip to England to-morrow. Get up that +game with Bower. I’ll stand the racket myself unless you want to go +half shares.”</p> + +<p>“Done! I should like to have an interest in it. Not that I am pining +for Bower’s money, and it may be that he will win ours; but I am keen +on giving him a sharp run. At Nice last January not a soul in the +Casino would go Banco when he opened a big bank. They were afraid of +him.”</p> + +<p>While he was speaking, Dunston’s shrewd eyes dwelt on the younger +man’s unmoved face. He wondered what had caused this sudden veering of +purpose. It was certainly not the allurement of heavy gambling, for +Spencer had declined the proposal as coolly as he now accepted it. +Being a man of the world, he thought he could peer beneath the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>mask. +To satisfy himself, he harked back to the personal topic.</p> + +<p>“By the way, does anyone know who Miss Wynton is?” he said. “That +inveterate gossip, Mrs. Vavasour, who can vouch for every name in the +Red Book, says she is a lady journalist.”</p> + +<p>“That, at any rate, is correct,” said the vicar. “In fact, Miss Wynton +herself told me so.”</p> + +<p>“Jolly fine girl, whatever she is. To give Bower his due, he has +always been a person of taste.”</p> + +<p>“I have reason to believe,” said Spencer, “that Miss Wynton’s +acquaintance with Mr. Bower is of the slightest.”</p> + +<p>His words were slow and clear. Dunston, sure now that his guess was +fairly accurate, hastened to efface an unpleasant impression.</p> + +<p>“Of course, I only meant that if Bower is seen talking to any woman, +it may be taken for granted that she is a pretty one,” he explained. +“But who’s for a drink? Perhaps we shall meet our expected opponent in +the bar, Mr. Spencer.”</p> + +<p>“I have some letters to write. Fix that game for to-morrow or next +day, and I’ll be on hand.”</p> + +<p>Dunston and Holt paid the few shillings they owed, and went out.</p> + +<p>Hare did not move. He looked anxious, almost annoyed. “It is +exceedingly ridiculous how circumstances pass beyond a man’s control +occasionally,” he protested. “Am I right in assuming that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>until this +evening neither Bower nor Dunston was known to you, Mr. Spencer?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely correct, vicar. I have never yet spoken to Bower, and you +heard all that passed between Dunston and myself.”</p> + +<p>“Then my harmless invitation to you to join in a game at cards has led +directly to an arrangement for play at absurdly high figures?”</p> + +<p>“It seems to me, Mr. Hare, that Bower’s tracks and mine are destined +to cross in more ways than one in the near future,” said Spencer +coolly.</p> + +<p>But the vicar was not to be switched away from the new thought that +was troubling him. “I will not ask what you mean,” he said, gazing +steadfastly at the American. “My chief concern is the outcome of my +share in this evening’s pleasant amusement. I cannot shut my ears to +the fact that you have planned the loss or gain of some thousands of +pounds on the turn of a card at baccarat.”</p> + +<p>“If it is disagreeable to you——”</p> + +<p>“How can it be otherwise? I am a broad-minded man, and I see no harm +whatever in playing bridge for pennies; but I am more pained than I +care to confess at the prospect of such a sequel to our friendly +meeting to-night. If this thing happens,—if a small fortune is won or +lost merely to gratify Dunston’s whim,—I assure you that I shall +never touch a card again as long as I live.”</p> + +<p>Then Spencer laughed. “That would be too bad, Mr. Hare,” he cried. +“Make your mind easy. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>The game is off. Count on me for the tenpence a +hundred limit after dinner to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Now, that is quite good and kind of you. Dunston made me very +miserable by his mad proposition. Of course, both he and Bower are +rich men, men to whom a few thousand pounds are of little importance; +or, to be accurate, they profess not to care whether they win or lose, +though their wealth is not squandered so heedlessly when it is wanted +for some really deserving object. But perhaps that is uncharitable. My +only wish is to thank you from the bottom of my heart for your +generous promise.”</p> + +<p>“Is Bower so very rich then? Have you met him before?”</p> + +<p>“He is a reputed millionaire. I read of him in the newspapers at +times. In my small country parish such financial luminaries twinkle +from a far sky. It is true he is a recent light. He made a great deal +of money in copper, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of character do you give him,—good, bad, or indifferent?”</p> + +<p>Hare’s benevolent features showed the astonishment that thrilled him +at this blunt question. “I hardly know what to say——” he stammered.</p> + +<p>Spencer liked this cheery vicar and resolved to trust him. “Let me +explain,” he said. “You and I agree in thinking that Miss Wynton is an +uncommonly nice girl. I am not on her visiting list at present, so my +judgment is altruistic. Suppose she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>was your daughter or niece, would +you care to see her left to that man’s mercies?”</p> + +<p>The clergyman fidgeted a little before he answered. Spencer was a +stranger to him, yet he felt drawn toward him. The strong, clear cut +face won confidence. “If it was the will of Heaven, I would sooner see +her in the grave,” he said, with solemn candor.</p> + +<p>Spencer rose. He held out his hand. “I guess it’s growing late,” he +cried, “and our talk has swung round to a serious point. Sleep well, +Mr. Hare. That game is dead off.”</p> + +<p>As he passed the bar he heard Bower’s smooth, well rounded accents +through the half-open door. “Nothing I should like better,” he was +saying. “Are you tired? If not, bring your friend to my rooms now. +Although I have been in the train all night, I am fit as a fiddle.”</p> + +<p>“Let me see. I left him in the smoking room with our <i>padre</i>——”</p> + +<p>It was Dunston who spoke; but Bower broke in:</p> + +<p>“Oh, keep the clergy out of it! They make such a song about these +things if they hear of them.”</p> + +<p>“I was going to say that if he is not there he will be in his room. He +is two doors from me, No. 61, I think. Shall I fetch him?”</p> + +<p>“Do, by all means. By Jove! I didn’t expect to get any decent play +here!”</p> + +<p>Spencer slipped into a small vestibule where he had left a hat and +overcoat. He remained there till <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>Dunston crossed the hall and entered +the elevator. Then he went out, meaning to stroll and smoke in the +moonlight for an hour. It would be easier to back out of the promised +game in the morning than at that moment. Moreover, in the clear, still +air he could plan a course of action, the need of which was becoming +insistent.</p> + +<p>He was blessed, or cursed, with a stubborn will, and he knew it. +Hitherto, it had been exercised on a theory wrapped in hard granite, +and the granite had yielded, justifying the theory. Now he was brought +face to face with a woman’s temperament, and his experience of that +elusive and complex mixture of attributes was of the slightest. +Attractive young women in Colorado are plentiful as cranberries; but +never one of them had withdrawn his mind’s eye from his work. Why, +then, was he so ready now to devote his energies to the safeguarding +of Helen Wynton? It was absurd to pretend that he was responsible for +her future well-being because of the whim that sent her on a holiday. +She was well able to take care of herself. She had earned her own +living before he met her; she had risen imperiously above the petty +malice displayed by some of the residents in the hotel; there was a +reasonable probability that she might become the wife of a man highly +placed and wealthy. Every consideration told in favor of a policy of +non-interference. The smoking of an inch of good cigar placed the +matter in such a convincing light that Spencer was half <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>resolved to +abide by his earlier decision and leave Maloja next morning.</p> + +<p>But the other half, made up of inclination, pleaded against all the +urging of expediency. He deemed the vicar an honest man, and that +stout-hearted phrase of his stuck. Yet, whether he went or stayed, the +ultimate solution of the problem lay with Helen herself. Once on +speaking terms with her, he could form a more decided view. It was +wonderful how one’s estimate of a man or woman could be modified in +the course of a few minutes’ conversation. Well, he would settle +things that way, and meanwhile enjoy the beauty of a wondrous night.</p> + +<p>A full moon was flooding the landscape with a brilliance not surpassed +in the crystal atmosphere of Denver. The snow capped summit of the +Cima di Rosso was fit to be a peak in Olympus, a silver throned height +where the gods sat in council. The brooding pines perched on the +hillside beyond the Orlegna looked like a company of gigantic birds +with folded wings. From the road leading to the village he could hear +the torrent itself singing its mad song of freedom after escaping from +the icy caverns of the Forno glacier. Quite near, on the right, the +tiny cascade that marks the first seaward flight of the Inn mingled +its sweet melody with the orchestral thunder of the more distant +cataracts plunging down the precipices toward Italy. It was a night +when one might listen to the music of the spheres, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>and Spencer was +suddenly jarred into unpleasant consciousness of his surroundings by +the raucous voices of some peasants bawling a Romansch ballad in a +wayside wine house.</p> + +<p>Turning sharply on his heel, he took the road by the lake. There at +least he would find peace from the strenuous amours of Margharita as +trolled by the revelers. He had not gone three hundred yards before he +saw a woman standing near the low wall that guarded the embanked +highway from the water. She was looking at the dark mirror of the +lake, and seemed to be identifying the stars reflected in it. Three or +four times, as he approached, she tilted her head back and gazed at +the sky. The skirt of a white dress was visible below a heavy ulster; +a knitted shawl was wrapped loosely over her hair and neck, and the +ends were draped deftly across her shoulders; but before she turned to +see who was coming along the road Spencer had recognized her. Thus, in +a sense, he was a trifle the more prepared of the two for this +unforeseen meeting, and he hailed it as supplying the answer to his +doubts.</p> + +<p>“Now,” said he to himself, “I shall know in ten seconds whether or not +I travel west by north to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>Helen did not avert her glance instantly. Nor did she at once resume a +stroll evidently interrupted to take in deep breaths of the beauty of +the scene. That was encouraging to the American,—she expected him to +speak to her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>He halted in the middle of the road. If he was mistaken, he did not +wish to alarm her. “If you will pardon the somewhat unorthodox time +and place, I should like to make myself known to you, Miss Wynton,” he +said, lifting his cap.</p> + +<p>“You are Mr. Spencer?” she answered, with a frank smile.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have a letter of introduction from Mr. Mackenzie.”</p> + +<p>“So have I. What do we do next? Exchange letters? Mine is in the +hotel.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose we just shake?”</p> + +<p>“Well, that is certainly the most direct way.”</p> + +<p>Their hands met. They were both aware of a whiff of nervousness. For +some reason, the commonplace greetings of politeness fell awkwardly +from their lips. In such a predicament a woman may always be trusted +to find the way out.</p> + +<p>“It is rather absurd that we should be saying how pleased we are that +Mr. Mackenzie thought of writing those letters, while in reality I am +horribly conscious that I ought not to be here at all, and you are +probably thinking that I am quite an amazing person,” and Helen +laughed light heartedly.</p> + +<p>“That is part of my thought,” said Spencer.</p> + +<p>“Won’t you tell me the remainder?”</p> + +<p>“May I?”</p> + +<p>“Please do. I am in chastened mood.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I was skilled in the trick of words, then <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>I might say +something real cute. As it is, I can only supply a sort of condensed +statement,—something about a nymph, a moonlit lake, the spirit of the +glen,—nice catchy phrases every one,—with a line thrown in from +Shelley about an ‘orbéd maiden with white fire laden.’ Let me go back +a hundred yards, Miss Wynton, and I shall return with the whole thing +in order.”</p> + +<p>“With such material I believe you would bring me a sonnet.”</p> + +<p>“No. I hail from the wild and woolly West, where life itself is a +poem; so I stick to prose. There is a queer sort of kink in human +nature to account for that.”</p> + +<p>“On the principle that a Londoner never hears the roar of London, I +suppose?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly. An old lady I know once came across a remarkable instance of +it. She watched a ship-wreck, the real article, with all the scenic +accessories, and when a half drowned sailor was dragged ashore she +asked him how he felt at that awful moment. And what do you think he +said?”</p> + +<p>“Very wet,” laughed Helen.</p> + +<p>“No, that is the other story. This man said he was very dry.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, the one step from the sublime to the ridiculous, which reminds me +that if I remain here much longer talking nonsense I shall lose the +good opinion I am sure you have formed of me from Mr. Mackenzie’s +letter. Why, it must be after eleven o’clock! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>Are you going any +farther, or will you walk with me to the hotel?”</p> + +<p>“If you will allow me——”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, I shall be very glad of your company. I came out to escape my +own thoughts. Did you ever meet such an unsociable lot of people as +our fellow boarders, Mr. Spencer? If it was not for my work, and the +fact that I have taken my room for a month, I should hie me forthwith +to the beaten track of the vulgar but good natured tourist.”</p> + +<p>“Why not go? Let me help you to-morrow to map out a tour. Then I shall +know precisely where to waylay you, for I feel the chill here too.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I could fall in with the first part of your proposal, though +the second rather suggests that you regard Mr. Mackenzie’s letter of +introduction as a letter of marque.”</p> + +<p>“At any rate, I am an avowed pirate,” he could not help retorting. +“But to keep strictly to business, why not quit if you feel like +wandering?”</p> + +<p>“Because I was sent here, on a journalistic mission which I understand +less now than when I received it in London. Of course, I am delighted +with the place. It is the people I—kick at? Is that a quite proper +Americanism?”</p> + +<p>“It seems to fit the present case like a glove, or may I say, like a +shoe?”</p> + +<p>“Now you are laughing at me, inwardly of course, and I agree with you. +Ladies should not use slang, nor should they promenade alone in Swiss +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>valleys by moonlight. My excuse is that I did not feel sleepy, and +the moon tempted me. Good night.”</p> + +<p>They were yet some little distance from the hotel, and Spencer was at +a loss to account for this sudden dismissal. She saw the look of +bewilderment in his face.</p> + +<p>“I have found a back stairs door,” she explained, with a smile. “I +really don’t think I should have dared to come out at half-past ten if +I had to pass the Gorgons in the foyer.”</p> + +<p>She flitted away by a side path, leaving Spencer more convinced than +ever that he had blundered egregiously in dragging this sedate and +charming girl from the quiet round of existence in London to the +artificial life of the Kursaal. Some feeling of unrest had driven her +forth to commune with the stars. Was she asking herself why she was +denied the luxuries showered on the doll-like creatures whose +malicious tongues were busy the instant Bower set foot in the hotel? +It would be an ill outcome of his innocent subterfuge if she returned +to England discontented and rebellious. She was in “chastened mood,” +she had said. He wondered why? Had Bower been too confident,—too sure +of his prey to guard his tongue? Of all the unlooked for developments +that could possibly be bound up with the harmless piece of midsummer +madness that sent Helen Wynton to Switzerland, surely this roué’s +presence was the most irritating and perplexing.</p> + +<p>Then from the road came another stanza from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>the wine bibbers, now +homeward bound. They were still howling about Margharita in long +sustained cadences. And Spencer knew his Faust. It was to the moon +that the lovesick maiden confided her dreams, and Mephisto was at hand +to jog the elbow of his bewitched philosopher at exactly the right +moment.</p> + +<p>Spencer threw his cigar into the gurgling rivulet of the Inn. He +condemned Switzerland, and the Upper Engadine, and the very great +majority of the guests in the Kursaal, in one emphatic malediction, +and went to his room, hoping to sleep, but actually to lie awake for +hours and puzzle his brains in vain effort to evolve a satisfying +sequel to the queer combination of events he had set in motion when he +ran bare headed into the Strand after Bower’s motor car.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i151.jpg" width="500" height="267" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>SHADOWS</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t is a glorious morning. If the weather holds, your first visit to +the real Alps should be memorable,” said Bower.</p> + +<p>Helen had just descended the long flight of steps in front of the +hotel. A tender purple light filled the valley. The nearer hills were +silhouetted boldly against a sky of primrose and pink; but the misty +depths where the lake lurked beneath the pines had not yet yielded +wholly to the triumph of the new day. The air had a cold life in it +that invigorated while it chilled. It resembled some <i>vin frappé</i> of +rare vintage. Its fragrant vivacity was ready to burst forth at the +first encouraging hint of a kindlier temperature.</p> + +<p>“Why that dubious clause as to the weather?” asked Helen, looking at +the golden shafts of sunlight on the topmost crags of Corvatsch and +the Piz <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>della Margna. Those far off summits were so startlingly vivid +in outline that they seemed to be more accessible than the mist +shrouded ravines cleaving their dun sides. It needed an effort of the +imagination to correct the erring testimony of the eye.</p> + +<p>“The moods of the hills are variable, my lady,—femininely fickle, in +fact. There is a proverb that contrasts the wind with woman’s mind; +but the disillusioned male who framed it evidently possessed little +knowledge of weather changes in the high Alps, or else he——”</p> + +<p>“Did you beguile me out of my cozy room at six o’clock on a frosty +morning to regale me with stale jibes at my sex?”</p> + +<p>“Perish the thought, Miss Wynton! My only intent was to explain that +the ancient proverb maker, meaning to be rude, might have found a +better simile.”</p> + +<p>“Meanwhile, I am so cold that the only mood left in my composition is +one of impatience to be moving.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I am ready.”</p> + +<p>“But where is our guide?”</p> + +<p>“He has gone on in front with the porter.”</p> + +<p>“Porter! What is the man carrying?”</p> + +<p>“The wherewithal to refresh ourselves when we reach the hut.”</p> + +<p>“Oh,” said Helen, “I had no idea that mountaineering was such a +business. I thought the essentials were a packet of sandwiches and a +flask.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span></p><p>“You will please not be flippant. Climbing is serious work. And you +must moderate your pace. If you walk at that rate from here to Forno, +you will be very, very ill before you reach the hut.”</p> + +<p>“Ill! How absurd!”</p> + +<p>“Not only absurd but disagreeable,—far worse than crossing the +Channel. Even old hands like me are not free from mountain sickness, +though it seizes us at higher altitudes than we shall reach to-day. In +the case of a novice, anything in the nature of hurrying during the +outward journey is an unfailing factor.”</p> + +<p>They were crossing the golf links, and the smooth path was tempting to +a good walker. Helen smiled as she accommodated herself to Bower’s +slower stride. Though the man might possess experience, the woman had +the advantage of youth, the unattainable, and this wonderful hour +after dawn was stirring its ichor in her veins.</p> + +<p>“I suppose that is what Stampa meant when he took ‘Slow and Sure’ for +his motto,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Stampa! Who is Stampa?”</p> + +<p>There was a sudden rasp of iron in his voice. As a rule Bower spoke +with a cultivated languor that almost veiled the staccato accents of +the man of affairs. Helen was so surprised by this unwarranted clang +of anger that she looked at him with wide open eyes.</p> + +<p>“He is the driver I told you of, the man who took <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>the wheel off my +carriage during the journey from St. Moritz,” she explained.</p> + +<p>“Oh, of course. How stupid of me to forget! But, by the way, did you +mention his name?”</p> + +<p>“No, I think not. Someone interrupted me. Mr. Dunston came and spoke +to you——”</p> + +<p>He laughed gayly and drew in deep breaths of the keen air. He was +carrying his ice ax over his left shoulder. With his right hand he +brushed away a disturbing thought. “By Jove! yes! Dunston dragged me +off to open a bank at baccarat, and you will be glad to hear that I +won five hundred pounds.”</p> + +<p>“I am glad you won; but who lost so much money?”</p> + +<p>“Dunston dropped the greater part of it. Your American friend, Mr. +Spencer, was rather inclined to brag of his prowess in that direction, +it appears. He even went so far as to announce his willingness to play +for four figures; but he backed out of it.”</p> + +<p>“Do you mean that Mr. Spencer wanted to stake a thousand pounds on a +single game at cards?”</p> + +<p>“Evidently he did not want to do it, but he talked about it.”</p> + +<p>“Yet he impressed me as being a very clear-headed and sensible young +man,” said Helen decisively.</p> + +<p>“Here, young lady, I must call you to account! In what category do you +place me, then?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you are different. I disapprove of anyone playing for such high +stakes; but I suppose you are used to it and can afford it, whereas a +man who <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>has his way to make in the world would be exceedingly foolish +to do such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“Pray, how did you come to measure the extent of Spencer’s finances?”</p> + +<p>“Dear me! Did I say that?”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry. Of course, I had no wish to speak offensively. What I +mean is that he may be quite as well able to run a big bank at +baccarat as I am.”</p> + +<p>“He was telling me yesterday of his early struggles to gain a footing +in some mining community in Colorado, and the impression his words +left on me was that he is still far from wealthy; that is, as one +understands the term. Here we are at the footpath. Shall we follow it +and scramble up out of the ravine, or do you prefer the carriage +road?”</p> + +<p>“The footpath, please. But before we drop the subject of cards, which +is unquestionably out of place on a morning like this, let me say that +perhaps I have done the American an injustice. Dunston is given to +exaggeration. He has so little control over his face that it is rank +robbery to bet with him. Such a man is apt to run to extremes. It may +be that Spencer was only talking through his hat, as they say in New +York.”</p> + +<p>Helen had the best of reasons for rejecting this version of the story. +Her perceptive faculties, always well developed, were strung to high +tension in Maloja. The social pinpricks inflicted there had rendered +her more alert, more cautious, than was her wont. She was quite sure, +for instance, judging <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>from a number of slight indications, that +Spencer was deliberately avoiding any opportunity of making Bower’s +acquaintance. More than once, when an introduction seemed to be +imminent, the American effaced himself. Other men in the hotel were +not like that—they rather sought the great man’s company. She +wondered if Bower had noticed it. Despite his candid, almost generous, +disclaimer of motive, there was an undercurrent of hostility in his +words that suggested a feeling of pique. She climbed the rocky path in +silence until Bower spoke again.</p> + +<p>“How do the boots go?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Splendidly, thanks. It was exceedingly kind of you to take such +trouble about them. I had no idea one had to wear such heavy nails, +and that tip of yours about the extra stockings is excellent.”</p> + +<p>“You will acknowledge the benefit most during the descent. I have +known people become absolutely lame on the home journey through +wearing boots only just large enough for ordinary walking. As for the +clamping of the nails over the edges of the soles, the sharp stones +render that imperative. When you have crossed a moraine or two, and a +peculiarly nasty <i>geröll</i> that exists beyond the hut, if we have time +to make an easy ascent, you will understand the need of extra strong +footwear.”</p> + +<p>Helen favored him with a shy smile. “Long hours of reading have +revealed the nature of a moraine,” she said; “but, please, what is a +<i>geröll</i>?”</p> + +<p>“A slope of loose stones. Let me see, what do <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>they call it in +Scotland and Cumberland? Ah, yes, a scree. On the French side of the +Alps the same thing is known as a <i>casse</i>.”</p> + +<p>“How well you know this country and its ways! Have you climbed many of +the well known peaks?”</p> + +<p>“Some years ago I scored my century beyond twelve thousand feet. That +is pretty fair for an amateur.”</p> + +<p>“Have you done the Matterhorn?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, four times. Once I followed Tyndall’s example, and converted the +summit into a pass between Switzerland and Italy.”</p> + +<p>“How delightful! I suppose you have met many of the famous guides?”</p> + +<p>He laughed pleasantly. “One does not attempt the Cervin or the +Jungfrau without the best men, and in my time there were not twenty, +all told. I had a long talk with our present guide last night, and +found I had used many a track he had only seen from the valley.”</p> + +<p>“Then——”</p> + +<p>A loud toot on a cowhorn close at hand interrupted her. The artist was +a small boy. He appeared to be waiting expectantly on a hillock for +someone who came not.</p> + +<p>“Is that a signal?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes. He is a <i>gaumer</i>, or cowherd,—another word for your Alpine +vocabulary,—the burgher whose cattle he will drive to the pasture has +probably arranged to meet him here.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span></p><p>Bower was always an interesting and well informed companion. Launched +now into a congenial topic, he gave Helen a thoroughly entertaining +lecture on the customs of a Swiss commune. He pointed out the +successive tiers of pastures, told her their names and seasons of use, +and even hummed some verses of the cow songs, or <i>Kuh-reihen</i>, which +the men sing to the cattle, addressing each animal by name.</p> + +<p>An hour passed pleasantly in this manner. Their guide, a man named +Josef Barth, and the porter, who answered to “Karl,” awaited them at +the milk chalet by the side of Lake Cavloccio. Bower, evidently +accustomed to the leadership of expeditions of this sort, tested their +ice axes and examined the ropes slung to Barth’s rucksack.</p> + +<p>“The Forno is a glacier <i>de luxe</i>,” he explained to Helen; “but it is +always advisable to make sure that your appliances are in good order. +That <i>pickel</i> you are carrying was made by the best blacksmith in +Grindelwald, and you can depend on its soundness; but these men are so +familiar with their surroundings that they often provide themselves +with frayed ropes and damaged axes.”</p> + +<p>“In addition to my boots, therefore, I am indebted to you for a +special brand of ice ax,” she cried.</p> + +<p>“Your gratitude now is as nothing to the ecstasy you will display when +Karl unpacks his load,” he answered lightly. “Now, Miss Wynton, <i>en +route</i>! You know the path to the glacier already, don’t you?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span></p><p>“I have been to its foot twice.”</p> + +<p>“Then you go in front. There is no room to walk two abreast. Before we +tackle the ice we will call a halt for refreshments.”</p> + +<p>From that point till the glacier was reached the climb was laboriously +simple. There was no difficulty and not the slightest risk, even for a +child; but the heavy gradient and the rarefied air made it almost +impossible to sustain a conversation unless the speakers dawdled. +Helen often found herself many yards in advance of the others. She +simply could not help breasting the steeper portions of the track. She +was drawn forward by an intense eagerness to begin the real business +of the day. Bower did not seek to restrain her. He thought her high +spirits admirable, and his gaze dwelt appreciatively on her graceful +poise as she stopped on the crest of some small ravine and looked back +at the plodders beneath. Attractive at all times, she was bewitching +that morning to a man who prided himself on his athletic tastes. She +wore a white knitted jersey and a short skirt, a costume seemingly +devised to reveal the lines of a slender waist and supple limbs. A +white Tam o’ Shanter was tied firmly over her glossy brown hair with a +silk motor veil, and the stout boots which she had surveyed so +ruefully when Bower brought them to her on the previous evening after +interviewing the village shoemaker, were by no means so cumbrous in +use as her unaccustomed eyes had deemed them. Even the phlegmatic +guide was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>stirred to gruff appreciation when he saw her vault on to a +large flat boulder in order to examine an iron cross that surmounted +it.</p> + +<p>“<i>Ach, Gott!</i>” he grunted, “that Englishwoman is as surefooted as a +chamois.”</p> + +<p>But Helen had found a name and a date on a triangular strip of metal +attached to the cross. “Why has this memorial been placed here?” she +asked. Bower appealed to Barth; but he shook his head. Karl gave +details.</p> + +<p>“A man fell on the Cima del Largo. They carried him here, and he died +on that rock.”</p> + +<p>“Poor fellow!” Some of the joyous light left Helen’s face. She had +passed the cross before, and had regarded it as one of the votive +offerings so common by the wayside in Catholic countries, knowing that +in this part of Switzerland the Italian element predominated among the +peasants.</p> + +<p>“We get a fine view of the Cima del Largo from the <i>cabane</i>,” said +Bower unconcernedly.</p> + +<p>Helen picked a little blue flower that nestled at the base of the +rock. She pinned it to her jersey without comment. Sometimes the +callousness of a man was helpful, and the shadow of a bygone tragedy +was out of keeping with the glow of this delightful valley.</p> + +<p>The curving mass of the glacier was now clearly visible. It looked +like some marble staircase meant to be trodden only by immortals. Ever +broadening and ascending until it filled the whole width of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>rift +between the hills, it seemed to mount upward to infinity. The sidelong +rays of the sun, peeping over the shoulders of Forno and Roseg, tinted +the great ice river with a sapphire blue, while its higher reaches +glistened as though studded with gigantic diamonds. Near at hand, +where the Orlegna rushed noisily from thraldom, the broken surface was +somber and repellent. In color a dull gray, owing to the accumulation +of winter débris and summer dust, it had the aspect of decay and +death; it was jagged and gaunt and haggard; the far flung piles of the +white moraine imposed a stony barrier against its farther progress. +But that unpleasing glimpse of disruption was quickly dispelled by the +magnificent volume and virgin purity of the glacier as a whole. Helen +tried to imagine herself two miles distant, a tiny speck on the great +floor of the pass. That was the only way to grasp its stupendous size, +though she knew that it mounted through five miles of rock strewn +ravine before it touched the precipitous saddle along which runs the +border line between Italy and Switzerland.</p> + +<p>Karl’s sigh of relief as he deposited his heavy load on a tablelike +boulder brought Helen back from the land of dreams. To this sturdy +peasant the wondrous Forno merely represented a day’s hard work, at an +agreed sum of ten francs for carrying nearly half a hundredweight, and +a liberal <i>pour-boire</i> if the voyageurs were satisfied.</p> + +<p>Sandwiches and a glass of wine, diluted with water <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>brought by the +guide from a neighboring rill,—glacier water being used only as a +last resource,—were delectable after a steady two hours’ walk. The +early morning meal of coffee and a roll had lost some of its flavor +when consumed apparently in the middle of the night, and Helen was +ready now for her breakfast. While they were eating, Bower and Josef +Barth cast glances at some wisps of cloud drifting slowly over the +crests of the southern hills. Nothing was said. The guide read his +patron’s wishes correctly. Unless some cause far more imperative than +a slight mist intervened, the day’s programme must not be abandoned. +So there was no loitering. The sun was almost in the valley, and the +glacier must be crossed before the work of the night’s frost was +undone.</p> + +<p>When they stepped from the moraine on to the ice Barth led, Helen +followed, Bower came next, with Karl in the rear.</p> + +<p>If it had not been for the crisp crunching sound of the hobnails amid +the loose fragments on the surface, and the ring of the <i>pickel’s</i> +steel-shod butt on the solid mass beneath, Helen might have fancied +that she was walking up an easy rock-covered slope. Any delusion on +that point, however, was promptly dispelled by a glimpse of a narrow +crevasse that split the foot of the glacier lengthwise.</p> + +<p>She peered into its sea-green depths awesomely. It resembled a +toothless mouth gaping slowly open, ready enough to swallow her, but +too inert to put <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>forth the necessary effort. And the thought reminded +her of something. She halted and turned to Bower.</p> + +<p>“Ought we not to be roped?” she asked.</p> + +<p>He laughed, with the quiet confidence of the expert mountaineer. +“Why?” he cried. “The way is clear. One does not walk into a crevasse +with one’s eyes open.”</p> + +<p>“But Stampa told me that I should refuse to advance a yard on ice or +difficult rock without being roped.”</p> + +<p>“Stampa, your cab driver?”</p> + +<p>There was no reason that she could fathom why her elderly friend’s +name should be repeated with such scornful emphasis.</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes. He is that because he is lame,” she protested. “But he was +one of the most famous guides in Zermatt years ago.”</p> + +<p>She swung round and appealed to Barth, who was wondering why his +employers were stopping before they had climbed twenty feet. “Are you +from Zermatt?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“No, <i>fräulein</i>—from Pontresina. Zermatt is a long way from here.”</p> + +<p>“But you know some of the Zermatt men, I suppose? Have you ever heard +of Christian Stampa?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly, <i>fräulein</i>. My father helped him to build the first +hut on the Hörnli Ridge.”</p> + +<p>“Old Stampa!” chimed in Karl from beneath. “It will be long ere he is +forgotten. I was one of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>four who carried him down from Corvatsch to +Sils-Maria the day after he fell. He was making the descent by +night,—a mad thing to do,—and there was murder in his heart, they +said. But I never believed it. We shared a bottle of Monte Pulciano +only yesterday, just for the sake of old times, and he was as merry as +Hans von Rippach himself.”</p> + +<p>Bower was stooping, so Helen could not see his face. He seemed to be +fumbling with a boot lace.</p> + +<p>“You hear, Mr. Bower?” she cried. “I am quoting no mean authority.”</p> + +<p>He did not answer. He had untied the lace and was readjusting it. The +girl realized that to a man of his portly build his present attitude +was not conducive to speech. It had an additional effect which did not +suggest itself to her. The effort thus demanded from heart and lungs +might bring back the blood to a face blanched by a deadly fear.</p> + +<p>Karl was stocked with reminiscences of Stampa. “I remember the time +when people said Christian was the best man in the Bernina,” he said. +“He would never go back to the Valais after his daughter died. It was +a strange thing that he should come to grief on a cowherd’s track like +that over Corvatsch. But Etta’s <span style="white-space: nowrap;">affair——”</span></p> + +<p>“<i>Schweige!</i>” snarled Bower, straightening himself suddenly. His dark +eyes shot such a gleam of lambent fury at the porter that the man’s +jaw fell. The words were frozen on his lips. He could not have been +stricken dumb more effectually had he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>come face to face with one of +the horrific sprites described in the folklore of the hills.</p> + +<p>Helen was surprised. What had poor Karl done that he should be bidden +so fiercely to hold his tongue? Then she thought that Bower must have +recalled Stampa’s history, and feared that perhaps the outspoken +peasant might enter into a piquant account of some village scandal. A +chambermaid in the hotel, questioned about Stampa, had told her that +the daughter he loved so greatly had committed suicide. Really, she +ought to be grateful to her companion for saving her from a passing +embarrassment. But she had the tact not to drop the subject too +quickly.</p> + +<p>“If Barth and you agree that roping is unnecessary, of course I +haven’t a word to say in the matter,” she volunteered. “It was rather +absurd of me to mention it in the first instance.”</p> + +<p>“No, you were right. I have never seen Stampa; but his name is +familiar. It occurs in most Alpine records. Barth, fix the rope before +we go farther. The <i>fräulein</i> wishes it.”</p> + +<p>The rush of color induced by physical effort—effort of a tensity that +Helen was wholly unaware of—was ebbing now before a numbing terror +that had come to stay. His face was drawn and livid. His voice had the +metallic ring in it that the girl had detected once already that day. +Again she experienced a sense of bewilderment that he should regard a +trivial thing so seriously. She was not a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>child. The world of to-day +pulsated with far too many stories of tragic passion that she should +be shielded so determinedly from any hint of an episode that doubtless +wrung the heart’s core of this quiet valley one day in August sixteen +years ago. In some slight degree Bower’s paroxysm of anger was a +reflection on her own good taste, for she had unwittingly given rise +to it.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, she felt indebted to him. To extricate both Bower and +herself from an awkward situation she took a keen interest in Barth’s +method of adjusting the rope. The man did not show any amazement at +Bower’s order. He was there to earn his fee. Had these mad English +told him to cut steps up the gentle slope in front he would have +obeyed without protest, though it was more than strange that this much +traveled <i>voyageur</i> should adopt such a needless precaution.</p> + +<p>As a matter of fact, under Barth’s guidance, a blind cripple could +have surmounted the first kilometer of the Forno glacier. The track +lay close to the left bank of the moraine. It curved slightly to the +right and soon the exquisite panorama of Monte Roseg, the Cima di +Rosso, Monte Sissone, Piz Torrone, and the Castello group opened up +before the climbers. Helen was enchanted. Twice she half turned to +address some question to Bower; but on each occasion she happened to +catch him in the act of swallowing some brandy from a flask. Governed +by an unaccountable timidity, she pretended not to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>notice his +actions, and diverted her words to Barth, who told her the names of +the peaks and pointed to the junctions of minor ice fields with the +main artery of the Forno.</p> + +<p>Bower did not utter a syllable until they struck out toward the center +of the glacier. A crevasse some ten feet in width and seemingly +hundreds of feet deep, barred the way; but a bridge of ice, covered +with snow, offered safe transit. The snow carpet showed that a number +of climbers had passed quite recently in both directions. Even Helen, +somewhat awed by the dimensions of the rift, understood that the +existence of this natural arch was as well recognized by Alpinists as +Waterloo Bridge is known to dwellers on the south side of the Thames.</p> + +<p>“Now, Miss Wynton, you should experience your first real thrill,” said +Bower. “This bridge forms here every year at this season, and an army +might cross in safety. It is the genuine article, the first and +strongest of a series. Yet here you cross the Rubicon. A mixture of +metaphors is allowable in high altitudes, you know.”</p> + +<p>Helen, almost startled at first by the unaffected naturalness of his +words, was unfeignedly relieved at finding him restored to the normal. +Usually his supply of light-hearted badinage was unceasing. He knew +exactly when and how to season it with more serious statements. It is +this rare quality that makes tolerable a long day’s solitude <i>à deux</i>.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 370px;"> +<img src="images/i168.jpg" class="illogap" width="370" height="500" alt="She flourished her ice axe bravely." +title="" /> +<span class="caption">She flourished her ice axe bravely.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 19em;"><i>Page <a href="#Page_163">163</a></i></span></span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p><p>“I am not Cæsar’s wife,” she replied; “but for the credit of womankind +in general I shall act as though I was above suspicion—of +nervousness.”</p> + +<p>She did not look round. Barth was moving quickly, and she had no +desire to burden him with a drag on the rope. When she was in the +center of the narrow causeway, a snow cornice in the lip of the +crevasse detached itself under the growing heat of the sun and +shivered down into the green darkness. The incident brought her heart +into her mouth. It served as a reminder that this solid ice river was +really in a state of constant change and movement.</p> + +<p>Bower laughed, with all his customary gayety of manner. “That came at +a dramatic moment,” he said. “Too bad it could not let you pass +without giving you a quake!”</p> + +<p>“I am not a bit afraid.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but I can read your thoughts. There is a bond of sympathy between +us.”</p> + +<p>“Hemp is a non-conductor.”</p> + +<p>“You are willfully misunderstanding me,” he retorted.</p> + +<p>“No. I honestly believed you felt the rope quiver a little.”</p> + +<p>“Alas! it is the atmosphere. My compliments fall on idle ears.”</p> + +<p>Barth interrupted this play of harmless chaff by jerking some remark +over his shoulder. “Looks like a <i>guxe</i>,” he said gruffly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p><p>“Nonsense!” said Bower,—“a bank of mist. The sun will soon melt it.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a <i>guxe</i>, right enough,” chimed in Karl, who had recovered his +power of speech. “That is why the boy was blowing his horn—to show he +was bringing the cattle home.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, push on. The sooner we are in the hut the better.”</p> + +<p>“Please, what is a <i>guxe</i>?” asked Helen, when the men had nothing more +to say.</p> + +<p>“A word I would have wished to add later to your Alpine phrase book. +It means a storm, a blizzard.”</p> + +<p>“Should we not return at once in that event?”</p> + +<p>“What? Who said just now she was not afraid?”</p> + +<p>“But a storm in such a place!”</p> + +<p>“These fellows smell a <i>tourmente</i> in every little cloud from the +southwest. We may have some wind and a light snowfall, and that will +be an experience for you. Surely you can trust me not to run any real +risk?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes. I do, indeed. But I have read of people being caught in +these storms and suffering terribly.”</p> + +<p>“Not on the Forno, I assure you. I don’t wish to minimize the perils +of your first ascent; but it is only fair to say that this is an +exhibition glacier. If it was nearer town you would find an orchestra +in each amphitheater up there, with sideshows in every couloir. +Jesting apart, you are absolutely safe with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>Barth and me, not to +mention the irrepressible gentleman who carries our provisions.”</p> + +<p>Helen was fully alive to the fact that a woman who joins a +mountaineering party should not impose her personal doubts on men who +are willing to go on. She flourished her ice ax bravely, and cried, +“Excelsior!”</p> + +<p>In the next instant she regretted her choice of expression. The moral +of Longfellow’s poem might be admirable, but the fate of its hero was +unpleasantly topical. Again Bower laughed.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” he said. “Will you deny now that I am a first rate receiver of +wireless messages?”</p> + +<p>She had no breath left for a quip. Barth was hurrying, and the thin +air was beginning to have its effect. When an unusually smooth stretch +of ice permitted her to take her eyes from the track for a moment she +looked back to learn the cause of such haste. To her complete +astonishment, the Maloja Pass and the hills beyond it were dissolved +in a thick mist. A monstrous cloud was sweeping up the Orlegna Valley. +As yet, it was making for the Muretto Pass rather than the actual +ravine of the Forno; but a few wraiths of vapor were sailing high +overhead, and it needed no weatherwise native to predict that ere long +the glacier itself would be covered by that white pall. She glanced at +Bower.</p> + +<p>He smiled cheerfully. “It is nothing,” he murmured.</p> + +<p>“I really don’t care,” she said. “One does <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>not shirk an adventure +merely because it is disagreeable. The pity is that all this lovely +sunshine must vanish.”</p> + +<p>“It will reappear. You will be charmed with the novelty in an hour or +less.”</p> + +<p>“Is it far to the hut?”</p> + +<p>“Hardly twenty minutes at our present pace.”</p> + +<p>A growl from Barth stopped their brief talk. Another huge crevasse +yawned in front. There was an ice bridge, with snow, like others they +had crossed; but this was a slender structure, and the leader stabbed +it viciously with the butt of his ax before he ventured on it. The +others kept the rope taut, and he crossed safely. They followed. As +Helen gained the further side she heard Bower’s chuckle:</p> + +<p>“Another thrill!”</p> + +<p>“I am growing quite used to them,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Well, it may help somewhat if I tell you that the temporary departure +of the sun will cause this particular bridge to be ten times as strong +when we return.”</p> + +<p>“Attention!” cried Barth, taking a sharp turn to the left. The meaning +of his warning was soon apparent. They had to descend a few feet of +rough ice, and Helen found, to her great relief it must be confessed, +that they were approaching the lateral moraine. Already the sky was +overcast. The glacier had taken to itself a cold grayness that was +disconcerting. The heavy mist fell on them with inconceivable +rapidity. Shining peaks and towering <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>precipices of naked rock were +swept out of sight each instant. The weather had changed with a +magical speed. The mist advanced with the rush of an express train, +and a strong wind sprang up as though it had burst through a +restraining wall and was bent on overwhelming the daring mortals who +were penetrating its chosen territory.</p> + +<p>Somehow—anyhow—Helen scrambled on. She was obliged to keep eyes and +mind intent on each step. Her chief object was to imitate Barth, to +poise, and jump, and clamber with feet and hands exactly as he did. At +this stage the rope was obviously a hindrance; but none of the men +suggested its removal, and Helen had enough to occupy her wits without +troubling them by a question. Even in the stress of her own breathless +exertions she had room in her mind for a wondering pity for the +heavily laden Karl. She marveled that anyone, be he strong as Samson, +could carry such a load and not fall under it. Yet he was lumbering +along behind Bower with a clumsy agility that was almost supernatural +to her thinking. She was still unconscious of the fact that most of +her own struggles were due more to the rarefied air than to the real +difficulties of the route.</p> + +<p>At last, when she really thought she must cry out for a rest, when a +steeper climb than any hitherto encountered had bereft her almost of +the power to take another upward spring to the ledge of some enormous +boulder, when her knees and ankles were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>sore and bruised, and the +skin of her fingers was beginning to fray under her stout gloves, she +found herself standing on a comparatively level space formed of broken +stones. A rough wall, surmounted by a flat pitched roof, stared at her +out of the mist. In the center of the wall a small, square, shuttered +window suggested a habitation. Her head swam, and her eyes ached +dreadfully; but she knew that this was the hut, and strove desperately +to appear self possessed.</p> + +<p>“Accept my congratulations, Miss Wynton,” said a low voice at her ear. +“Not one woman in a thousand would have gone through that last +half-hour without a murmur. You are no longer a novice. Allow me to +present you with the freedom of the Alps. This is one of the many +châteaux at your disposal.”</p> + +<p>A wild swirl of sleet lashed them venomously. This first whip of the +gale seemed to have the spitefulness of disappointed rage.</p> + +<p>Helen felt her arm grasped. Bower led her to a doorway cunningly +disposed out of the path of the dreaded southwest wind. At that +instant all the woman in her recognized that the man was big, and +strong, and self reliant, and that it was good to have him near, +shouting reassuring words that were whirled across the rock-crowned +glacier by the violence of the tempest.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i175.jpg" width="500" height="269" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>“ETTA’S FATHER”</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>hough the hut was a crude thing, a triumph of essentials over +luxuries, Helen had never before hailed four walls and a roof with +such heartfelt, if silent, thanksgiving. She sank exhausted on a rough +bench, and watched the matter-of-fact Engadiners unpacking the stores +and firewood carried in their rucksacks. Their businesslike air +supplied the tonic she needed. Though the howling storm seemed to +threaten the tiny refuge with destruction, these two men set to work, +coolly and methodically, to prepare a meal. Barth arranged the +contents of Karl’s bulky package on a small table, and the porter +busied himself with lighting a fire in a Swiss stove that stood in the +center of the outer room. An inner apartment loomed black and +uninviting through an open doorway. Helen discovered later that some +scanty accommodation was provided there for those <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>who meant to sleep +in the hut in readiness for an early ascent, while it supplied a +separate room in the event of women taking part in an expedition.</p> + +<p>Bower offered her a quantity of brandy and water. She declined it, +declaring that she needed only time to regain her breath. He was a man +who might be trusted not to pester anyone with well meant but useless +attentions. He went to the door, lit a cigarette, and seemed to be +keenly interested in the sleet as it pelted the moraine or gathered in +drifts in the minor fissures of the glacier.</p> + +<p>Within a remarkably short space of time, Karl had concocted two cups +of steaming coffee. Helen was then all aglow. Her strength was +restored. The boisterous wind had crimsoned her cheeks beneath the +tan. She had never looked such a picture of radiant womanhood as after +this tussle with the storm. Luckily her clothing was not wet, since +the travelers reached the <i>cabane</i> at the very instant the elements +became really aggressive. It was a quite composed and reinvigorated +Helen who summoned Bower from his contemplation of the weather +portents.</p> + +<p>“We may be besieged,” she cried; “but at any rate we are not on famine +rations. What a spread! You could hardly have brought more food if you +fancied we might be kept here a week.”</p> + +<p>The sustained physical effort called for during the last part of the +climb seemed to have dispelled his fit of abstraction. Being an +eminently adaptable <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>man, he responded to her mood. “Ah, that sounds +more like the enthusiast who set forth so gayly from the Kursaal this +morning,” he answered, pulling the door ajar before he took a seat by +her side on the bench. “A few minutes ago you were ready to condemn me +as several kinds of idiot for going on in the teeth of our Switzers’ +warnings. Now, confess!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I could have climbed another ten yards,” she admitted.</p> + +<p>“Our haste was due to Barth’s anxiety. He wanted to save you from a +drenching. It was a near thing, and with the thermometer falling a +degree a minute soaked garments might have brought very unpleasant +consequences. But that was our only risk. Old mountaineer as I am, I +hardly expected such a blizzard in August, after such short notice +too. Otherwise, now that we are safely housed, you are fortunate in +securing a memorable experience. The storm will soon blow over; but it +promises to be lively while it lasts.”</p> + +<p>Helen was sipping her coffee. Perhaps her eyes conveyed the question +her tongue hesitated to utter. Bower smiled pleasantly, and +gesticulated with hands and shoulders in a way that was foreign to his +studiously cultivated English habit of repose. Indeed, with his +climber’s garb he seemed to have acquired a new manner. There was a +perplexing change in him since the morning.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said. “I understand perfectly. You <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>and I might sing <i>lieder +ohne worte</i>, Miss Wynton. I have known these summer gales to last four +days; but pray do not be alarmed,” for Helen nearly dropped her cup in +quick dismay; “my own opinion is that we shall have a delightful +afternoon. Of course, I am a discredited prophet. Ask Barth.”</p> + +<p>The guide, hearing his name mentioned, glanced at them, though he was +engaged at the moment in taking the wrappings off a quantity of bread, +cold chicken, and slices of ham and beef. He agreed with Bower. The +barometer stood high when they left the hotel. He thought, as all men +think who live in the open, that “the sharper the blast the sooner +it’s past.”</p> + +<p>“Moreover,” broke in Karl, who refused to be left out of the +conversation, “Johann Klucker’s cat was sitting with its back to the +stove last evening.”</p> + +<p>This bit of homely philosophy brought a ripple of laughter from Helen, +whereupon Karl explained.</p> + +<p>“Cats are very wise, <i>fräulein</i>. Johann Klucker’s cat is old. +Therefore she is skilled in reading the tokens of the weather. A cat +hates wind and rain, and makes her arrangements accordingly. If she +washes herself smoothly, the next twelve hours will be fine. If she +licks against the grain, it will be wet. When she lies with her back +to the fire, there will surely be a squall. When her tail is up and +her coat rises, look out for wind.”</p> + +<p>“Johann Klucker’s cat has settled the dispute,” said Bower gravely in +English. “A squall it is,—a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>most suitable prediction for a cat,—and +I am once more rehabilitated in your esteem, I hope?”</p> + +<p>A cold iridescence suddenly illumined the gloomy interior of the hut. +It gave individuality to each particle of sleet whirling past the +door. Helen thought that the sun had broken through the storm clouds +for an instant; but Bower said quietly:</p> + +<p>“Are you afraid of lightning?”</p> + +<p>“Not very. I don’t like it.”</p> + +<p>“Some people collapse altogether when they see it. Perhaps when +forewarned you are forearmed.”</p> + +<p>A low rumble boomed up the valley, and the mountain echoes muttered in +solemn chorus.</p> + +<p>“We are to be spared none of the scenic accessories, then?” said +Helen.</p> + +<p>“None. In fact, you will soon see and hear a thunder storm that would +have delighted Gustave Doré. Please remember that it cannot last long, +and that this hut has been built twenty years to my knowledge.”</p> + +<p>Helen sipped her coffee, but pushed away a plate set before her by +Barth. “If you don’t mind, I should like the door wide open,” she +said.</p> + +<p>“You prefer to lunch later?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“And you wish to face the music—is that it?”</p> + +<p>“I think so.”</p> + +<p>“Let me remind you that Jove’s thunderbolts are really forged on the +hilltops.”</p> + +<p>“I am here; so I must make the best of it. I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>shall not scream, or +faint, if that is what you dread.”</p> + +<p>“I dread nothing but your anger for not having turned back when a +retreat was possible. I hate turning back, Miss Wynton. I have never +yet withdrawn from any enterprise seriously undertaken, and I was +determined to share your first ramble among my beloved hills.”</p> + +<p>Another gleam of light, bluer and more penetrating than its +forerunner, lit the brown rafters of the <i>cabane</i>. It was succeeded by +a crash like the roar of massed artillery. The walls trembled. Some +particles of mortar rattled noisily to the floor. A strange sound of +rending, followed by a heavy thud, suggested something more tangible +than thunderbolts. Bower kicked the door and it swung inward.</p> + +<p>“An avalanche,” he said. “Probably a rockfall too. Of course, the hut +stands clear of the track of unpleasant visitors of that description.”</p> + +<p>Helen had not expected this courageous bearing in a man of Bower’s +physical characteristics. Hitherto she had regarded him as somewhat +self indulgent, a Sybarite, the product of modernity in its London +aspects. His demeanor in the train, in the hotel, bespoke one +accustomed to gratify the flesh, who found all the world ready to +pander to his desires. Again she was conscious of that instinctive +trustfulness a woman freely reposes in a dominant man. Oddly enough, +she thought of Spencer in the same breath. An hour earlier, had she +been asked <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span>which of these two would command her confidence during a +storm, her unhesitating choice would have favored the American. Now, +she was at least sure that Bower’s coolness was not assumed. His +attitude inspired emulation. She rose and went to the door.</p> + +<p>“I want to see an avalanche,” she cried. “Where did that one fall?”</p> + +<p>Bower followed her. He spoke over her shoulder. “On Monte Roseg, I +expect. The weather seems to be clearing slightly. This tearing wind +will soon roll up the mist, and the thunder will certainly start +another big rock or a snowslide. If you are lucky, you may witness +something really fine.”</p> + +<p>A dazzling flash leaped over the glacier. Although the surrounding +peaks were as yet invisible through the haze of sleet and vapor, +objects near at hand were revealed with uncanny distinctness. Each +frozen wave on the surface of the ice was etched in sharp lines. A +cluster of séracs on a neighboring icefall showed all their mad chaos. +The blue green chasm of a huge crevasse was illumined to a depth far +below any point to which the rays of the sun penetrated. On the +neighboring slope of Monte Roseg the crimson and green and yellow +mosses were given sudden life against the black background of rock. +Every boulder here wore a somber robe. They were stark and grim. The +eye instantly caught the contrast to their gray-white fellows piled on +the lower moraine or in the bed of the Orlegna.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p><p>Helen was quick to note the new tone of black amid the vividly white +patches of snow. She waited until the deafening thunder peal was dying +away in eerie cadences. “Why are the rocks black here and almost white +in the valley?” she asked.</p> + +<p>“Because they are young, as rocks go,” was the smiling answer. “They +have yet to pass through the mill. They will be battered and bruised +and polished before they emerge from the glacier several years hence +and a few miles nearer peace. In that they resemble men. ’Pon my word, +Miss Wynton, you have caused me to evolve a rather poetic explanation +of certain gray hairs I have noticed of late among my own raven +locks.”</p> + +<p>“You appear to know and love these hills so well that I wonder—if you +will excuse a personal remark—I wonder you ever were able to tear +yourself away from them.”</p> + +<p>“I have missed too much of real enjoyment in the effort to amass +riches,” he said slowly. “Believe me, that thought has held me +since—since you and I set foot on the Forno together.”</p> + +<p>“But you knew? You were no stranger to the Alps? I am beginning to +understand that one cannot claim kinship with the high places until +they stir the heart more in storm than in sunshine. When I saw all +these giants glittering in the sun like knights in silver armor, I +described them to myself as gloriously beautiful. Now I feel that they +are more than that,—they are awful, pitiless in their <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>indifference +to frail mortals; they carry me into a dim region where life and death +are terms without meaning.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that is the true spirit of the mountains. I too used to look on +them with affectionate reverence, and you recall the old days. +Perhaps, if I am deemed worthy, you will teach me the cult once more.”</p> + +<p>He bent closer. Helen became conscious that in her enthusiasm she had +spoken unguardedly. She moved away, slightly but unmistakably, a step +or two out into the open, for the hut on that side was not exposed to +the bitter violence of the wind.</p> + +<p>“It is absurd to imagine us in a change of rôle,” she cried. “I should +play the poorest travesty of Mentor to your Telemachus. Oh! What is +that?”</p> + +<p>While she was speaking, another blinding flare of lightning flooded +moraine and glacier and pierced the veil of sleet. Her voice rose +almost to a shriek. Bower sprang forward. His left hand rested +reassuringly across her shoulders.</p> + +<p>“Better come inside the hut,” he began.</p> + +<p>“But I saw someone—a white face—staring at me down there!”</p> + +<p>“It is possible. There is no cause for fear. A party may have crossed +from Italy. There would be none from the Maloja at this hour.”</p> + +<p>Helen was actually trembling. Bower drew her a little nearer. He +himself was unnerved, a prey to wilder emotions than she could guess +till later <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>days brought a fuller understanding. It was a mad trick of +fate that threw the girl into his embrace just then, for another +far-flung sheet of fire revealed to her terrified vision the figures +of Spencer and Stampa on the rocks beneath. With brutal candor, the +same flash showed her nestling close to Bower. For some reason, she +shuddered. Though the merciful gloom of the next few seconds restored +her faculties, her face and neck were aflame. She almost felt that she +had been detected in some fault. Her confusion was not lessened by +hearing a muttered curse from her companion. Careless of the stinging +sleet, she leaped down to a broad tier of rock below the plateau of +the hut and cried shrilly:</p> + +<p>“Is that really you, Mr. Spencer?”</p> + +<p>A more tremendous burst of thunder than any yet experienced dwarfed +all other sounds for an appreciable time. The American scrambled up, +almost at her feet, and stood beside her. Stampa came quick on his +heels, moving with a lightness and accuracy of foothold amazing in one +so lame.</p> + +<p>“Just me, Miss Wynton. Sorry if I have frightened you, but our old +friend here was insistent that we should hurry. I have been tracking +you since nine o’clock.”</p> + +<p>Spencer’s words were nonchalantly polite. He even raised his cap, +though the fury of the ice laden blast might well have excused this +formal act of courtesy. Helen was still blushing so painfully that she +became angry with herself, and her voice was <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>hardly under control. +Nevertheless, she managed to say:</p> + +<p>“How kind and thoughtful of you! I am all right, as you see. Mr. Bower +and the guide were able to bring me here before the storm broke. We +happened to be standing near the door, watching the lightning. When I +caught a glimpse of you I was so stupidly startled that I screamed and +almost fell into Mr. Bower’s arms.”</p> + +<p>Put in that way, it did not sound so distressing. And Spencer had no +desire to add further difficulties to a situation already awkward.</p> + +<p>“Guess you scared me too,” he said. “I suppose, now we are at the hut, +Stampa will not object to my waiting five minutes or so before we +start for home.”</p> + +<p>“Surely you will lunch with us. Everything is set out on the table, +and we have food enough for a regiment.”</p> + +<p>“You would need it if you remained here another couple of hours, Miss +Wynton. Stampa tells me that a first rate <i>guxe</i>, which is Swiss for a +blizzard, I believe, is blowing up. This thunder storm is the +preliminary to a heavy downfall of snow. That is why I came. If we are +not off the glacier before two o’clock, it will become impassable till +a lot of the snow melts.”</p> + +<p>“What is that you are saying?” demanded Bower bruskly. Helen and the +two men had reached the level of the <i>cabane</i>; but Stampa, thinking +they <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>would all enter, kept in the rear, “If that fairy tale accounts +for your errand, you are on a wild goose chase, Mr. Spencer.”</p> + +<p>He had not heard the American’s words clearly; but he gathered +sufficient to account for the younger man’s motive in following them, +and was furiously annoyed by this unlooked for interruption. He had no +syllable of thanks for a friendly action. Though no small risk +attended the crossing of the Forno during a gale, it was evident he +strongly resented the presence of both Spencer and the guide.</p> + +<p>Helen, after her first eager outburst, was tongue tied. She saw that +her would-be rescuers were dripping wet, and was amazed that Bower +should greet them so curtly, though, to be sure, she believed +implicitly that the storm would soon pass. Stampa was already inside +the hut. He was haranguing Barth and the porter vehemently, and they +were listening with a curious submissiveness.</p> + +<p>Spencer was the most collected person present. He brushed aside +Bower’s acrimony as lightly as he had accepted Helen’s embarrassed +explanation. “This is not my hustle at all,” he said. “Stampa heard +that his adored <i>sigñorina</i>——”</p> + +<p>“Stampa! Is that Stampa?”</p> + +<p>Bower’s strident voice was hushed to a hoarse murmur. It reminded one +of his hearers of a growling dog suddenly cowed by fear. Helen’s ears +were tuned to this perplexing note; but Spencer interpreted it +according to his dislike of the man.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p><p>“Stampa heard,” he went on, with cold-drawn precision, “that Miss +Wynton had gone to the Forno. He is by far the most experienced guide +to be found on this side of the Alps, and he believes that anyone +remaining up here to-day will surely be imprisoned in the hut a week +or more by bad weather. In fact, even now an hour may make all the +difference between danger and safety. Perhaps you can convince him he +is wrong. I know nothing about it, beyond the evidence of my senses, +backed up by some acquaintance with blizzards. Anyhow, I am inclined +to think that Miss Wynton will be wise if she listens to the points of +the argument in the hotel.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps it would be better to return at once,” said Helen timidly. +Her sensitive nature warned her that these two men were ready to +quarrel, and that she herself, in some nebulous way, was the cause of +their mutual enmity.</p> + +<p>Beyond this her intuition could not travel. It was impossible that she +should realize how sorely her wish to placate Bower disquieted +Spencer. He had seen the two under conditions that might, indeed, be +explicable by Helen’s fright; but he would extend no such charitable +consideration to Bower, whose conduct, no matter how it was viewed, +made him a rival. Yes, it had come to that. Spencer had hardly spoken +a word to Stampa during the toilsome journey from Maloja. He had +looked facts stubbornly in the face, and the looking served to clear +certain <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>doubts from his heart and brain. He wanted to woo and win +Helen for his wife. He was enmeshed in a net of his own contriving, +and its strands were too strong to be broken. If Helen was reft from +him now, he would gaze on a darkened world for many a day.</p> + +<p>But he was endowed with a splendid self control. That element of cast +steel in his composition, discovered by Dunston after five minutes’ +acquaintance, kept him rigid under the strain.</p> + +<p>“Sorry I should figure as spoiling your excursion, Miss Wynton,” he +was able to say calmly; “but, when all is said and done, the weather +is bad, and you will have plenty of fine days later.”</p> + +<p>Bower crept nearer. His action suggested stealth. Although the wind +was howling under the deep eaves of the hut, he almost whispered. +“Yes, you are right—quite right. Let us go now—at once. With you and +me, Mr. Spencer, Miss Wynton will be safe—safer than with the guides. +They can follow with the stores. Come! There is no time to be lost!”</p> + +<p>The others were so taken aback by his astounding change of front that +they were silent for an instant. It was Helen who protested, firmly +enough.</p> + +<p>“The lightning seems to have given us an attack of nerves,” she said. +“It would be ridiculous to rush off in that <span style="white-space: nowrap;">manner——”</span></p> + +<p>“But there is peril—real peril—in delay. I admit it. I was wrong.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p><p>Bower’s anxiety was only too evident. Spencer, regarding him from a +single viewpoint, deemed him a coward, and his gorge rose at the +thought.</p> + +<p>“Oh, nonsense!” he cried contemptuously. “We shall be two hours on the +glacier, so five more minutes won’t cut any ice. If you have food and +drink in there, Stampa certainly wants both. We all need them. We have +to meet that gale all the way. The two hours may become three before +we reach the path.”</p> + +<p>Helen guessed the reason of his disdain. It was unjust; but the moment +did not permit of a hint that he was mistaken. To save Bower from +further commitment—which, she was convinced, was due entirely to +regard for her own safety—she went into the hut.</p> + +<p>“Stampa,” she said, “I am very much obliged to you for taking so much +trouble. I suppose we may eat something before we start?”</p> + +<p>“Assuredly, <i>fräulein</i>,” he cried. “Am I not here? Were it to begin to +snow at once, I could still bring you unharmed to the chalets.”</p> + +<p>Josef Barth had borne Stampa’s reproaches with surly deference; but he +refused to be degraded in this fashion—before Karl, too, whose tongue +wagged so loosely.</p> + +<p>“That is the talk of a foolish boy, not of a man,” he cried +wrathfully. “Am I not fitted, then, to take mademoiselle home after +bringing her here?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span></p><p>“Truly, on a fine day, Josef,” was the smiling answer.</p> + +<p>“I told monsieur that a <i>guxe</i> was blowing up from the south; so did +Karl; but he would not hearken. <i>Ma foi!</i> I am not to blame.” Barth, +on his dignity, introduced a few words of French picked up from the +Chamounix men. He fancied they would awe Stampa, and prove +incidentally how wide was his own experience.</p> + +<p>The old guide only laughed. “A nice pair, you and Karl,” he shouted. +“Are the voyageurs in your care or not? You told monsieur, indeed! You +ought to have refused to take mademoiselle. That would have settled +the affair, I fancy.”</p> + +<p>“But this monsieur knows as much about the mountains as any of us. He +might surprise even you, Stampa. He has climbed the Matterhorn from +Zermatt and Breuil. He has come down the rock wall on the Col des +Nantillons. How is one to argue with such a <i>voyageur</i> on this child’s +glacier?”</p> + +<p>Stampa whistled. “Oh—knows the Matterhorn, does he? What is his +name?”</p> + +<p>“Bower,” said Helen,—“Mr. Mark Bower.”</p> + +<p>“What! Say that again, <i>fräulein</i>! Mark Bower? Is that your English +way of putting it?”</p> + +<p>Helen attributed Stampa’s low hiss to a tardy recognition of Bower’s +fame as a mountaineer. Though the hour was noon, the light was feeble. +Veritable thunder clouds had gathered above the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>mist, and the +expression of Stampa’s face was almost hidden in the obscurity of the +hut.</p> + +<p>“That is his name,” she repeated. “You must have heard of him. He was +well known on the high Alps—years ago.” She paused before she added +those concluding words. She was about to say “in your time,” but the +substituted phrase was less personal, since the circumstances under +which Stampa ceased to be a notability in “the street” at Zermatt were +in her mind.</p> + +<p>“God in heaven!” muttered the old man, passing a hand over his face as +though waking from a dream,—“God in heaven! can it be that my prayer +is answered at last?” He shambled out.</p> + +<p>Spencer had waited to watch the almost continuous blaze of lightning +playing on the glacier. Distant summits were now looming through the +diminishing downpour of sleet. He was wondering if by any chance +Stampa might be mistaken. Bower stood somewhat apart, seemingly +engaged in the same engrossing task. The wind was not quite so fierce +as during its first onset. It blew in gusts. No longer screaming in a +shrill and sustained note, it wailed fitfully.</p> + +<p>Stampa lurched unevenly close to Bower. He was about to touch him on +the shoulder; but he appeared to recollect himself in time.</p> + +<p>“Marcus Bauer,” he said in a voice that was terrible by reason of its +restraint.</p> + +<p>Bower wheeled suddenly. He did not flinch. His <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>manner suggested a +certain preparedness. Thus might a strong man face a wild beast when +hope lay only in the matching of sinew against sinew. “That is not my +name,” he snarled viciously.</p> + +<p>“Marcus Bauer,” repeated Stampa in the same repressed monotone, “I am +Etta’s father.”</p> + +<p>“Why do you address me in that fashion? I have never before seen you.”</p> + +<p>“No. You took care of that. You feared Etta’s father, though you cared +little for Christian Stampa, the guide. But I have seen you, Marcus +Bauer. You were slim then—an elegant, is it not?—and many a time +have I hobbled into the Hotel Mont Cervin to look at your portrait in +a group lest I should forget your face. Yet I passed you just now! +Great God! I passed you.”</p> + +<p>A ferocity glared from Bower’s eyes that might well have daunted +Stampa. For an instant he glanced toward Spencer, whose clear cut +profile was silhouetted against a background of white-blue ice now +gleaming in a constant flutter of lightning. Stampa was not yet aware +of the true cause of Bower’s frenzy. He thought that terror was +spurring him to self defense. An insane impulse to kill, to fight with +the nails and teeth, almost mastered him; but that must not be yet.</p> + +<p>“It is useless, Marcus Bauer,” he said, with a calmness so horribly +unreal that its deadly intent was all the more manifest. “I am the +avenger, not you. I can tear you to pieces with my hands when <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>I will. +It would be here and now, were it not for the presence of the English +<i>sigñorina</i> who saved me from death. It is not meet that she should +witness your expiation. That is to be settled between you and me +alone.”</p> + +<p>Bower made one last effort to assert himself. “You are talking in +riddles, man,” he said. “If you believe you have some long forgotten +grievance against one of my name, come and see me to-morrow at the +hotel. <span style="white-space: nowrap;">Perhaps——”</span></p> + +<p>“Yes, I shall see you to-morrow. Do not dream that you can escape me. +Now that I know you live, I would search the wide world for you. +Blessed Mother! How you must have feared me all these years!”</p> + +<p>Stampa was using the Romansch dialect of the Italian Alps. Bower spoke +in German. Spencer heard them indistinctly. He marveled that they +should discuss, as he imagined, the state of the weather with such +subdued passion.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Christian,” he cried, “the clouds are lifting somewhat. Where +is your promised snow?”</p> + +<p>Stampa peered up into Bower’s face; for his twisted leg had reduced +his own unusual height by many inches. “To-morrow!” he whispered. “At +ten o’clock—outside the hotel. Then we have a settlement. Is it so?”</p> + +<p>There was no answer. Bower was wrestling with a mad desire to grapple +with him and fling him down among the black rocks. Stampa crept +nearer. A <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>ghastly smile lit his rugged features, and his <i>pickel</i> +clattered to the broken shingle at his feet.</p> + +<p>“I offer you to-morrow,” he said. “I am in no hurry. Have I not waited +sixteen years? But it may be that you are tortured by a devil, Marcus +Bauer. Shall it be now?”</p> + +<p>The clean-souled peasant believed that the millionaire had a +conscience. Not yet did he understand that balked desire is stronger +than any conscience. It really seemed that nothing could withhold +these two from mortal struggle then and there. Spencer was regarding +them curiously; but they paid no heed to him. Bower’s tongue was +darting in and out between his teeth. The red blood surged to his +temples. Stampa was still smiling. His lips moved in the strangest +prayer that ever came from a man’s heart. He was actually thanking the +Madonna—mother of the great peacemaker—for having brought his enemy +within reach!</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bower!” came Helen’s voice from the door of the <i>cabane</i>. “Why +don’t you join us? And you, Mr. Spencer? Stampa, come here and eat at +once.”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow, at ten? Or now?” the old man whispered again.</p> + +<p>“To-morrow—curse you!”</p> + +<p>Stampa twisted himself round. “I am not hungry, <i>fräulein</i>,” he cried. +“I ate chocolate all the way up the glacier. But do you be speedy. We +have lost too much time already.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p><p>Bower brushed past, and the guide stooped to recover his ice ax. +Spencer, though troubled sufficiently by his own disturbing fantasies, +did not fail to notice their peculiar behavior. But he answered Helen +with a pleasant disclaimer.</p> + +<p>“Christian kept his hoard a secret, Miss Wynton. I too have lost my +appetite,” said he.</p> + +<p>“Once we start we shall hardly be able to unpack the hamper again,” +said Helen.</p> + +<p>The American was trying her temper. She suspected that he carried his +hostility to the absurd pitch of refusing to partake of any food +provided by Bower. It was a queer coincidence that Spencer harbored +the same notion with regard to Stampa, and wondered at it.</p> + +<p>“I shall starve willingly,” he said. “It will be a just punishment for +declining the good things that did not tempt me when they were +available.”</p> + +<p>Bower poured out a quantity of wine and drank it at a gulp. He +refilled the glass and nearly emptied it a second time. But he touched +not a morsel of meat or bread. Helen, fortunately, attributed the +conduct of the men to spleen. She ate a sandwich, and found that she +was far more ready for a meal than she had imagined.</p> + +<p>Stampa’s broad frame darkened the doorway. He told Karl not to burden +himself with anything save the cutlery. Now that he was the skilled +guide again, the leader in whom they trusted, his worn face was +animated and his voice eager.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>Helen heard Spencer’s exclamation without.</p> + +<p>“By Jove, Stampa! you are right! Here comes the snow.”</p> + +<p>“Quick, quick!” cried Stampa. “<i>Vorwärtz</i>, Barth. You lead. Stop at my +call. Karl next—then the <i>fräulein</i> and my monsieur. Yours follows, +and I come last.”</p> + +<p>“No, no!” burst out Bower, lowering a third glass of wine from his +lips.</p> + +<p>“<i>Che diavolo!</i> It shall be as I have said!” shouted Stampa, with an +imperious gesture. Helen remarked it; but things were being done and +said that were inexplicable. Even Bower was silenced.</p> + +<p>“Are we to be roped, then?” growled Barth.</p> + +<p>“Have you never crossed ice during a snow storm?” asked Stampa.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes they were ready. The lightning flashes were less +frequent, and the thunder was muttering far away amid the secret +places of the Bernina. The wind was rising again. Instead of sleet it +carried snowflakes, and these did not sting the face nor patter on the +ice. But they clung everywhere, and the sable rocks were taking unto +themselves a new garment.</p> + +<p>“<i>Vorwärtz!</i>” rang out Stampa’s trumpet like call, and Barth leaped +down into the moraine.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i197.jpg" width="500" height="268" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>ON THE GLACIER</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">B</span>arth, a good man on ice and rock, was not a genius among guides. +Faced by an apparently unscalable rock wall, or lost in a wilderness +of séracs, he would never guess the one way that led to success. But +he was skilled in the technic of his profession, and did not make the +mistake now of subjecting Helen or Spencer to the risk of an ugly +fall. The air temperature had dropped from eighty degrees Fahrenheit +to below freezing point. Rocks that gave safe foothold an hour earlier +were now glazed with an amalgam of sleet and snow. If, in his dull +mind, he wondered why Spencer came next to Helen, rather than Bower or +Stampa,—either of whom would know exactly when to give that timely +aid with the rope that imparts such confidence to the novice,—he said +nothing. Stampa’s eye was on him. His pride was up in arms. It +behooved him to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>press on at just the right pace, and commit no +blunder.</p> + +<p>Helen, who had been glad to get back to the moraine during the ascent, +was ready to breathe a sigh of relief when she felt her feet on the +ice again. Those treacherous rocks were affrighting. They bereft her +of trust in her own limbs. She seemed to slip here and there without +power to check herself. She expected at any moment to stumble +helplessly on some cruelly sharp angle of a granite boulder, and find +that she was maimed so badly as to render another step impossible. +More than once she was sensible that the restraining pull on the rope +alone held her from disaster. Her distress did not hinder the growth +of a certain surprise that the American should be so sure footed, so +quick to judge her needs. When by his help a headlong downward plunge +was converted into a harmless slide over the sloping face of a rock, +she half turned.</p> + +<p>“I must thank you for that afterward,” she said, with a fine effort at +a smile.</p> + +<p>“Eyes front, please,” was the quiet answer.</p> + +<p>Under less strenuous conditions it might have sounded curt; but the +look that met hers robbed the words of their tenseness, and sent the +hot blood tingling in her veins. Bower had never looked at her like +that. Just as some unusually vivid flash of lightning revealed the +hidden depths of a crevasse, bringing plainly before the eye chinks +and crannies not discernible in the strongest sunlight, so did the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>glimpse of Spencer’s soul illumine her understanding. He was not only +safeguarding her, but thinking of her, and the stolen knowledge set up +a bewildering tumult in her heart.</p> + +<p>“Attention!” shouted Barth, halting and making a drive at something +with his ax.</p> + +<p>The line stopped. Stampa’s ringing voice came over Helen’s head:</p> + +<p>“What is that ahead there?”</p> + +<p>“A new fall, I think. We ought to leave the moraine a little lower +down; but this was not here when we ascended.”</p> + +<p>How either man, Stampa especially, could see anything at all, was +beyond the girl’s comprehension. The snow was absolutely blinding. The +wind was full in their faces, and it carried the huge flakes upward. +They seemed to spring from beneath rather than drop from the clouds. +Ever and anon a weirdly blue gleam of lightning would give a demoniac +touch to a scene worthy of the Inferno.</p> + +<p>“Make for the ice—quick!” cried Stampa, and Barth turned sharply to +the left. Falling stones were now their chief danger, and both men +were anxious to avoid it.</p> + +<p>After a brief scramble they mounted the curving glacier. A fiercer +gust shrieked at them and swept some small space clear of snow. Helen +had a dim vision of lightning playing above the crest of a great mound +on the edge of the ice field,—a mound that she did not remember +seeing before. Then the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>gale sank back to its sustained howling, the +snow swirled in denser volume, and the specter vanished.</p> + +<p>Ere they had gone another hundred yards, Barth’s hoarse warning +checked them again. “The bridge has fallen!” was his cry. “There has +been an ice movement.”</p> + +<p>There was a question in the man’s words. Here was a nice point +submitted to his judgment,—whether to follow the line of the recently +formed schrund yawning at his feet, or endeavor to cross it, or go +back to the scene of the landslip? That was where Barth was lacking. +In that instant he resigned his pride of place without further effort +to retain it. He was in the van, but did not lead. Thenceforth Stampa +was master.</p> + +<p>“What is the width—ten meters?” demanded the old guide cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“About that.”</p> + +<p>“All the better. It is not deep here. The shock of that avalanche +opened it up. You will find a way down. Cut the steps close together. +You know how to polish them, Karl?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I can do that,” said the porter.</p> + +<p>“And watch the <i>sigñorina’s</i> feet.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ll take care.”</p> + +<p>Barth was peering fixedly into the chasm. To Helen’s fancy it was +bottomless, though in reality it was not more than forty feet deep, +and the two walls fell away from each other at a practicable angle. In +normal summer weather, a small crevasse <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>always formed there owing to +the glacier flowing over a transverse ridge of rock beneath. To-day +the impact of many thousands of tons of débris had disrupted the ice +to an unusual extent. Having decided on the best line, the leading +guide stepped over into space. Helen heard his ax ringing as he +fashioned secure foothold down the steep ledge he had selected. He was +quite trustworthy in such work.</p> + +<p>Stampa, who had a thought for none save Helen, gave her a reassuring +word. “Barth will find a way, <i>fräulein</i>,” he said. “And Herr Spencer +knows how you should cross your feet and carry your ax, while Karl +will see to your foothold. Remember too that you will be at the bottom +before I begin the descent, so no harm can come to you. Try and stand +straight. Don’t lean against the slope. Lean away from it. Don’t be +afraid. Don’t trust to the rope or the grip of the ax. Rely on your +own stand.”</p> + +<p>It was no time to pick and choose phrases, yet Helen realized the +oddity of the absence of any reference to Bower. One other in the +party had a thought somewhat akin to hers; but he slurred it over in +his mind, and seized the opportunity to help her by a casual remark.</p> + +<p>“Guess you hardly expected genuine ice work in to-day’s trip?” he +said. “Stampa and I had a lot of it last week. It’s as easy as walking +down stairs when you know how.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I am afraid,” she answered; “but I should have +preferred to walk up stairs first. This <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>is rather reversing the +natural order of things, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Nature loves irregularities. That is why the prize girl in every +novel has irregular features. A heroine with a Greek face would kill a +whole library.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Vorwärtz—es geht!</i>”</p> + +<p>Barth’s gruff voice sounded hollow from the depths. Karl, in his turn, +went over the lip of the crevasse. Helen, conscious of an exaltation +that lifted her out of the region of ignoble fear, looked down. She +could see now what was being done. Barth was swinging his ax and +smiting the ice with the adz. His head was just below the level of her +feet, though he was distant the full length of two sections of the +rope. He had cut broad black steps. They did not seem to present any +great difficulty. Helen found herself speculating on the remarkable +light effects that made these notches black in a gray-green wall.</p> + +<p>“Right foot first,” said Spencer quietly. “When that is firmly fixed, +throw all your weight on it, and bring the left down. Then the right +again. Hold the pick breast high.”</p> + +<p>“So!” cried Karl appreciatively, watching her first successful effort.</p> + +<p>As Spencer was lowering himself into the crevasse, he heard something +that set his nimble wits agog. Stampa, the valiant and light hearted +Stampa, the genial companion who had laughed and jested even when they +were crossing an ice slope on the giant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>Monte della Disgrazia,—a +traverse of precarious clinging, where a slip meant death a thousand +feet below,—was muttering strangely at Bower.</p> + +<p>“<i>Schwein-hund!</i>” he was saying, “if any evil befalls the <i>fräulein</i>, +I shall drive my ax between your shoulder blades.”</p> + +<p>There was no reply. Spencer was sure he was not mistaken. Though the +guide spoke German, he knew enough of that language to understand this +comparatively simple sentence. Quite as amazing as Stampa’s threat was +Bower’s silent acceptance of it. He began to piece together some +fleeting impressions of the curious wrangle between the two outside +the hut. He recalled Bower’s extraordinary change of tone when told +that a man named Christian Stampa had followed him from Maloja.</p> + +<p>Helen was just taking another confident step forward and down, +balancing herself with graceful assurance. Spencer had a few seconds +in which to steal a backward glance, and a flash of lightning happened +to glimmer on Bower’s features. The American was not given to fanciful +imaginings; but during many a wild hour in the Far West he had seen +the baleful frown of murder on a man’s face too often not to recognize +it now in this snow scourged cleft of a mighty Alpine glacier. Yet he +was helpless. He could neither speak nor act on a mere opinion. He +could only watch, and be on his guard. From that moment he tried to +observe every movement not only of Helen but of Bower.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p><p>The members of the party were roped at intervals of twenty feet. +Allowing for the depth of the crevasse, the amount of rope taken up in +their hands ready to be served out as occasion required, and the +inclination of Barth’s line of descent, the latter ought to be +notching the opposing wall before Stampa quitted the surface of the +glacier. Though Spencer could not see Stampa now, he knew that the +rear guide was bracing himself strongly against any tell-tale jerk, +with the additional security of an anchor obtained by driving the pick +of his ax deeply into the surface ice. It was Bower’s business to keep +the rope quite taut both above and below; but the American was sure +that he was gathering the slack behind him with his right hand while +he carried the ax in his left, and did not use it to steady himself.</p> + +<p>Spencer assumed, from various comments by Helen and others, that Bower +was an adept climber. Therefore, the passage of a schrund, or large, +shallow crevasse was child’s play to him. This departure from all the +canons of the craft as imparted by Stampa during their first week on +the hills together, struck Spencer as exceedingly dangerous. He +reflected that were it not for the words he had overheard, he would +never have known of this curious proceeding. Indeed, but for those +words, with their sinister significance augmented by Bower’s devilish +expression, had he even looked back by chance, the maneuver might not +have attracted his attention. What, then, did it imply? Why should a +skilled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>mountaineer break an imperative rule that permits of no +exceptions? He continued to watch Bower even more closely. He devoted +to the task every instant that consideration for Helen’s safety and +his own would allow.</p> + +<p>There was not much light in the crevasse. Heavy clouds and the +smothering snow wraiths hid the travelers under a dense pall that +suggested the approach of night, although the actual time was about +half past one o’clock in the afternoon. The wind seemed to delight in +torturing them with minute particles of ice that stung with a peculiar +sensation of burning. These were bad enough. To add to their miseries, +fine, powdery snowflakes settled on eyes and eyelids with blinding +effect.</p> + +<p>During a particularly baffling gust Helen uttered a slight +exclamation. Instantly Spencer stiffened himself, and Barth and Karl +halted.</p> + +<p>“It is nothing,” she cried. “For a second I could not see.”</p> + +<p>Barth’s ax rang out again. The vibrations of each lusty blow could be +felt distinctly along the solid ice wall. After a last downward step +he would begin to notch his way up the other side, where the angle was +much more favorable to rapid progress. Spencer stole another glance +over his shoulder. Bower had fully ten feet of the rearmost section of +rope in hand. His head was thrown well back. Standing with his face to +the ice, he was striving to look over the lip of the schrund. Stampa, +feeling <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>a steady tension, must be expecting the announcement +momentarily that Barth was crossing the narrow crevice at the bottom. +Helen and Karl, intent on the operations of the leader, paid heed to +nothing else; but Spencer was fascinated by Bower’s peculiar actions.</p> + +<p>At last, Barth’s deep bass reverberated triumphantly upward. +“<i>Vorwärtz!</i>”</p> + +<p>“<i>Vorwärtz</i>, Stampa!” repeated Bower, suddenly changing the ice ax to +his right hand and stretching the left as far along the rope and as +high up as possible. Simultaneously he raised the ax. Then, and not +till then, did Spencer understand. Stampa must be on the point of +relaxing his grip and preparing to descend. If Bower cut the rope with +a single stroke of the adz, a violent tug at the sundered end would +precipitate Stampa headlong into the crevasse, while there would be +ample evidence to show that he had himself severed the rope by a +miscalculated blow. The fall would surely kill him. When his corpse +was recovered, it would be found that the cut had been made much +closer to his own body than to that of his nearest neighbor.</p> + +<p>“Stop!” roared Spencer, all a-quiver with wrath at his discovery.</p> + +<p>Obedience to the climbers’ law held the others rigid. That command +implied danger. It called for an instant tightening of every muscle to +withstand the strain of a slip. Even Bower, a man on the very brink of +committing a fiendish crime, yielded <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>to a subconscious acceptance of +the law, and kept himself braced in his steps.</p> + +<p>The American was well fitted to handle a crisis of that nature. “Hold +fast, Stampa!” he shouted.</p> + +<p>“What is wrong?” came the ready cry, for the rear guide had already +driven the pick of his ax into the ice again after having withdrawn +it.</p> + +<p>Then Spencer spoke English. “I happen to be watching you,” he said +slowly, never relaxing a steel-cold scrutiny of Bower’s livid face. +“You seem to forget what you are doing. Follow me until you have taken +up the slack of the rope. Do you understand?”</p> + +<p>Bower continued to gaze at him with lack-luster eyes. All he realized +was that his murderous design was frustrated; but how or why he +neither knew nor cared.</p> + +<p>“Do you hear me?” demanded Spencer even more sternly. “Come along, or +I shall explain myself more fully!”</p> + +<p>Without answering, the other made shift to move. Spencer, however, +meant to save the unwitting guide from further hazard.</p> + +<p>“Don’t stir, Stampa, till I give the order!” he sang out.</p> + +<p>“All right, monsieur, but we are losing time. What is Barth doing +there? <i>Saperlotte!</i> If I were in front——”</p> + +<p>Bower, who owned certain strong qualities, swallowed something, took +three strides downward, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>said calmly: “I was waiting to give +Stampa a hand. He is lame, you know.”</p> + +<p>Helen, of course, heard all that passed. She had long since abandoned +the effort to disentangle the skein of that day’s events. Everybody +was talking and acting unnaturally. Perhaps the ravel of things would +clear itself when they regained the commonplace world of the hotel. In +any case, she wished the men would hurry, for it was unutterably cold +in the crevasse.</p> + +<p>At last, then, there was a movement ahead.</p> + +<p>Barth began to mount. Muttering an instruction to Karl that he was to +give the girl a friendly pull, he cut smaller steps more widely apart +and at a steeper gradient. Soon they were on the floor of the ice and +hurrying to the next bridge. Not a word was spoken by anyone. The fury +of the gale and the ever gathering snow made it imperative that not a +moment should be wasted. The lightning was decreasing perceptibly, +while the occasional peals of thunder were scarcely audible above the +soughing of the wind. A tremendous crash on the right announced the +fall of another avalanche; but it did not affect the next broad +crevasse. The bridge they had used a few hours earlier stood firm. +Indeed, it was new welded by regelation since the sun’s rays had +disappeared.</p> + +<p>The leader kept a perfect line, never deviating from the right track. +Helen, who had completely lost her bearings, thought they had a long +way <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>farther to go, when she saw Barth stop and begin to unfasten the +rope. Then a thrust with the butt of her <i>pickel</i> told her that she +was standing on rock. When she cleared her eyes of the flying snow, +she saw a well defined curving ribbon amid the white chaos. It was the +path, covered six inches deep. The violent exertions of nearly three +hours since she left the hut had induced a pleasant sense of languor. +Did she dare to suggest it, she would have liked to sit down and rest +for awhile.</p> + +<p>Bower, who had substituted reasoned thought for his madness, addressed +Spencer with easy complacence while Barth was unroping them. “Why did +you believe that I was doing a risky thing in stopping to assist +Stampa?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I guess you know best,” was the uncompromising answer.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think I do. Of course, I could not argue the matter then, but +I fancy my climbing experience is far greater than yours, Mr. +Spencer.”</p> + +<p>His sheer impudence was admirable. He even smiled in the superior way +of an expert lecturing a novice. But Spencer did not smile.</p> + +<p>“Do you really want to hear my views on your conduct?” he said.</p> + +<p>“No, thanks. The discussion might prove interesting, but we can +adjourn it to the coffee and cigar period after dinner.”</p> + +<p>His eyes fell under Spencer’s contemptuous glance. Yet he carried +himself bravely. Though <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>the man he meant to kill, and another man who +had read his inmost thought in time to prevent a tragedy, were looking +at him fixedly, he turned away with a laugh on his lips.</p> + +<p>“I am afraid, Miss Wynton, you will regard me in future as a broken +reed where Alpine excursions are concerned,” he said.</p> + +<p>“You were mistaken—that is obvious,” said Helen frankly. “But so was +Barth. He agreed that the storm would be only a passing affair. Don’t +you think we are very deeply indebted to Mr. Spencer and Stampa for +coming to our assistance?”</p> + +<p>“I do, indeed. Stampa, one can reward in kind. This sort of thing used +to be his business, I hear. As for Mr. Spencer, a smile from you will +repay him tenfold.”</p> + +<p>“Herr Spencer,” broke in Stampa, “you go on with the <i>sigñorina</i> and +see that she does not slip. She is tired. Marcus Bauer and I have +matters to discuss.”</p> + +<p>The old man’s unwonted harshness appealed to the girl as did the host +of other queer happenings on that memorable day. Bower moved uneasily. +A vindictive gleam shot from his eyes. Helen missed none of this. But +she was fatigued, and her feet were cold and wet, while the sleet +encountered on the upper glacier had almost soaked her to the skin. +Nevertheless, she strove bravely to lighten the cloud that seemed to +have settled on the men.</p> + +<p>“That means a wordy warfare,” she said gayly. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>“I pity you, Mr. Bower. +You cannot wriggle out of your difficulty. The snow will soon be a +foot deep in the valley. Goodness only knows what would have become of +us up there in the hut!”</p> + +<p>He bowed gracefully, with a hint of the foreign air she had noted once +before. “I would have brought you safely out of greater perils,” he +said; “but every dog has his day, and this is Stampa’s.”</p> + +<p>“<i>En route!</i>” cried the guide impatiently. He loathed the sight of Bower +standing there, smiling and courteous, in the presence of one whom he +regarded as a Heaven-sent friend and protectress. Spencer attributed +his surliness to its true cause. It supplied another bit of the mosaic +he was slowly piecing together. Greatly as he preferred Helen’s +company, he was willing to sacrifice at least ten minutes of it, could +he but listen to the “discussion” between Stampa and Bower.</p> + +<p>Therein he would have erred greatly. Helen was tired, and she admitted +it. She did not decline his aid when the path was steep and slippery. +In delightful snatches of talk they managed to say a good deal to each +other, and Helen did not fail to make plain the exact circumstances +under which she first caught sight of Spencer outside the hut. When +they arrived at the carriage road, which begins at Lake Cavloccio, +they could walk side by side and chat freely. Here, in the valley, +matters were normal. The snow did not place such a veil on all things. +The windings of the road often brought <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>them abreast of the four men +in the rear. Bower was trudging along alone, holding his head down, +and seemingly lost in thought.</p> + +<p>Close behind him came Stampa and the Engadiners. Karl, of course, was +talking—the others might or might not be lending their ears to his +interminable gossip.</p> + +<p>“We are outstripping our companions. Don’t you think we ought to wait +for them?” said Helen once, when Bower chanced to look her way.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Spencer.</p> + +<p>“You are exceedingly positive.”</p> + +<p>“I tried to be exceedingly negative.”</p> + +<p>“But why?”</p> + +<p>“I rather fancy that they would jar on us.”</p> + +<p>“But Stampa’s promised lecture appears to have ended?”</p> + +<p>“I think it never began. It is a safe bet that Mr. Bower and he have +not exchanged a word since our last halt.”</p> + +<p>Helen laughed. “A genuine case of Greek meeting Greek,” she said. +“Stampa is an excellent guide, I am sure; but Mr. Bower does really +know these mountains. I suppose anyone is liable to err in forecasting +Alpine weather.”</p> + +<p>“That is nothing. If it were you or I, Stampa would dismiss the point +with a grin. You heard how he chaffed Barth, yet trusted him with the +lead? No. These two have an old feud to settle. You will hear more of +it.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p><p>“A feud! Mr. Bower declared to me that Stampa was absolutely unknown +to him.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t necessary to know a man before you hate him. I can give you +a heap of historic examples. For instance, who has a good word to say +for Ananias?”</p> + +<p>The girl understood that he meant to parry her question with a quip. +The cross purposes so much in evidence all day were baffling and +mysterious to its close.</p> + +<p>“My own opinion is that both you and Stampa have taken an unreasonable +dislike to Mr. Bower,” she said determinedly. The words were out +before she quite realized their import. She flushed a little.</p> + +<p>Spencer was gazing down into the gorge of the Orlegna. The brawling +torrent chimed with his own mood; but his set face gave no token of +the storm within. He only said quietly, “How good it must be to have +you as a friend!”</p> + +<p>“I have no reason to feel other than friendly to Mr. Bower,” she +protested hotly. “It was the rarest good fortune for me that he came +to Maloja. I met him once in London, and a second time, by accident, +during my journey to Switzerland. Yet, widely known as he is in +society, he was sufficiently large minded to disregard the sneers and +innuendoes of some of those horrid women in the hotel. He has gone out +of his way to show me every kindness. Why should I not repay it by +speaking well of him?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span></p><p>“I shall lay my head on the nearest tree stump, and you can smite me +with your ax, good and hard,” said Spencer.</p> + +<p>She laughed angrily. “I don’t know what evil influence is possessing +us,” she cried. “Everything is awry. Even the sun refuses to shine. +Here am I storming at one to whom I owe my life——”</p> + +<p>“No,” he broke in decisively. “Don’t put it that way, because the +whole credit of the relief expedition is due to Stampa. Say, Miss +Wynton, may I square my small services by asking a favor?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, if it lies in your power, keep Stampa and Bower apart. In +any event, don’t intervene in their quarrel.”</p> + +<p>“So you are quite serious in your belief that there is a quarrel?”</p> + +<p>The American saw again in his mind’s eye the scene in the crevasse +when Bower had raised his ax to strike. “Quite serious,” he replied, +and the gravity in his voice was so marked that Helen placed a +contrite hand on his arm for an instant.</p> + +<p>“Please, I am sorry if I was rude to you just now,” she said. “I have +had a long day, and my nerves are worn to a fine edge. I used to +flatter myself that I hadn’t any nerves; but they have come to the +surface here. It must be the thin air.”</p> + +<p>“Then it is a bad place for an American.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that reminds me of something I had forgotten. I meant to ask you +how you came to remain <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>in the Maloja. Is that too inquisitive on my +part? I can account for the presence of the other Americans in the +hotel. They belong to the Paris colony, and are interested in tennis +and golf. I have not seen you playing either game. In fact, you moon +about in solitary grandeur, like myself. And—oh, dear! what a string +of questions!—is it true that you wanted to play baccarat with Mr. +Bower for a thousand pounds?”</p> + +<p>“It is true that I agreed to share a bank with Mr. Dunston, and the +figure you mention was suggested; but I backed out of the +proposition.”</p> + +<p>“Why?”</p> + +<p>“Because your friend, Mr. Hare, thought he was responsible, in a +sense, having introduced me to Dunston; so I let up on the idea,—just +to stop him from feeling bad about it.”</p> + +<p>“You really meant to play in the first instance?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it was very wicked of you. Only the other day you were telling +me how hard you had to work before you saved your first thousand +pounds.”</p> + +<p>“From that point of view my conduct was idiotic. But I would like to +carry the story a little further, Miss Wynton. I was in a mood that +night to oppose Mr. Bower for a much more valuable stake if the chance +offered.”</p> + +<p>“It is rather shocking,” said Helen.</p> + +<p>“I suppose so. Of course, there are prizes in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>life that cannot be +measured by monetary standards.”</p> + +<p>He was not looking at the Orlegna now, and the girl by his side well +knew it. The great revelation that flooded her soul with light while +crossing the Forno came back with renewed power. She did not pretend +to herself that the words were devoid of a hidden meaning, and her +heart fluttered with subtle ecstasy. But she was proud and self +reliant, so proud that she crushed the tumult in her breast, so self +reliant that she was able to give him a timid smile.</p> + +<p>“That deals with the second head of the indictment, then,” she said +lightly. “Now for the first. Why did you select the Engadine for your +holiday?”</p> + +<p>“If I could tell you that, I should know something of the occult +impulses that govern men’s lives. One minute I was in London, meaning +to go north. The next I was hurrying to buy a ticket for St. Moritz.”</p> + +<p>“But——” She meant to continue, “you arrived here the same day as I +did.” Somehow that did not sound quite the right thing to say. Her +tongue tripped; but she forced herself to frame a sentence. “It is odd +that you, like myself, should have hit upon an out of the way place +like Maloja. The difference is that I was sent here, whereas you came +of your own free will.”</p> + +<p>“I guess you are right,” said he, laughing as though she had uttered +an exquisite joke. “Yes, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>that is just it. I can imagine two young +English swallows, meeting in Algeria in the winter, twittering +explanations of the same sort.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t feel a bit like a swallow, and I am sure I can’t twitter, and +as for Algeria, a home of sunshine—well, just look at it!” She waved +a hand at the darkening panorama of hills and pine woods, all etched +in black lines and masses, where rocks and trees and houses broke the +dead white of the snow mantle.</p> + +<p>They happened to be crossing a bridge that spans the Orlegna before it +takes its first frantic plunge towards Italy. Bower, who had quickened +his pace, took the gesture as a signal, and sent an answering +flourish. Helen stopped. He evidently wished to overtake them.</p> + +<p>“More explanations,” murmured Spencer.</p> + +<p>“But he was mistaken. I was calling Nature to witness that your simile +was not justified.”</p> + +<p>“Tell you what,” he said in a low voice, “if this storm has blown over +by the morning, meet me after breakfast, and we will walk down the +valley to Vicosoprano for luncheon. There is a diligence back in the +afternoon. We can stroll there in three hours, and I shall have time +to clear up this swallow proposition.”</p> + +<p>“That will be delightful, if the weather improves.”</p> + +<p>“It will. I will compel it.”</p> + +<p>Bower was nearing them rapidly. A constrained silence fell between +them. To end it, Helen cried:</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p><p>“Well, are you feeling duly humbled, Mr. Bower?”</p> + +<p>He did not seem to understand her meaning. Apparently, he might have +forgotten that Stampa still lived. Then he roused his wits with an +effort. “Not humbled, but elated,” he said. “Have I not led you to +feats of derring-do? Why, the Wragg girls will be green with envy when +they hear of your exploits.”</p> + +<p>He swung round the corner to the bridge. After a smiling glance at +Spencer’s impassive face, he turned to Helen. “You have come out of +the ordeal with flying colors,” he said. “That flower you picked on +the way up has not withered. Give it to me as a memento.”</p> + +<p>The words were almost a challenge. The girl hesitated.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said. “I must find you some other souvenir.”</p> + +<p>“But I want that—if——”</p> + +<p>“There is no ‘if.’ You forget that I took it from—from the boulder +marked by a cross.”</p> + +<p>“I am not superstitious.”</p> + +<p>“Nor am I. Nevertheless, I should not care to give you such a symbol.”</p> + +<p>She caught Bower and Spencer exchanging a strange look. These men +shared some secret that they sedulously kept from her. Perhaps the +American meant to enlighten her during their projected walk to +Vicosoprano.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span></p><p>Stampa and the others approached. Together they climbed the little +hill leading to the summit of the pass. In the village they said “Good +night” to the two guides and Karl.</p> + +<p>Helen promised laughingly to make the acquaintance of Johann Klucker’s +cat at the first opportunity. She was passing through a wicket that +protects the footpath across the golf links, when she heard Stampa +growl:</p> + +<p>“<i>Morgen früh!</i>”</p> + +<p>“<i>Ja!</i>” snapped Bower.</p> + +<p>She smiled to herself at the thought that things were going to happen +to-morrow. She was right. But she had not yet done with the present +day. When she entered the cozy and brilliantly lighted veranda of the +hotel, the first person her amazed eyes alighted upon was Millicent +Jaques.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i220.jpg" width="500" height="268" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>WHEREIN HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>illicent! You here!” Helen breathed the words in an undertone that +carried more than a hint of dismay.</p> + +<p>It was one of those rare crises in life when the brain receives a +presage of evil without any prior foundation of fact. Helen had every +reason to welcome her friend, none to be chilled by her unexpected +presence. Among a small circle of intimate acquaintances she counted +Millicent Jaques the best and truest. They had drifted apart; but that +was owing to Helen’s lack of means. She was not able, nor did she +aspire, to mix in the society that hailed the actress as a bright +particular star. Yet it meant much to a girl earning her daily bread +in a heedless city that she should possess one friend of her own age +and sex who could speak of the golden years when they were children +together,—the years when <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>Helen’s father was the prospective governor +of an Indian province as large as France; when the tuft hunters now +gathered in Maloja would have fawned on her mother in hope of +subsequent recognition.</p> + +<p>Why, then, did Helen falter in her greeting? Who can tell? She herself +did not know, unless it was that Millicent rose so leisurely from the +table at which she was drinking a belated cup of tea, and came toward +her with a smile that had no warmth in it.</p> + +<p>“So you have returned,” she said, “and with both cavaliers?”</p> + +<p>Helen was conscious of a queer humming noise in her head. She was +incapable of calm thought. She realized now that the friend she had +left in London was here in the guise of a bitter enemy. The veranda +was full of people waiting for the post. The snow had banished them +from links and tennis court. This August afternoon was dark as +mid-December at the same hour. But the rendezvous was brilliantly +lighted, and the reappearance of the climbers, whose chances of safety +had been eagerly debated since the snow storm began, drew all eyes. +Someone had whispered too that the beautiful woman who arrived from +St. Moritz half an hour earlier, who sat in her furs and sipped her +tea after a long conversation with a clerk in the bureau, was none +other than Millicent Jaques, the dancer, one of the leading lights of +English musical comedy.</p> + +<p>The peepers and whisperers little dreamed that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>she could be awaiting +the party from the Forno. Now that her vigil was explained, for Bower +had advanced with ready smile and outstretched hand, the Wraggs and +Vavasours and de la Veres—all the little coterie of gossips and +scandalmongers—were drawn to the center of the hall like steel +filings to a magnet.</p> + +<p>Millicent ignored Bower. She was young enough and pretty enough to +feel sure of her ability to deal with him subsequently. Her cornflower +blue eyes glittered. They held something of the quiet menace of a +crevasse. She had traveled far for revenge, and she did not mean to +forego it. Helen, whose second impulse was to kiss her affectionately, +with excited clamor of welcome and inquiry, stood rooted to the floor +by her friend’s strange words.</p> + +<p>“I—I am so surprised——” she half stammered in an agony of confused +doubt; and that was the only lame phrase she could utter during a few +trying seconds.</p> + +<p>Bower frowned. He hated scenes between women. With his first glimpse +of Millicent he guessed her errand. For Helen’s sake, in the presence +of that rabbit-eared crowd, he would not brook the unmerited flood of +sarcastic indignation which he knew was trembling on her lips.</p> + +<p>“Miss Wynton has had an exhausting day,” he said coolly. “She must go +straight to her room, and rest. You two can meet and talk after +dinner.” Without further preamble, he took Helen’s arm.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p><p>Millicent barred the way. She did not give place. Again she paid no +heed to the man. “I shall not detain you long,” she said, looking only +at Helen, and speaking in a low clear voice that her stage training +rendered audible throughout the large hall. “I only wished to assure +myself that what I was told was true. I found it hard to believe, even +when I saw your name written up in the hotel. Before I go, let me +congratulate you on your conquest—and Mr. Mark Bower on his,” she +added, with clever pretense of afterthought.</p> + +<p>Helen continued to stare at her helplessly. Her lips quivered; but +they uttered no sound. It was impossible to misunderstand Millicent’s +object. She meant to wound and insult in the grossest way.</p> + +<p>Bower dropped Helen’s arm, and strode close to the woman who had +struck this shrewd blow at him. “I give you this one chance!” he +muttered, while his eyes blazed into hers. “Go to your room, or sit +down somewhere till I am free. I shall come to you, and put things +straight that now seem crooked. You are wrong, horribly wrong, in your +suspicions. Wait my explanation, or by all that I hold sacred, you +will regret it to your dying hour!”</p> + +<p>Millicent drew back a little. She conveyed the suggestion that his +nearness was offensive to her nostrils. And she laughed, with due +semblance of real amusement. “What! Has she made a fool of you too?” +she cried bitingly.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p><p>Then Helen did exactly the thing she ought not to have done. She +fainted.</p> + +<p>Spencer, in his own vivid phrase, was “looking for trouble” the +instant he caught sight of the actress. Had some Mahatma-devised magic +lantern focused on the screen of his inner consciousness a complete +narrative of the circumstances which conspired to bring Millicent +Jaques to the Upper Engadine, he could not have mastered cause and +effect more fully. The unlucky letter he asked Mackenzie to send to +the Wellington Theater—the letter devised as a probe into Bower’s +motives, but which was now cruelly searching its author’s heart—had +undoubtedly supplied to a slighted woman the clew to her rival’s +identity. Better posted than Bower in the true history of Helen’s +visit to Switzerland, he did not fail to catch the most significant +word in Millicent’s scornful greeting.</p> + +<p>“And with <i>both</i> cavaliers!”</p> + +<p>In all probability, she knew the whole ridiculous story, reading into +it the meaning lent by jealous spleen, and no more to be convinced of +error than the Forno glacier could be made to flow backward.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 348px;"> +<img src="images/i225.jpg" width="348" height="500" alt="“No,” said Spencer, “ring for the elevator.”" +title="" /> +<span class="caption">“No,” said Spencer, “ring for the elevator.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 17em;"><i>Page <a href="#Page_217">217</a></i></span></span> +</div> + +<p>But if his soul was vexed by a sense of bygone folly, his brain was +cool and alert. He saw Helen sway slightly. He caught her before she +collapsed where she stood. He gathered her tenderly in his arms. She +might have been a tired child, fallen asleep too soon. Her limp head +rested on his shoulder. Through the meshes of her blue veil he could <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>see the sudden pallor of her cheeks. The tint of the silk added to the +lifelessness of her aspect. Just then Spencer’s heart was sore within +him, and he was an awkward man to oppose.</p> + +<p>George de Courcy Vavasour happened to crane his neck nearer at the +wrong moment. The American sent him flying with a vigorous elbow +thrust. He shoved Bower aside with scant ceremony. Millicent Jaques +met a steely glance that quelled the vengeful sparkle in her own eyes, +and caused her to move quickly, lest, perchance, this pale-faced +American should trample on her. Before Bower could recover his +balance, for his hobnails caused him to slip on the tiled floor, +Spencer was halfway across the inner hall, and approaching the +elevator.</p> + +<p>An official of the hotel hastened forward with ready proffer of help. +“This way,” he said sympathetically. “The lady was overcome by the +heat after so many hours in the intense cold. It often occurs. She +will recover soon. Bring her to a chair in the office.”</p> + +<p>But Spencer was not willing that Helen’s first wondering glance should +rest on strangers, or that, when able to walk to her own apartments, +she should be compelled to pass through the ranks of gapers in the +lounge.</p> + +<p>“No,” he said. “Ring for the elevator. This lady must be taken to her +room,—No. 80, I believe,—then the manageress and a chambermaid can +attend to her. Quick! the elevator!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p><p>Bower turned on Millicent like an angry bull. “You have chosen your +own method,” he growled. “Very well. You shall pay for it.”</p> + +<p>Her venom was such that she was by no means disturbed by his threat. +“The other man—the American who brought her here—seems to have +bested you throughout,” she taunted him.</p> + +<p>He drew himself up with a certain dignity. He was aware that every +tongue in the place was stilled, that every ear was tuned to catch +each note of this fantastic quartet,—a sonata appassionata in which +vibrated the souls of men and women. He looked from Millicent’s pallid +face to the faces of the listeners, some of whom made pretense of +polite indifference, while others did not scruple to exhibit their +eager delight. If nothing better, the episode would provide an +abundance of spicy gossip during the enforced idleness caused by the +weather.</p> + +<p>“The lady whom you are endeavoring to malign, will, I hope, do me the +honor of becoming my wife,” he said. “That being so, she is beyond the +reach of the slanderous malice of an ex-chorus girl.”</p> + +<p>He spoke slowly, with the air of a man who weighed his words. A thrill +that could be felt ran through his intent audience. Mark Bower, the +millionaire, the financial genius who dominated more than one powerful +group in the city, who controlled a ring of theaters in London and the +provinces, who had declined a knighthood, and would surely be created +a peer with the next change of government,—that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>he should openly +declare himself a suitor for the hand of a penniless girl was a +sensation with a vengeance. His description of Millicent as an +ex-chorus girl offered another <i>bonne bouche</i> to the crowd. She would +never again skip airily behind the footlights of the Wellington, or +any other important theater in England. So far as she was concerned, +the musical comedy candle that succeeded to the sacred lamp of West +End burlesque was snuffed out.</p> + +<p>Millicent was actress enough not to flinch from the goad. “A charming +and proper sentiment,” she cried with well simulated flippancy. “The +marriage of Mr. Mark Bower will be quite a fashionable event, provided +always that he secures the assent of the American gentleman who is +paying his future wife’s expenses during her present holiday.”</p> + +<p>Now, so curiously constituted is human nature, or the shallow +worldliness that passes current for it among the homeless gadabouts +who pose as British society on the Continent, that already the current +of opinion in the hotel was setting steadily in Helen’s favor. The +remarkable change dated from the moment of Bower’s public announcement +of his matrimonial plans. Many of those present were regretting a lost +opportunity. It was obvious to the meanest intelligence—and the worn +phrase took a new vitality when applied to some among the +company—that any kindness shown to Helen during the preceding +fortnight would be repaid a hundredfold when she became <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>Mrs. Mark +Bower. Again, not even the bitterest of her critics could allege that +she was flirting with the quiet mannered American who had just carried +her off like a new Paris. She had lived in the same hotel for a whole +week without speaking a word to him. If anything, she had shown favor +only to Bower, and that in a way so decorous and discreet that more +than one woman there was amazed by her careless handling of a +promising situation. Just give one of them the chance of securing such +a prize fish as this stalwart millionaire! Well, at least he should +not miss the hook for lack of a bait.</p> + +<p>Oddly enough, the Rev. Philip Hare gave voice to a general sentiment +when he interfered in the duel. He, like others, was waiting for his +letters. He saw Helen come in, and was hurrying to offer his +congratulations on her escape from the storm, when the appearance of +Millicent prevented him from speaking at once. The little man was hot +with vexation at the scene that followed. He liked Helen; he was +unutterably shocked by Millicent’s attack; and he resented the unfair +and untrue construction that must be placed on her latest innuendo.</p> + +<p>“As one who has made Miss Wynton’s acquaintance in this hotel,” he +broke in vehemently, “I must protest most emphatically against the +outrageous statement we have just heard. If I may say it, it is +unworthy of the lady who is responsible for it. I know nothing of your +quarrel, nor do I wish to figure in it; but I do declare, on my honor +as a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>clergyman of the Church of England, that Miss Wynton’s conduct +in Maloja has in no way lent itself to the inference one is compelled +to draw from the words used.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Hare,” said Bower quietly, and a subdued murmur of +applause buzzed through the gathering.</p> + +<p>There is a legend in Zermatt that Saint Theodule, patron of the +Valais, wishing to reach Rome in a hurry, sought demoniac aid to +surmount the impassable barrier of the Alps. Opening his window, he +saw three devils dancing merrily on the housetops. He called them. +“Which of you is the speediest?” he asked. “I,” said one, “I am swift +as the wind.”—“Bah!” cried the second, “I can fly like a +bullet.”—“These two talk idly,” said the third. “I am quick as the +thought of a woman.” The worthy prelate chose the third. The hour +being late, he bargained that he should be carried to Rome and back +before cockcrow, the price for the service to be his saintly soul. The +imp flew well, and returned to the valley of the Rhone long ere dawn. +Joyous at his gain, he was about to bound over the wall of the +episcopal city of Sion, when St. Theodule roared lustily, “<i>Coq, +chante! Que tu chantes! Ou que jamais plus tu ne chantes!</i>” Every cock +in Sion awoke at his voice, and raised such a din that the devil +dropped a bell given to his saintship by the Holy Father, and Saint +Theodule was snug and safe inside it.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p><p>The prelate was right in his choice of the third. The thoughts of two +women took wings instantly. Mrs. de la Vere, throwing away a +half-smoked cigarette, hurried out of the veranda. Millicent Jaques, +whose carriage was ready for the long drive to St. Moritz, decided to +remain in Maloja.</p> + +<p>The outer door opened, with a rush of cold air and a whirl of snow. +People expected the postman; but Stampa entered,—only Stampa, the +broken survivor of the little band of guides who conquered the +Matterhorn. He doffed his Alpine hat, and seemed to be embarrassed by +the unusually large throng assembled in the passageway. Bower saw him, +and strode away into the dimly lighted foyer.</p> + +<p>“Pardon, <i>’sieurs et ’dames</i>,” said Stampa, advancing with his uneven +gait, a venerable and pathetic figure, the wreck of a giant, a man who +had aged years in a single day. He went to the bureau, and asked +permission to seek Herr Spencer in his room.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Helen was struggling back to consciousness when Mrs. de la Vere joined +the kindly women who were loosening her bodice and chafing her hands +and feet.</p> + +<p>The first words the girl heard were in English. A woman’s voice was +saying cheerfully, “There, my dear!” a simple formula of marvelous +recuperative effect,—“there now! You are all right again. But your +room is bitterly cold. Won’t you come into <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>mine? It is quite near, +and my stove has been alight all day.”</p> + +<p>Helen, opening her eyes, found herself gazing up at Mrs. de la Vere. +Real sympathy ranks high among good deeds. The girl’s lips quivered. +Returning life brought with it tears.</p> + +<p>The woman whom she had regarded as a social butterfly sat beside her +on the bed and placed a friendly arm round her neck. “Don’t cry, you +dear thing,” she cooed gently. “There is nothing to cry about. You are +a bit overwrought, of course; but, as it happens, you have scored +heavily off all of us—and not least off the creature who upset you. +Now, do try and come with me. Here are your slippers. The corridor is +empty. It is only a few steps.”</p> + +<p>“Come with you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you are shivering with the cold, and my room is gloriously +warm.”</p> + +<p>“But——”</p> + +<p>“There are no buts. Marie will bring a basin of nice hot soup. While +you are drinking it she will set your stove going. I know exactly how +you feel. The whole world is topsyturvy, and you don’t think there is +a smile in your make-up, as that dear American man who carried you +here would say.”</p> + +<p>Helen recovered her senses with exceeding rapidity. Mrs. de la Vere +was already leading her to the door.</p> + +<p>“What! Mr. Spencer—did he——”</p> + +<p>“He did. Come, now. I shall tell you all the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>trying details when you +are seated in my easy chair, and wrapped in the duckiest Shetland +shawl that a red headed laird sent me last Christmas. Excellent! Of +course you can walk! Isn’t every other woman in the hotel well aware +how you got that lovely figure? Yes, in that chair. And here is the +shawl. It’s just like being cuddled by a woolly lamb.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. de la Vere turned the keys in two doors. “Reggie always knocks,” +she explained; “but some inquisitive cat may follow me here, and I am +sure you don’t wish to be gushed over now, after everybody has been so +horrid to you.”</p> + +<p>“You were not,” said Helen gratefully.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I was, in a way. I hate most women; but I admired you ever since +you took the conceit out of that giddy husband of mine. If I didn’t +speak, it arose from sheer laziness—a sort of drifting with the +stream, in tow of the General and that old mischief maker, Mrs. +Vavasour. I’m sorry, and you will be quite justified to-morrow morning +in sailing past me and the rest as though we were beetles.”</p> + +<p>Then Helen laughed, feebly, it is true, but with a genuine mirth that +chased away momentarily the evergrowing memory of Millicent’s +injustice. “Why do you mention beetles?” she asked. “It is part of my +every day work to classify them.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. de la Vere was puzzled. “I believe you have said something very +cutting,” she cried. “If you did, we deserve it. But please tell me +the joke. I shall hand it on to the Wraggs.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p><p>“There is no joke. I act as secretary to a German professor of +entomology—insects, you know; he makes beetles a specialty.”</p> + +<p>The other woman’s eye danced. “It is all very funny,” she said, “and I +still have my doubts. Never mind. I want to atone for earlier +shortcomings. I felt that someone really ought to tell you what took +place in the outer foyer after you sank gracefully out of the act. Mr. +<span style="white-space: nowrap;">Bower——”</span></p> + +<p>A tap on the door leading into the corridor interrupted her. It was +Marie, armed with chicken broth and dry toast. Mrs. de la Vere, who +seemed to be filled with an honest anxiety to place Helen at her ease, +persuaded her to begin sipping the compound.</p> + +<p>“Well, what did Mr. Bower do?” demanded Helen, who was wondering now +why she had fainted. The accusation brought against her by Millicent +Jaques was untrue. Why should it disturb her so gravely? It did not +occur to her that the true cause was physical,—a too sudden change of +temperature.</p> + +<p>“He sat on that young woman from the Wellington Theater very severely, +I assure you. From her manner we all imagined she had some sort of +claim on him; but if she was laboring under any such delusion he cured +her. He said—Are you really strong enough to stand a shock?”</p> + +<p>“Twenty shocks. I can’t think how I could have been so silly——”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p><p>“Nerves, my dear. We all have ’em. Sometimes, if I didn’t smoke I +should scream. No woman really likes to see her husband flirting +openly with her friends. I’m no saint; but my wickedness is defensive. +Now, are you ready?”</p> + +<p>“Quite ready.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bower told us, <i>tout le monde</i>, you know, that he meant to marry +you.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Helen.</p> + +<p>During an appreciable pause neither woman spoke. Helen was not sure +whether she wanted to laugh or be angry. Mrs. de la Vere eyed her +curiously. The girl’s face was yet white and drawn. It was impossible +to guess how the great news affected her. The de la Veres were poor on +two thousand a year. What did it feel like to be the prospective bride +of a millionaire, especially when you were—what was it?—secretary to +a man who collected beetles!</p> + +<p>“Did Mr. Bower assign any reason for making that remarkable +statement?” said Helen at last.</p> + +<p>“He explained that the fact—I suppose it is a fact—would safeguard +you from the malice of an ex-coryphée. Indeed, he put it more +brutally. He spoke of the ‘slanderous malice of an ex-chorus girl.’ +The English term sounds a trifle harsher than the French, don’t you +think?”</p> + +<p>It began to dawn on Helen that Mrs. de la Vere’s friendliness might +have a somewhat sordid foundation. Was she tending her merely to +secure the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>freshest details of an affair that must be causing many +tongues to wag?</p> + +<p>“I am acquiring new theories of life since I came to Maloja,” she said +slowly. “One would have thought that I might be the first person to be +made aware of Mr. Bower’s intentions.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, this is really too funny. May I light a cigarette?”</p> + +<p>“Please do. And now it is my turn to ask you to point out the +exquisite humor of the situation.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be vexed with me, child. You needn’t say another word if you +don’t wish it; but surely you are not annoyed because I have given you +the tip as to what took place in the hall?”</p> + +<p>“You have been exceedingly good——”</p> + +<p>“No. I haven’t. I was just as nasty as the others, and I sneered like +the rest when Bower showed up a fortnight since. I was wrong, and I +apologize for it. Regard me as in sackcloth and ashes. But my heart +went out to you when you dropped like a log among all those staring +people. I’ve—I’ve done it myself, and my case was worse than yours. +Once in my life I loved a man, and I came home one day from the +hunting field to read a telegram from the War Office. He was +‘missing,’ it said—missing—in a rear-guard action in Tirah. Do you +know what that means?”</p> + +<p>A cloud of smoke hid her face; but it could not stifle the sob in her +voice. There was a knock at the door.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p><p>“Are you there, Edith?” demanded Reginald de la Vere.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Go away! I’m busy.”</p> + +<p>“But——”</p> + +<p>“Go away, I tell you!”</p> + +<p>Then she jerked a scornful hand toward the door. “Six months later I +was married—men who are missed among the Afridis don’t come back,” +she said.</p> + +<p>“I’m more sorry than I can put into words!” murmured Helen.</p> + +<p>“For goodness’ sake don’t let us grow sentimental. Shall we return to +our sheep? Don’t be afraid that I shall pasture the goats in the hall +on your confidences. Hasn’t Bower asked you?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“Then his action was all the more generous. He meant to squelch that +friend of yours—is she your friend?”</p> + +<p>“She used to be,” said Helen sadly.</p> + +<p>“And what do you mean to do about it? You will marry Bower, of +course?”</p> + +<p>Helen’s heart fluttered. Her color rose in a sudden wave. “I—I don’t +think so,” she breathed.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you? Well, I like you the better for saying so. I can picture +myself putting the same questions to one of the Wragg girls—to both +of ’em, in fact. I am older than you, and very much wiser in some of +the world’s ways, and my advice is, Don’t marry any man unless you are +sure you love him. If you do love him, you may keep him, for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>men are +patient creatures. But that is for you to decide. I can’t help you +there. I am mainly concerned, for the moment, in helping you over the +ice during the next day or two—if you will let me, that is. Probably +you have determined not to appear in public to-night. That will be a +mistake. Wear your prettiest frock, and dine with Reggie and me. We +shall invite Mr. Bower to join us, and two other people—some man and +woman I can depend on to keep things going. If we laugh and kick up no +end of a noise, it will not only worry the remainder of the crowd, but +you score heavily off the theatrical lady. See?”</p> + +<p>“I can see that you are acting the part of the good Samaritan,” cried +Helen.</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear, no—nothing so antiquated. Look at your future +position—the avowed wife of a millionaire. Eh, what? as Georgie +says.”</p> + +<p>“But I am not anything of the kind. Mr. Bower——”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bower is all right. He has the recognized history of the man who +makes a good husband, and you can’t help liking him, unless—unless +there is another man.”</p> + +<p>“There, at least, I am——” Helen hesitated. Something gripped her +heart and checked the modest protestation of her freedom.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de la Vere laughed. “If you are not sure, you are safe,” she +said, with a hard ring in her utterance that belied her easygoing +philosophy. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>“Really, you bring me back a lost decade. Now, Helen—may +I call you Helen?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, don’t forget that my name is Edith. You have just half an +hour to dress. I need every second of the time; so off you run to your +room. As I hear Reggie flinging his boots around next door, I shall +hurry him and arrange about the table. Call for me. We must go to the +foyer together. Now kiss me, there’s a dear.”</p> + +<p>Helen was wrestling with her refractory tresses—for the coiffure that +suits glaciers and Tam o’Shanters is not permissible in evening +dress—when a servant brought her a note.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Miss Wynton</span>,” it ran,—“If you are able to come down to +dinner, why not dine with me? Sincerely,</p> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 2em;">”<span class="smcap">Charles K. Spencer</span>.”</span></p></div> + +<p>She blushed and laughed a little. “I am in demand,” she thought, +flashing a pardonable glance at her own face in the mirror. She read +the brief invitation again. Spencer had a trick of printing the K in +his signature. It caught her fancy. It suggested strength, +trustworthiness. She did not know then that one of the shrewdest +scoundrels in the Western States had already commented on certain +qualities betokened by that letter in Spencer’s name.</p> + +<p>“I cannot refuse,” she murmured. “To be candid, I don’t want to +refuse. What shall I do?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span></p><p>Bidding the servant wait, she twisted her hair into a coil, threw a +wrap round her shoulders, and tapped on Mrs. de la Vere’s door.</p> + +<p>“<i>Entrez!</i>” cried that lady.</p> + +<p>“I am in a bit of difficulty,” said Helen. “Mr. Spencer wishes me to +dine with him. Would you——”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I’ll ask him to join us. Reggie will see him too. Really, +Helen, this is amusing. I am beginning to suspect you.”</p> + +<p>So Spencer received a surprising answer. He read it without any sign +of the amusement Mrs. de la Vere extracted from the situation, for +Helen took care to recite the whole arrangement.</p> + +<p>“I’m going through with this,” he growled savagely, “even if I have to +drink Bower’s health—damn him!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i241.jpg" width="500" height="271" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE ALLIES</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">S</span>eldom, if ever, has a more strangely assorted party met at dinner +than that which gathered in the Hotel Kursaal under the social wing of +Mrs. de la Vere. Her husband, while being coached in essentials, was +the first to discover its incongruities.</p> + +<p>“Where Miss Wynton is concerned, you are warned off,” his wife told +him dryly. “You must console yourself with Mrs. Badminton-Smythe. She +will stand anything to cut out a younger and prettier woman.”</p> + +<p>“Where do you come in, Edie?” said he; for Mrs. de la Vere’s delicate +aristocratic beauty seemed to be the natural complement of her +sporting style, and to-night there was a wistful charm in her face +that the lively Reginald had not seen there before.</p> + +<p>She turned aside, busying herself with her toilet. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>“I don’t come in. +I went out five years ago,” she cried, with a mocking laugh.</p> + +<p>“Do you know,” he muttered, “I often wonder why the deuce you an’ I +got married.”</p> + +<p>“Because, sweet Reginald, we were made for each other by a wise +Providence. What other woman of your acquaintance would tolerate +you—as a husband?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dash it all! if it comes to that——”</p> + +<p>“For goodness’ sake, don’t fuss, or begin to think. Run away and +interview the head waiter. Then you are to buttonhole Bower and the +American. I am just sending a chit to the Badminton-Smythes.”</p> + +<p>“Who is my partner?”</p> + +<p>“Lulu, of course.”</p> + +<p>De la Vere was puzzled, and looked it. “I suppose it is all right,” he +growled. “Still, I can’t help thinking you’ve got something up your +sleeve, Edie.”</p> + +<p>She stamped a very pretty foot angrily. “Do as I tell you! Didn’t you +hear what Bower said? He will be everlastingly obliged to us for +coming to the rescue in this fashion. Next time you have a flutter in +the city, his friendship may be useful.”</p> + +<p>“By gad!” cried Reginald, beginning, as he fancied, to see light, +“something seems to have bitten you this evening. Tell you what—Lulu +is a non-runner. Get Bower to put you on to a soft thing in Africans, +an’ you an’ I will have a second honeymoon in Madeira next winter. +Honor bright! I mean it.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span></p><p>She seized a silver mounted brush from the dressing table with the +obvious intent of speeding his departure. He dodged out, and strolled +down the corridor.</p> + +<p>“Never saw Edie in that sort of tantrum before,” he said to himself. +“If she only knew how sick I was of all this jolly rot, perhaps we’d +run better in double harness.”</p> + +<p>So it came to pass, when the company assembled in the great dining +room, that Bower sat on Mrs. de la Vere’s left, and Spencer on her +right. Beyond them, respectively, were Lulu Badminton-Smythe and her +husband, and between these latter were de la Vere and Helen. Thus, the +girl was separated from the two men whom her shrewd eyed hostess had +classed as rivals, while the round table made possible a general +conversation.</p> + +<p>The talk could hardly fail to turn on the day’s adventures. Spencer, +who had never before in his life thrust himself forward in a social +gathering, did so now with fixed purpose. He meant to eclipse Bower in +a territory where that polished man of the world was accustomed to +reign unchallenged. But he had the wisdom to wait. He guessed, not +without good cause, that more than one late arrival would pause beside +their table and make polite inquiries as to the climbers’ well being. +These interruptions were fatal to Bower’s well balanced periods. The +journey to the hut, therefore, was dealt with jerkily.</p> + +<p>When Spencer took up the thread, he caught and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>held the attention of +his hearers. In this he was helped considerably by his quaint idioms. +To English ears, American expressions are always amusing. Spencer, of +course, could speak quite as correct English as anyone present; but he +realized that in this instance a certain amount of picturesque +exaggeration would lend itself to humor. His quick ear too had missed +none of the queer mixture of prayers and objurgations with which Karl +and the two guides hailed every incident. His selections set them all +in a roar. In fact, they were the liveliest party in the room. Many an +eye was drawn by a merriment that offered such striking contrast to +the dramatic episode in the outer hall.</p> + +<p>“The one person missing from that crowd is the stage lady,” was Miss +Gladys Wragg’s caustic comment, when Badminton-Smythe evoked a fresh +outburst by protesting that he forgot to eat his fish owing to +Spencer’s beastly funny yarn.</p> + +<p>And Miss Wragg’s criticism was justified. It only needed Millicent’s +presence to add a wizard’s touch to the amazement with which Mrs. +Vavasour and others of her kind regarded the defection of the de la +Veres and the Badminton-Smythes. But Millicent was dining in her own +room. The last thing she dreamed of was that Helen would face the +other residents in the hotel after the ordeal she had gone through an +hour earlier. She half expected that Bower would endeavor to meet her +privately while dinner was being served. She was ready for him. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>She +prepared a number of sarcastic little speeches, each with a subtle +venom of its own, and even rehearsed a pose or two with a view toward +scenic effect. But she had neither taken Bower’s measure nor counted +on Mrs. de la Vere’s superior strategy. All that happened was that she +ate a lukewarm meal, and was left to wonder at her one-time admirer’s +boldness in accepting a situation that many a daring man would have +striven to evade.</p> + +<p>After dinner it was the custom of the habitués to break up into small +groups and arrange the night’s amusement. Dancing claimed the younger +element, while card games had their devotees. Mrs. de la Vere danced +invariably; but to-night she devoted herself to Helen. She was under +no illusions. Bower and Spencer were engaged in a quiet duel, and the +victor meant to monopolize the girl for the remainder of the evening. +That was preventable. They could fight their battle on some other +occasion. At present there was one thing of vital importance,—the +unpleasant impression created by the actress’s bitter attack must be +dissipated, and Mrs. de la Vere, secretly marveling at her own +enthusiasm, aimed at the achievement.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be drawn away from me on any pretext,” she whispered, linking +her arm through Helen’s as they passed out into the foyer. “And be +gracious to everybody, even to those who have been most cattish.”</p> + +<p>Helen was far too excited and grateful to harbor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>animosity. Moreover, +she dreaded the chance of being left alone with Bower. As he had +already declared his intentions publicly, she was sure he would seize +the first opportunity to ask her to marry him. And what would be her +answer? She hardly knew. She must have time to think. She must search +her own heart. She almost flinched from the succeeding thought,—was +it that her soul had found another mate? If that was so, she must +refuse Bower, though the man she was learning to love might pass out +of her life and leave her desolate.</p> + +<p>She liked Bower, even respected him. Never for an instant had the +notion intruded that he had followed her to Switzerland with an +unworthy motive. To her mind, nothing could be more straightforward +than their acquaintance. The more she reflected on Millicent Jaques’s +extraordinary conduct, the more she was astounded by its utter +baselessness. And Bower was admirable in many ways. He stood high in +the opinion of the world. He was rich, cultured, and seemingly very +deeply enamored of her undeserving self. What better husband could any +girl desire? He would give her everything that made life worth living. +Indeed, if the truth must be told, she was phenomenally lucky.</p> + +<p>Thus did she strive to silence misgivings, to quell doubt, to order +and regulate a blurred medley of subconscious thought. While laughing, +and talking, and making the most successful efforts to be at ease with +the dozens of people who came and spoke to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>Mrs. de la Vere and +herself, she felt like some frail vessel dancing blithely in a swift, +smooth current, yet hastening ever to the verge of a cataract.</p> + +<p>Once Bower approached, skillfully piloting Mrs. Badminton-Smythe; for +Reginald, tiring of the rôle thrust on him by his wife, had gone to +play bridge. It was his clear intent to take Helen from her chaperon.</p> + +<p>“It is still snowing, though not so heavily,” he said. “Come on the +veranda, and look at the landscape. The lake is a pool of ink in the +middle of a white table cloth.”</p> + +<p>“The snow will be far more visible in the morning, and we have a lot +of ice to melt here,” interposed Mrs. de la Vere quickly.</p> + +<p>The man and woman, both well versed in the ways of society, looked +each other squarely in the eye. Though disappointed, the man +understood, was even appreciative.</p> + +<p>“Miss Wynton is fortunate in her friends,” he said, and straightway +went to the writing room. He felt that Helen was safe with this +unexpected ally. He could afford to bide his time. Nothing could now +undo the effect of his open declaration while flouting Millicent +Jaques. If he gave that wayward young person a passing thought, it was +one of gladness that she had precipitated matters. There remained only +an unpleasant meeting with Stampa in the morning. He shuddered at the +recollection that he had nearly done a foolish thing while crossing +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span>crevasse. What sinister influence could have so weakened his +nerve as to make him think of murder? Crime was the last resource of +impaired intellect. He was able to laugh now at the stupid memory of +it.</p> + +<p>True, the American——</p> + +<p>By the way, what did Millicent mean by her shrewish cry that Spencer +was paying for Helen’s holiday? So engrossed was he in other +directions that his early doubts with regard to “The Firefly’s” +unprecedented enterprise in sending a representative to this +out-of-the-way Swiss valley had been lulled to sleep. Of course, he +had caused certain inquiries to be made—that was his method. One of +the telegrams he dispatched from Zurich after Helen’s train bustled +off to Coire started the investigation. Thus far, a trusted clerk +could only ascertain that the newspaper had undoubtedly commissioned +the girl on the lines indicated. Still, the point demanded attention. +He resolved to telegraph further instructions in the morning, with +Spencer’s name added as a clew, though, to be sure, he was not done +with Millicent yet. He would reckon with her also on the morrow. +Perhaps, if he annoyed her sufficiently, she might explain that +cryptic taunt.</p> + +<p>Could he have seen a letter that was brought to Spencer’s room before +dinner, the telegram would not have been written. Mackenzie, rather +incoherent with indignation, sent a hurried scrawl.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Spencer</span>,” it ran,—“A devil of a thing has happened. +To-day,” the date being three days old, “I went out to lunch, +leaving a thick headed subeditor in charge. I had not been gone +ten minutes when a stage fairy, all frills and flounces, whisked +into the office and asked for Miss Wynton’s address. My assistant +succumbed instantly. He was nearly asphyxiated with joy at being +permitted to entertain, not unawares, that angel of musical +comedy, Miss Millicent Jaques. His maundering excuse is that you +yourself seemed to acknowledge Miss Jaques’s right to be +acquainted with her friend’s whereabouts. I have good reason to +believe that the frail youth not only spoke of Maloja, but +supplied such details as were known to him of your kindness in the +matter. I have cursed him extensively; but that can make no +amends. At any rate, I feel that you should be told, and it only +remains for me to express my lasting regret that the incident +should have occurred.”</p></div> + +<p>This letter, joined to certain lurid statements made by Stampa, had +induced Spencer to accept Mrs. de la Vere’s invitation. Little as he +cared to dine in Bower’s company, it was due to Helen that he should +not refuse. He was entangled neck and heels in a net of his own +contriving. For very shame’s sake, he could not wriggle out, leaving +Helen in the toils.</p> + +<p>Surely there never was a day more crammed with contrarieties. He +witnessed his adversary’s rebuff, and put it down to its rightful +cause. No sooner had he discovered Mrs. de la Vere’s apparent motive +in keeping the girl by her side, than he was buttonholed by the Rev. +Philip Hare.</p> + +<p>“You know I am not an ardent admirer of Bower,” said the cleric; “but +I must admit that it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>was very manly of him to make that outspoken +statement about Miss Wynton.”</p> + +<p>“What statement?” asked Spencer.</p> + +<p>“Ah, I had forgotten. You were not present, of course. He made the +other woman’s hysterical outburst supremely ridiculous by saying, in +effect, that he meant to marry Miss Wynton.”</p> + +<p>“He said that, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. He was quite emphatic. I rebuked Miss Jaques myself, and he +thanked me.”</p> + +<p>“Everything was nicely cut and dried in my absence, it seems.”</p> + +<p>“Well—er——”</p> + +<p>“The crowd evidently lost sight of the fact that I had carried off the +prospective bride.”</p> + +<p>“N-no. Miss Jaques called attention to it.”</p> + +<p>“Guess her head is screwed on straight, <i>padre</i>. She made a bad break +in attacking Miss Wynton; but when she set about Bower she was running +on a strong scent. Sit tight, Mr. Hare. Don’t take sides, or whoop up +the wrong spout, and you’ll see heaps of fun before you’re much +older.”</p> + +<p>Mightily incensed, the younger man turned away. The vicar produced his +handkerchief and trumpeted into it loudly.</p> + +<p>“God bless my soul!” he said, and repeated the pious wish, for he felt +that it did him good, “how does one whoop up the wrong spout? And what +happens if one does? And how remarkably touchy everybody seems to be. +Next time I apply to the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>C.M.S. for an Alpine station, I shall +stipulate for a low altitude. I am sure this rarefied air is bad for +the nerves.”</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, Hare’s startling communication was the one thing needed +to clear away the doubts that beset Spencer at the dinner table. He +had seen Mrs. de la Vere enter Helen’s bedroom when he left the girl +in charge of a gesticulating maid; but an act of womanly solicitude +did not explain the friendship that sprang so suddenly into existence. +Now he understood, or thought he understood, which is a man’s way when +he seeks to interpret a woman’s mind. Mrs. de la Vere, like the rest, +was dazzled by Bower’s wealth. After ignoring Helen during the past +fortnight, she was prepared to toady to her instantly in her new guise +as the chosen bride of a millionaire. The belief added fuel to the +fire already raging in his breast.</p> + +<p>There never was man more loyal to woman in his secret meditations than +Spencer; but his gorge rose at the sight of Helen’s winsome gratitude +to one so unworthy of it. With him, now as ever, to think was to act.</p> + +<p>Watching his chance, he waylaid Helen when her vigilant chaperon was +momentarily absorbed in a suggestion that private theatricals and the +rehearsal of a minuet would relieve the general tedium while the snow +held.</p> + +<p>“Spare me five minutes, Miss Wynton,” he said. “I want to tell you +something.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p><p>Mrs. de la Vere pirouetted round on him before the girl could answer.</p> + +<p>“Miss Wynton is just going to bed,” she informed him graciously. “You +know how tired she is, Mr. Spencer. You must wait till the morning.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t feel like waiting; but I promise to cut down my remarks to +one minute—by the clock.” He answered Mrs. de la Vere, but looked at +Helen.</p> + +<p>Her color rose and fell almost with each beat of her heart. She saw +the steadfast purpose in his eyes, and shrank from the decision she +would be called upon to make. Hardly realizing what form the words +took, she gave faint utterance to the first lucid idea that presented +itself. “I think—I must really—go to my room,” she murmured. “You +wouldn’t—like me—to faint twice in one evening—Mr. Spencer?”</p> + +<p>It was an astonishing thing to say, the worst thing possible. It +betrayed an exact knowledge of his purpose in seeking this interview. +His eyes blazed with a quick light. It seemed that he was answered +before he spoke.</p> + +<p>“Not one second. Go away, do!” broke in Mrs. de la Vere, whisking +Helen toward the elevator without further parley. But she shot a +glance at Spencer over her shoulder that he could not fail to +interpret as a silent message of encouragement. Forthwith he viewed +her behavior from a more favorable standpoint.</p> + +<p>“Guess the feminine make-up is more complex <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>than I counted on,” he +communed, as he bent over a table to find a match, that being a +commonplace sort of action calculated to disarm suspicion, lest others +might be observing him, and wondering why the women retired so +promptly.</p> + +<p>“I like your American, my dear,” said Mrs. de la Vere sympathetically, +in the solitude of the corridor.</p> + +<p>Helen was silent.</p> + +<p>“If you want to cry, don’t mind me,” went on the kindly cynic. “I’m +coming in with you. I’ll light up while you weep, and then you must +tell me all about it. That will do you a world of good.”</p> + +<p>“There’s n-n-nothing to tell!” bleated Helen.</p> + +<p>“Oh yes, there is. You silly child, to-morrow you will have to choose +between those two men. Which shall it be? I said before dinner that I +couldn’t help you to decide. Perhaps I was mistaken. Anyhow, I’ll +try.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>At midnight the snow storm ceased, the wind died away, and the still +air deposited its vapor on hills and valley in a hoar frost. The sun +rose with a magnificent disregard for yesterday’s riot.</p> + +<p>Spencer’s room faced the southeast. When the valet drew his blind in +the morning the cold room was filled with a balmy warmth. A glance +through the window, however, dispelled a germ of hope that Helen and +he might start on the promised walk to Vicosoprano. The snow lay deep +in the pass, and probably extended a mile or two down into the Vale +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>of Bregaglia. The rapid thaw that would set in during the forenoon +might clear the roads before sunset. Next day, walking would be +practicable; to-day it meant wading.</p> + +<p>He looked through the Orlegna gorge, and caught the silvery sheen of +the Cima di Rosso’s snow capped summit. Hardly a rock was visible. The +gale had clothed each crag with a white shroud. All day long the upper +reaches of the glacier would be pelted by avalanches. It struck him +that an early stroll to the highest point of the path beyond Cavloccio +might be rewarded with a distant view of several falls. In any case, +it provided an excellent pretext for securing Helen’s company, and he +would have cheerfully suggested a trip in a balloon to attain the same +object.</p> + +<p>The temperature of his bath water induced doubts as to the imminence +of the thaw. Indeed, the air was bitterly cold as yet. The snow lay +closely on roads and meadow land. It had the texture of fine powder. +Passing traffic left shallow, well defined marks. A couple of +stablemen swung their arms to restore circulation. The breath of +horses and cattle showed in dense clouds.</p> + +<p>For once in his life the color of a tie and the style of his clothes +became matters of serious import. At first, he was blind to the humor +of it. He hesitated between the spruce tightness of a suit fashioned +by a New York tailor and the more loosely designed garments he had +purchased in London. Then he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span>laughed and reddened. Flinging both +aside, he chose the climber’s garb worn the previous day, and began to +dress hurriedly. Therein he was well advised. Nothing could better +become his athletic figure. He was that type of man who looks thinner +when fully clothed. He had never spared himself when asking others to +work hard, and he received his guerdon now in a frame of iron and +sinews of pliant steel.</p> + +<p>Helen usually came down to breakfast at half-past eight. She had the +healthy British habit of beginning the day with a good meal, and +Spencer indulged in the conceit that he might be favored with a +tête-à-tête before they started for the projected walk. Neither Bower +nor Mrs. de la Vere ever put in an appearance at that hour. Though +Americans incline to the Continental manner of living, this true +Westerner found himself a sudden convert to English methods. In a +word, he was in love, and his lady could not err. To please her he was +prepared to abjure iced water—even to drink tea.</p> + +<p>But, as often happens, his cheery mood was destined to end in +disappointment. He lingered a whole hour in the <i>salle à manger</i>, but +Helen came not. Then he rose in a panic. What if she had breakfasted +in her room, and was already basking in the sunlit veranda—perhaps +listening to Bower’s eloquence? He rushed out so suddenly that his +waiter was amazed. Really, these Americans were +incomprehensible—weird <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>as the English. The two races dwelt far +apart, but they moved in the same erratic orbit. To the stolid German +mind they were human comets, whose comings and goings were not to be +gaged by any reasonable standard.</p> + +<p>No, the veranda was empty—to him. Plenty of people greeted him; but +there was no Helen. Ultimately he reflected that their appointment was +for ten o’clock. He calmed down, and a pipe became obvious. He was +enjoying that supremest delight of the smoker—the first soothing +whiffs of the day’s tobacco—when a servant brought him a note. The +handwriting was strange to his eyes; but a premonition told him that +it was Helen’s. Somehow, he expected that she would write in a clear, +strong, legible way. He was not mistaken. She sent a friendly little +message that she was devoting the morning to work. The weather made it +impossible to go to Vicosoprano, and in any event she did not feel +equal to a long walk. “Yesterday’s events,” she explained, “took more +out of me than I imagined.”</p> + +<p>Well, she had been thinking of him, and that counted. He was staring +at the snow covered tennis courts, and wondering how soon the valley +would regain its summer aspect, when Stampa limped into sight round +the corner of the hotel. He stood at the foot of the broad flight of +steps, as though waiting for someone. Spencer was about to join him +for a chat, when he recollected that Bower and the guide had an +arrangement to meet in the morning.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span></p><p>With the memory came a queer jumble of impressions. Stampa’s story, +told overnight, was a sad one; but the American was too fair minded to +affect a moral detestation of Bower because of a piece of folly that +wrecked a girl’s life sixteen years ago. If the sins of a man’s youth +were to shadow his whole life, then charity and regeneration must be +cast out of the scheme of things. Moreover, Bower’s version of the +incident might put a new face on it. There was no knowing how he too +had been tempted and suffered. That he raged against the resurrection +of a bygone misdeed was shown by his mad impulse to kill Stampa on the +glacier. That such a man, strong in the power of his wealth and social +position, should even dream of blotting out the past by a crime, +offered the clearest proof of the frenzy that possessed him as soon as +he recognized Etta Stampa’s father.</p> + +<p>Not one word of his personal belief crossed Spencer’s lips during the +talk with the guide. Rather did he impress on his angry and vengeful +hearer that a forgotten scandal should be left in its tomb. He took +this line, not that he posed as a moralist, but because he hated to +acknowledge, even to himself, that he was helped in his wooing by +Helen’s horror of his rival’s lapse from the standard every pure +minded woman sets up in her ideal lover. Ethically, he might be wrong; +in his conscience he was justified. He had suffered too grievously +from every species of intrigue and calumny during his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>own career not +to be ultra-sensitive in regard to the use of such agents.</p> + +<p>Yet, watching the bent and crippled old man waiting there in the snow, +a sense of pity and mourning chilled his heart with ice cold touch.</p> + +<p>“If I were Stampa’s son, if that dead girl were my sister, how would +<i>I</i> settle with Bower?” he asked, clenching his pipe firmly between +his teeth. “Well, I could only ask God to be merciful both to him and +to me.”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious, Mr. Spencer! why that fierce gaze at our delightful +valley?” came the voice of Mrs. de la Vere. “I am glad none of us can +give you the address of the Swiss clerk of the weather—or you would +surely slay him.”</p> + +<p>He turned. Convention demanded a smile and a polite greeting; but +Spencer was not conventional. “You are a thought reader, Mrs. de la +Vere,” he said.</p> + +<p>“‘One of my many attractions,’ you should have added.”</p> + +<p>“I find this limpid light too critical.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, what a horrid thing to tell any woman, especially in the early +morning!”</p> + +<p>“I have a wretched habit of putting the second part of a sentence +first. I really intended to say—but it is too late.”</p> + +<p>“It is rather like swallowing the sugar coating after the pill; but +I’ll try.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, this crystal atmosphere does not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>lend itself to the +obvious. If we were in London, I should catalogue your bewitchments +lest you imagined I was blind to them.”</p> + +<p>“That sounds nice, but——”</p> + +<p>“It demands analysis, so I have failed doubly.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t feel up to talking like a character in one of Henry James’s +novels. And you were much more amusing last night. Have you seen Miss +Jaques this morning?”</p> + +<p>“No. That is, I don’t think so.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know her?”</p> + +<p>“No.”</p> + +<p>“It would be a kind thing if someone told her that there are other +places in Switzerland where she will command the general admiration +she deserves.”</p> + +<p>“I am inclined to believe that there is a man in the hotel who can put +that notion before her delicately.”</p> + +<p>Spencer possessed the unchanging gravity of expression that the whole +American race seems to have borrowed from the Red Indian. Mrs. de la +Vere’s eyes twinkled as she gazed at him.</p> + +<p>“You didn’t hear what was said last night,” she murmured. “Where +Millicent Jaques is concerned, delicacy is absent from Mr. Bower’s +make-up—is that good New York?”</p> + +<p>“It would be understood.”</p> + +<p>This time he smiled. Mrs. de la Vere wished to be a friend to Helen. +Whatsoever her motive, the wish was excellent.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p><p>“You are severe,” she pouted. “Of course I ought not to mimic you——”</p> + +<p>“Pray do. I had no idea I spoke so nicely.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. But I am serious. I have espoused Miss Wynton’s cause, and +there will be nothing but unhappiness for her while that other girl +remains here.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you are mistaken,” he said slowly, meeting her quizzing glance +without flinching.</p> + +<p>“That is precisely where a woman’s point of view differs from a +man’s,” she countered. “In our lives we are swayed by things that men +despise. We are conscious of sidelong looks and whisperings. We dread +the finger of scorn. When you have a wife, Mr. Spencer, you will begin +to realize the limitations of the feminine horizon.”</p> + +<p>“Are you asking me to take this demonstrative young lady in hand?”</p> + +<p>“I believe you would succeed.”</p> + +<p>Spencer smiled again. He had not credited Mrs. de la Vere with such +fine perceptiveness. If her words meant anything, they implied an +alliance, offensive and defensive, for Helen’s benefit and his own.</p> + +<p>“Guess we’ll leave it right there till I’ve had a few words with Miss +Wynton,” he said, dropping suddenly into colloquial phrase.</p> + +<p>“A heart to heart talk, in fact.” She laughed pleasantly, and opened +her cigarette case.</p> + +<p>“Tell you what, Mrs. de la Vere,” he said, “if <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>ever you come to +Colorado I shall hail you as a real cousin!”</p> + +<p>Then a silence fell between them. Bower was walking out of the hotel. +He passed close in front of the glass partition, and might have seen +them if his eyes were not as preoccupied as his mind. But he was +looking at Stampa, and frowning in deep thought. The guide heard his +slow, heavy tread, and turned. The two met. They exchanged no word, +but went away together, the lame peasant hobbling along by the side of +the tall, well dressed plutocrat.</p> + +<p>“How odd!” said Mrs. de la Vere. “How exceedingly odd!”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i262.jpg" width="500" height="271" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>THE COMPACT</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">N</span>ow, what have you to say? We are safe from meddlers here.”</p> + +<p>Bower spoke curtly. Stampa and he were halfway across the narrow strip +of undulating meadow land which shut off the hotel from the village. +They had followed the footpath, a busy thoroughfare bombarded with +golf balls on fine mornings, but likely to be unfrequented till the +snow melted. Receiving no answer, Bower glanced sharply at his +companion; but the old guide might be unaware of his presence, so +steadily did he trudge onward, with downcast, introspective eyes. +Resolved to make an end of a silence that was irksome, Bower halted.</p> + +<p>Then, for the first time, Stampa opened his lips. “Not here,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Why not? We are alone.”</p> + +<p>“You must come with me, Herr Baron.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p><p>“That is not my title.”</p> + +<p>“It used to be. It will serve as well as any other.”</p> + +<p>“I refuse to stir a yard farther.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Stampa, “I will kill you where you stand!”</p> + +<p>Neither in voice nor feature did he exhibit any emotion. He merely put +forward an all-sufficing reason, and left it at that.</p> + +<p>Bower was no coward. Though the curiously repressed manner of the +threat sent a wave of blood from his face to his heart, he strode +suddenly nearer. Ready and eager to grapple with his adversary before +a weapon could be drawn, he peered into the peasant’s care lined face.</p> + +<p>“So that is your plan, is it?” he said thickly. “You would entice me +to some lonely place, where you can shoot or stab me at your own good +pleasure. Fool! I can overpower you instantly, and have you sent to a +jail or a lunatic asylum for the rest of your life.”</p> + +<p>“I carry no knife, nor can I use a pistol, Herr Baron,” was the +unruffled answer. “I do not need them. My hands are enough. You are a +man, a big, strong man, with all a man’s worst passions. Have you +never felt that you could tear your enemy with your nails, choke him +till the bones of his neck crackled, and his tongue lolled out like a +panting dog’s? That is how I too may feel if you deny my request. And +I will kill you, Marcus Bauer! As sure as God is in Heaven, I will +kill you!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p><p>Fear now lent its blind fury to the instinct of self preservation. +Bower leaped at Stampa, determined to master him at the first +onslaught. But he was heavy and slow, inert after long years of +physical indolence. The older man, awkward only because of his +crippled leg, swung himself clear of Bower’s grip, and sprang out of +reach.</p> + +<p>“If there be any who look, ’tis you who risk imprisonment,” he said +calmly, with a touch of humor that assuredly he did not intend.</p> + +<p>Bower knew then how greatly he had erred. It was a mistake ever to +have agreed to meet Stampa alone—a much greater one not to have +waited to be attacked. As Stampa said truly, if anyone in the village +had seen his mad action, there would be testimony that he was the +aggressor. He frowned at Stampa in a bull-like rage, glowering at him +in a frenzy of impotence. This dour old man opposed a grim barrier to +his hopes. It was intolerable that he, Mark Bower the millionaire, a +man who held within his grasp all that the material world has to give, +should be standing there at the mercy of a Swiss peasant. Throughout +the dreary vigil of the night he had pondered this thing, and could +find no loophole of escape. The record of that accursed summer sixteen +years ago was long since obliterated in the history of Marcus Bauer, +the emotional youth who made love to a village belle in Zermatt, and +posed as an Austrian baron among the English and Italians who at that +time formed the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>select band of climbers in the Valais. But the +short-lived romance was dead and buried, and its memory brought the +taste of Dead Sea ashes to the mouth.</p> + +<p>Marcus Bauer had become a naturalized Englishman. The mock barony was +replaced by a wealth that might buy real titles. But the crime still +lived, and woe to Mark Bower, the financial magnate, if it was brought +home to him! He had not risen above his fellows without making +enemies. He well knew the weakness and the strength of the British +social system, with its strange complacency, its “allowances,” its +hysterical prudery, its queer amalgam of Puritanism and light hearted +forbearance. He might gamble with loaded dice in the City, and people +would applaud him as cleverer and shrewder than his opponents. His +name might be coupled with that of a pretty actress, and people would +only smile knowingly. But let a hint of his betrayal of Etta Stampa +and its attendant circumstances reach the ears of those who hated him, +and he would sink forthwith into the slough of rich parvenus who eke +out their lives in vain efforts to enter the closely guarded circle +from which he had been expelled.</p> + +<p>If that was the only danger, he might meet and vanquish it. The +unscrupulous use of money, backed up by the law of libel, can do a +great deal to still the public conscience. There was another, more +subtle and heart searching.</p> + +<p>He was genuinely in love with Helen Wynton. He had reached an age when +position and power were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>more gratifying than mere gilded Bohemianism. +He could enter Parliament either by way of Palace Yard or through the +portals of the Upper House. He owned estates in Scotland and the home +counties, and his Park Lane mansion figured already in the address +books of half the peerage. It pleased him to think that in placing a +charming and gracious woman like Helen at the head of his household, +she would look to him as the lodestar of her existence, and not +tolerate him with the well-bred hauteur of one of the many +aristocratic young women who were ready enough to marry him, but who, +in their heart of hearts, despised him. He had deliberately avoided +that sort of matrimonial blunder. It promised more than it fulfilled. +He refused to wed a woman who deemed her social rank dearly bartered +for his money.</p> + +<p>Yet, before ever the question arose, he knew quite well that this girl +whom he had chosen—the poorly paid secretary of some harmless +enthusiast, the strangely selected correspondent of an insignificant +journal—would spurn him with scorn if she heard the story Stampa +might tell of his lost daughter. That was the wildest absurdity in the +mad jumble of events which brought him here face to face with a broken +and frayed old man,—one whom he had never seen before the previous +day. It was of a piece with this fantasy that he should be standing +ankle deep in snow under the brilliant sun of August, and in risk, if +not in fear, of his life within two hundred yards of a crowded hotel +and a placid Swiss village.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p><p>His usually well ordered brain rebelled against these manifest +incongruities. His passion subsided almost as quickly as it had +arisen. He moistened his cold lips with his tongue, and the action +seemed to restore his power of speech.</p> + +<p>“I suppose you have some motive in bringing me here. What is it?” he +said.</p> + +<p>“You must come to the cemetery. It is not far.”</p> + +<p>This unlooked for reply struck a new note. It had such a bizarre +effect that Bower actually laughed. “Then you really are mad?” he +guffawed harshly.</p> + +<p>“No, not at all. I was on the verge of madness the other day; but I +was pulled back in time, thanks to the Madonna, else I might never +have met you.”</p> + +<p>“Do you expect me to walk quietly to the burial ground in order that I +may be slaughtered conveniently?”</p> + +<p>“I am not going to kill you, Marcus Bauer,” said Stampa. “I trust the +good God will enable me to keep my hands off you. He will punish you +in His own good time. You are safe from me.”</p> + +<p>“A moment ago you spoke differently.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, that was because you refused to come with me. Assuredly I shall +bring either you or your lying tongue to Etta’s grave this morning. +But you will come now. You are afraid, Herr Baron. I see it in your +eyes, and you value that well-fed body of yours too highly not to do +as I demand. Believe me, within the next few minutes you shall <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>either +kneel by my little girl’s grave or tumble into your own.”</p> + +<p>“I am not afraid, Stampa. I warn you again that I am more than a match +for you. Yet I would willingly make any reparation within my power for +the wrong I have done you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes—that is all I ask—reparation, such as it is. Not to me—to +Etta. Come then. I have no weapon, I repeat. You trust to your size +and strength; so, by your own showing, you are safe. But you must +come!”</p> + +<p>A gleam of confidence crept into Bower’s eyes. Was it not wise to +humor this old madman? Perhaps, by displaying a remorse that was not +all acting, he might arrange a truce, secure a breathing space. He +would be free to deal with Millicent Jaques. He might so contrive +matters that Helen should be far removed from Stampa’s dangerous +presence before the threatened disclosure was made. Yes, a wary +prudence in speech and action might accomplish much. Surely he dared +match his brain against a peasant’s.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said, “I shall accompany you. But remember, at the +least sign of violence, I shall not only defend myself, but drag you +off to the communal guardhouse.”</p> + +<p>Without any answer, Stampa resumed his steady plodding through the +snow. Bower followed, somewhat in the rear. He glanced sharply back +toward the hotel. So far as he could judge, no one had <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>witnessed that +frantic spring at his tormentor. At that hour, nearly every resident +would be on the sunlit veranda. He wondered whether or not Helen and +Millicent had met again. He wished now he had interviewed Millicent +last night. Her problem was simple enough,—a mere question of terms. +Spite had carried her boldly through the scene in the foyer; but she +was far too sensible a young woman to persist in a hopeless quarrel.</p> + +<p>It was one of the fatalities that dogged his footsteps ever since he +came to Maloja that the only person watching him at the moment should +happen to be Millicent herself. Her room was situated at the back of +the hotel, and she had fallen asleep after many hours of restless +thought. When the clang of a bell woke her with a start she found that +the morning was far advanced. She dressed hurriedly, rather in a panic +lest her quarry might have evaded her by an early flight. The fine +panorama of the Italian Alps naturally attracted her eyes. She was +staring at it idly, when she saw Bower and Stampa crossing the open +space in front of her bed room window.</p> + +<p>Stampa, of course, was unknown to her. In some indefinable way his +presence chimed with her fear that Bower would leave Maloja forthwith. +Did he intend to post through the Vale of Bregaglia to Chiavenna? +Then, indeed, she might be called on to overcome unforeseen +difficulties. She appreciated his character to the point of believing +that Helen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>was his dupe. She regretted now that she was so foolish as +to attack her one-time friend openly. Far better have asked Helen to +visit her privately, and endeavor to find out exactly how the land lay +before she encountered Bower. At any rate, she ought to learn without +delay whether or not he was hiring post horses in the village. If so, +he was unwilling to meet her, and the battle royal must take place in +London.</p> + +<p>A maid entered with coffee and rolls.</p> + +<p>“Who is that man with the English monsieur?” inquired Millicent, +pointing to the two.</p> + +<p>The servant was a St. Moritz girl, and a glance sufficed. “That? He is +Christian Stampa, madam. He used to drive one of Joos’s carriages; but +he had a misfortune. He nearly killed a lady whom he was bringing to +the hotel, and was dismissed in consequence. Now he is guide to an +American gentleman. My God! but they are droll, the Americans!”</p> + +<p>The maid laughed, and created a clatter with basin and hot water can. +Millicent, forcing herself to eat quickly, continued to gaze after the +pair. The description of Stampa’s employer interested her. His +drollery evidently consisted in hiring a cripple as guide.</p> + +<p>“Is the American monsieur named Charles K. Spencer?” she said, +speaking very clearly.</p> + +<p>“I do not know, madam. But Marie, who is on the second, can tell me. +Shall I ask?”</p> + +<p>“Do, please.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p><p>Léontine bustled out. Just then Millicent was amazed by Bower’s +extraordinary leap at Stampa and the guide’s agile avoidance of his +would-be assailant. The men faced each other as though a fight was +imminent; but the upshot was that they walked on together quietly. Be +sure that two keen blue eyes watched their every motion thenceforth, +never leaving them till they entered the village street and +disappeared behind a large chalet.</p> + +<p>“And what did it all mean? Mark Bower—scuffling with a villager!”</p> + +<p>Millicent’s smooth forehead wrinkled in earnest thought. How queer it +would be if Bower was trying to force Spencer’s guide into the +commission of a crime! He would stop at nothing. He believed he could +bend all men, and all women too, to his will. Was he angered by +unexpected resistance? She hoped the maid would hurry with her news. +Though she meant to go at once to the village, it would be a point +gained if she was certain of Stampa’s identity.</p> + +<p>She was already veiled and befurred when Léontine returned. Yes, Marie +had given her full information. Madam had heard, perhaps, how Herr +Bower and the pretty English mademoiselle were in danger of being +snowed up in the Forno hut yesterday. Well, Stampa had gone with his +<i>voyageur</i>, Monsieur Spensare, to their rescue. And the young lady was +the one whom Stampa had endangered during his career as a cab driver. +Again, it was droll.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p><p>Millicent agreed. For the second time, she resolved to postpone her +journey to St. Moritz.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Bower was surprised when Stampa led him into the main road. Having +never seen any sign of a cemetery at Maloja, he guessed vaguely that +it must be situated close to the church. Therein, in a sense, he was +right. It will be remembered how Helen’s solitary ramble on the +morning after her arrival in Maloja brought her to the secluded +graveyard. She first visited the little Swiss tabernacle which had +attracted her curiosity, and thence took the priest’s path to the last +resting place of his flock. But Stampa had a purpose in following a +circuitous route. He turned sharply round the base of a huge pile of +logs, stacked there in readiness for the fires of a long winter.</p> + +<p>“Look!” he said, throwing open the half door of a cattle shed behind +the timber. “They found her here on the second of August, a Sunday +morning, just before the people went to early mass. By her side was a +bottle labeled ‘Poison.’ She bought it in Zermatt on the sixth of +July. So, you see, my little girl had been thinking a whole month of +killing herself. Poor child! What a month! They tell me, Herr Baron, +you left Zermatt on the sixth of July?”</p> + +<p>Bower’s face had grown cold and gray while the old man was speaking. +He began to understand. Stampa would spare him none of the horror of +the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>tragedy from which he fled like a lost soul when the news of it +reached the hotel. Well, he would not draw back now. If Stampa and he +were destined to have a settlement, why defer it? This was his day of +reckoning,—of atonement, he hoped,—and he would not shirk the +ordeal, though his flesh quivered and his humbled pride lashed him +like a whip.</p> + +<p>The squalid stable was peculiarly offensive. Owing to the gale, the +cattle that ought to be pasturing in the high alp were crowded there +in reeking filth. Yesterday, not long before this hour, he was humming +verses of cow songs to Helen, and beguiling the way to the Forno with +a recital of the customs and idyls of the hills. What a spiteful thing +was Fate! Why had this doting peasant risen from the dead to drag him +through the mire of a past transgression? If Stampa betrayed anger, if +his eyes and voice showed the scorn and hatred of a man justly +incensed because of his daughter’s untimely death, the situation would +be more tolerable. But his words were mild, biting only by reason of +their simple pathos. He spoke in a detached manner. He might be +relating the unhappy story of some village maid of whom he had no +personal knowledge. This complete self effacement grated on Bower’s +nerves. It almost spurred him again to ungovernable rage. But he +realized the paramount need of self control. He clenched his teeth in +the effort to bear his punishment without protest.</p> + +<p>And Stampa seemed to have the gift of divination. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>He read Bower’s +heart. By some means he became aware that the unsavory shed was +loathsome to the fine gentleman standing beside him.</p> + +<p>“Etta was always so neat in her dress that it must have been a +dreadful thing to see her laid there,” he went on. “She fell just +inside the door. Before she drank the poison she must have looked once +at the top of old Corvatsch. She thought of me, I am sure, for she had +my letter in her pocket telling her that I was at Pontresina with my +voyageurs. And she would think of you too,—her lover, her promised +husband.”</p> + +<p>Bower cleared his throat. He tried to frame a denial; but Stampa waved +the unspoken thought aside.</p> + +<p>“Surely you told her you would marry her, Herr Baron?” he said gently. +“Was it not to implore you to keep your vow that she journeyed all the +way from Zermatt to the Maloja? She was but a child, an innocent and +frightened child, and you should not have been so brutal when she came +to you in the hotel. Ah, well! It is all ended and done with now. It +is said the Madonna gives her most powerful aid to young girls who +seek from her Son the mercy they were denied on earth. And my Etta has +been dead sixteen long years,—long enough for her sin to be cleansed +by the fire of Purgatory. Perhaps to-day, when justice is done to her +at last, she may be admitted to Paradise. Who can tell? I would ask +the priest; but he would bid me not question the ways of Providence.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p><p>At last Bower found his voice. “Etta is at peace,” he muttered. “We +have suffered for our folly—both of us. I—I could not marry her. It +was impossible.”</p> + +<p>Stampa did look at him then,—such a look as the old Roman may have +cast on the man who caused him to slay his loved daughter. Yet, when +he spoke, his words were measured, almost reverent. “Not impossible, +Marcus Bower. Nothing is impossible to God, and He ordained that you +should marry my Etta.”</p> + +<p>“I tell you——” began Bower huskily; but the other silenced him with +a gesture.</p> + +<p>“They took her to the inn,—they are kind people who live there,—and +someone telegraphed to me. The news went to Zermatt, and back to +Pontresina. I was high up in the Bernina with my party. But a friend +found me, and I ran like a madman over ice and rock in the foolish +belief that if only I held my little girl in my arms I should kiss her +back to life again. I took the line of a bird. If I had crossed the +Muretto, I should not be lame to-day; but I took Corvatsch in my path, +and I fell, and when I saw Etta’s grave the grass was growing on it. +Come! The turf is sixteen years old now.”</p> + +<p>Breaking off thus abruptly, he swung away into the open pasture. +Bower, heavy with wrath and care, strode close behind. He strove to +keep his brain intent on the one issue,—to placate this sorrowing old +man, to persuade him that silence was best.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>Soon they reached a path that curved upward among stunted trees. It +ended at an iron gate in the center of a low wall. Bower shuddered. +This, then, was the cemetery. He had never noticed it, though in +former years he could have drawn a map of the Maloja from memory, so +familiar was he with every twist and turn of mountain, valley, and +lake. The sun was hot on that small, pine sheltered hillock. The snow +was beginning to melt. It clogged their feet, and left green patches +where their footprints would have been clearly marked an hour earlier. +And they were not the only visitors that day. There were signs of one +who had climbed the hill since the snow ceased falling.</p> + +<p>Inside the wall the white covering lay deep. Bower’s prominent eyes, +searching everywhere with furtive horror, saw that a little space had +been cleared in one corner. The piled up snow was strewed with broken +weeds and tufts of long grass. It bore an uncanny resemblance to the +edges of a grave. He paused, irresolute, unnerved, yet desperately +determined to fall in with Stampa’s strange mood.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing to fear,” said the old man gently. “They brought her +here. You are not afraid—you, who clasped her to your breast, and +swore you loved her?”</p> + +<p>Bower’s face, deathly pale before, flamed into sudden life. The strain +was unbearable. He could feel his own heart beating violently. “What +do <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>you want me to do?” he almost shouted. “She is dead! My repentance +is of no avail! Why are you torturing me in this manner?”</p> + +<p>“Softly, son-in-law, softly! You are disturbed, or you would see the +hand of Providence in our meeting. What could be better arranged? You +have returned after all these years. It is not too late. To-day you +shall marry Etta!”</p> + +<p>Bower’s neck was purple above the line of his white collar. The veins +stood out on his temples. He looked like one in the throes of +apoplexy.</p> + +<p>“For Heaven’s sake! what do you mean?” he panted.</p> + +<p>“I mean just what I say. This is your wedding day. Your bride lies +there, waiting. Never did woman wait for her man so still and +patient.”</p> + +<p>“Come away, Stampa! This thing must be dealt with reasonably. Come +away! Let us find some less mournful place, and I shall tell <span style="white-space: nowrap;">you——”</span></p> + +<p>“Nay, even yet you do not understand. Well, then, Marcus Bauer, hear +me while you may. I swear you shall marry my girl, if I have to recite +the wedding prayers over your dead body. I have petitioned the Madonna +to spare me from becoming a murderer, and I give you this last chance +of saving your dirty life. Kneel there, by the side of the grave, and +attend to the words that I shall read to you, or you must surely die! +You came to Zermatt and chose my Etta. Very well, if it be God’s will +that she should be the wife of a scoundrel like you, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>it is not for me +to resist. Marry her you shall, here and now! I will bind you to her +henceforth and for all eternity, and the time will come when her +intercession may drag you back from the hell your cruel deed +deserves.”</p> + +<p>With a mighty effort, Bower regained the self-conceit that Stampa’s +words, no less than the depressing environment, had shocked out of +him. The grotesque nature of the proposal was a tonic in itself.</p> + +<p>“If I had expected any such folly on your part, I should not have come +with you,” he said, speaking with something of his habitual dignity. +“Your suggestion is monstrous. How can I marry a dead woman?”</p> + +<p>Stampa’s expression changed instantly. Its meek sorrow yielded to a +ferocity that was appalling. Already bent, he crouched like a wild +beast gathering itself for an attack.</p> + +<p>“Do you refuse?” he asked, in a low note of intense passion.</p> + +<p>“Yes, curse you! And mutter your prayers in your own behalf. You need +them more than I.”</p> + +<p>Bower planted himself firmly, right in the gateway. He clenched his +fists, and savagely resolved to batter this lunatic’s face into a +pulp. He had a notion that Stampa would rush straight at him, and give +him an opportunity to strike from the shoulder, hard and true. He was +bitterly undeceived. The man who was nearly twenty years his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>senior +jumped from the top of a low monument on to the flat coping stones of +the wall. From that greater height he leaped down on Bower, who struck +out wildly, but without a tithe of the force needed to stop the impact +of a heavily built adversary. He had to change feet too, and he was +borne to the earth by that catamount spring before he could avoid it. +For a few seconds the two writhed in the snow in deadly embrace. Then +Stampa remained uppermost. He had pinned Bower to the ground face +downward. Kneeling on his shoulders, with the left hand gripping his +neck and the right clutching his hair and scalp, he pulled back the +wretched man’s head till it was a miracle that the spinal column was +not broken.</p> + +<p>“Now!” he growled, “are you content?”</p> + +<p>There was no reply. It was a physical impossibility that Bower should +speak. Even in his tempest of rage Stampa realized this, and loosened +his grip sufficiently to give his opponent a moment of precious +breath.</p> + +<p>“Answer!” he muttered again. “Promise you will obey, you brute, or I +crack your neck!”</p> + +<p>Bower gurgled something that sounded like an appeal for mercy. Stampa +rose at once, but took the precaution to close the gate, since they +had rolled into the cemetery during their short fight.</p> + +<p>“<i>Saperlotte!</i>” he cried, “you are not the first who deemed me +helpless because of my crooked leg. You might have run from me, Marcus +Bauer; you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>could never fight me. Were I at death’s door, I would +still have strength left to throttle you if once my fingers closed +round your throat.”</p> + +<p>Bower raised himself on hands and knees. He cut an abject figure; but +he was beyond all thought of appearances. For one dread moment his +life had trembled in the balance. That glimpse of death and of the +gloomy path beyond was affrighting. He would do anything now to gain +time. Wealth, fame, love itself, what were they, each and all, when +viewed from the threshold of that barrier which admits a man once and +for ever?</p> + +<p>In deep, laboring gasps his breath came back. The blood coursed freely +again in his veins. He lived—ah, that was everything—he still lived! +He scrambled to his feet, bare headed, yellow skinned, dazed, and +trembling. His eyes dwelt on Stampa with a new timidity. He found +difficulty in straightening his limbs. He was quite insensible of his +ridiculous aspect. His clothing, even his hair, was matted with soft +snow. In a curiously servile way, he stooped to pick up his cap.</p> + +<p>Stampa lurched toward the tiny patch of grass from which he had +cleared the snow soon after daybreak. “Kneel here at her feet!” he +said.</p> + +<p>Bower approached, with a slow, dragging movement. Without a word of +protest, he sank to his knees. The snow in his hair began to melt. He +passed his hands over his face as though shutting out some horrific +vision.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span></p><p>Stampa produced from his pocket a frayed and tattered prayer book—an +Italian edition of the Paroissien Romain. He opened it at a marked +page, and began to read the marriage ritual. Though the words were +Latin, and he was no better educated than any other peasant in the +district, he pronounced the sonorous phrases with extraordinary +accuracy. Of course, he was an Italian, and Latin was not such an +incomprehensible tongue to him as it would prove to a German or +Englishman of his class. Moreover, the liturgy of the Church of Rome +is familiar to its people, no matter what their race. Bower, stupefied +and benumbed, though the sun was shining brilliantly, and a constant +dripping from the pine branches gave proof of a rapid thaw, listened +like one in a trance. He understood scattered sentences, brokenly, yet +with sufficient comprehension.</p> + +<p>“<i>Confiteor Deo omnipotenti</i>,” mumbled Stampa, and the bridegroom in +this strange rite knew that he was making the profession of a faith he +did not share. His mind cleared by degrees. He was still under the +spell of bodily fear, but his brain triumphed over physical stress, +and bade him disregard these worn out shibboleths. Nevertheless, the +words had a tremendous significance.</p> + +<p>“<i>Pater noster qui es in cœlis, sanctificetur nomen tuum ... +dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus +nostris....</i>”</p> + +<p>It was quite easy to follow their general drift. Anyone who had ever +recited the Lord’s Prayer in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>any language would realize that he was +asking the Deity to forgive him his trespasses as he forgave those who +trespassed against him. And there came to the kneeling man a thrilling +consciousness that Stampa was appealing for him in the name of the +dead girl, the once blushing and timid maid whose bones were crumbling +into dust beneath that coverlet of earth and herbage. There could be +no doubting the grim earnestness of the reader. It mattered not a jot +to Stampa that he was usurping the functions of the Church in an +outlandish travesty of her ritual. He was sustained by a fixed belief +that the daughter so heartlessly reft from him was present in spirit, +nay, more, that she was profoundly grateful for this belated +sanctifying of an unhallowed love. Bower’s feelings or convictions +were not of the slightest consequence. He owed it to Etta to make +reparation, and the duty must be fulfilled to the utmost letter.</p> + +<p>Strong man as he was, Bower nearly fainted. He scarce had the faculty +of speech when Stampa bade him make the necessary responses in +Italian. But he obeyed. All the time the devilish conviction grew that +if he persisted in this flummery he might emerge scatheless from a +ghastly ordeal. The punishment of publicity was the one thing he +dreaded, and that might be avoided—for Etta’s sake. So he obeyed, +with cunning pretense of grief, trying to veil the malevolence in his +heart.</p> + +<p>At last, when the solemn “<i>per omnia secula</i> <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span><i>seculorum</i>” and a +peaceful “Amen” announced the close of this amazing marriage service, +Stampa looked fixedly at his supposed son-in-law.</p> + +<p>“Now, Marcus Bauer,” he said, “I have done with you. See to it that +you do not again break your plighted vows to my daughter! She is your +wife. You are her husband. Not even death can divide you. Go!”</p> + +<p>His strong, splendidly molded face, massive and dignified, cast in +lines that would have appealed to a sculptor who wished to limn the +features of a patriarch of old, wore an aspect of settled calm. He was +at peace with all the world. He had forgiven his enemy.</p> + +<p>Bower rose again stiffly. He would have spoken; but Stampa now fell on +his knees and began to pray silently. So the millionaire, humbled +again and terror stricken by the sinister significance of those +concluding words, yet not daring to question them, crept out of the +place of the dead. As he staggered down the hillside he looked back +once. He had eyes only for the little iron gate, but Stampa came not.</p> + +<p>Then he essayed to brush some of the clinging snow off his clothes. He +shook himself like a dog after a plunge into water. In the distance he +saw the hotel, with its promise of luxury and forgetfulness. And he +cursed Stampa with a bitter fury of emphasis, trying vainly to +persuade himself that he had been the victim of a maniac’s delusion.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i284.jpg" width="500" height="273" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>WHEREIN MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>illicent was wondering how she would fare in the deep snow in boots +that were never built for such a test. She was standing on the swept +roadway between the hotel and the stables, and the tracks of her +quarry were plainly visible. But the hope of discovering some +explanation of Bower’s queer behavior was more powerful than her dread +of wet feet. She was gathering her skirts daintily before taking the +next step, when the two men suddenly reappeared.</p> + +<p>They had left the village and were crossing the line of the path. +Shrinking back under cover of an empty wagon, she watched them. +Apparently they were heading for the Orlegna Gorge, and she scanned +the ground eagerly to learn how she could manage to spy on them +without being seen almost immediately. Then she fell into the same +error as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>Helen in believing that the winding carriage road to the +church offered the nearest way to the clump of firs and azaleas by +which Bower and Stampa would soon be hidden.</p> + +<p>Three minutes’ sharp walking brought her to the church, but there the +highway turned abruptly toward the village. As one side of the small +ravine faced south, the sun’s rays were beginning to have effect, and +a narrow track, seemingly leading to the hill, was almost laid bare. +In any event, it must bring her near the point where the men vanished, +so she went on breathlessly. Crossing the rivulet, already swollen +with melting snow, she mounted the steps cut in the hillside. It was +heavy going in that thin air; but she held to it determinedly.</p> + +<p>Then she heard men’s voices raised in anger. She recognized one. Bower +was speaking German, Stampa a mixture of German and Italian. Millicent +had a vague acquaintance with both languages; but it was of the +Ollendorf order, and did not avail her in understanding their rapid, +excited words. Soon there were other sounds, the animal cries, the +sobs, the labored grunts of men engaged in deadly struggle. Thoroughly +alarmed, more willing to retreat than advance, she still clambered on, +impelled by irresistible desire to find out what strange thing was +happening.</p> + +<p>At last, partly concealed by a dwarf fir, she could peer over a wall +into the tiny cemetery. She was too late to witness the actual fight; +but she saw <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>Stampa spring upright, leaving his prostrate opponent +apparently lifeless. She was utterly frightened. Fear rendered her +mute. To her startled eyes it seemed that Bower had been killed by the +crippled man. Soon that quite natural impression yielded to one of +sustained astonishment. Bower rose slowly, a sorry spectacle. To her +woman’s mind, unfamiliar with scenes of violence, it was surprising +that he did not begin at once to beat the life out of the lame old +peasant who had attacked him so viciously. When Stampa closed the gate +and motioned Bower to kneel, when the tall, powerfully built man knelt +without protest, when the reading of the Latin service began,—well, +Millicent could never afterward find words to express her conflicting +emotions.</p> + +<p>But she did not move. Crouching behind her protecting tree, guarding +her very breath lest some involuntary cry should betray her presence, +she watched the whole of the weird ceremonial. She racked her brains +to guess its meaning, strained her ears to catch a sentence that might +be identified hereafter; but she failed in both respects. Of course, +it was evident that someone was buried there, someone whose memory the +wild looking villager held dear, someone whose grave he had forced +Bower to visit, someone for whose sake he was ready to murder Bower if +the occasion demanded. So much was clear; but the rest was blurred, a +medley of incoherences, a waking nightmare.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span></p><p>Oddly enough, it never occurred to her that a woman might be lying in +that dreary tenement. Her first vague imagining suggested that Bower +had committed a crime, killed a man, and that an avenger had dragged +him to his victim’s last resting place. That Stampa was laboriously +plodding through the marriage ritual was a fantastic conceit of which +she received no hint. There was nothing to dissolve the mist in her +mind. She could only wait, and marvel.</p> + +<p>As the strange scene drew to its close, she became calmer. She +reflected that some sort of registry would be kept of the graves. A +few dismal monuments, and two rows of little black wooden crosses that +stuck up mournfully out of the snow, gave proof positive of that. She +counted the crosses. Stampa was standing near the seventh from a tomb +easily recognizable at some future time. Bower faced it on his knees. +She could not see him distinctly, as he was hidden by the other man’s +broad shoulders; but she did not regret it, because the warm brown +tints of her furs against the background of snow and foliage might +warn him of her presence. She thanked the kindly stars that brought +her here. No matter what turn events took now, she hoped to hold the +whip hand over Bower. There was a mystery to be cleared, of course; +but with such materials she could hardly fail to discover its true +bearings.</p> + +<p>So she watched, in tremulous patience, quick to note each movement of +the actors in a drama the like to which she had never seen on the +stage.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span></p><p>At last Bower slunk away. She heard the crunching of his feet on the +snow, and, when Stampa ceased his silent prayer, she expected that he +would depart by the same path. To her overwhelming dismay, he wheeled +round and looked straight at her. In reality his eyes were fixed on +the hills behind her. He was thinking of his unhappy daughter. The +giant mass of Corvatsch was associated in his mind with the girl’s +last glimpse of her beloved Switzerland, while on that same memorable +day it threw its deep shadow over his own life. He turned to the +mountain to seek its testimony,—as it were, to the consummation of a +tragedy.</p> + +<p>But Millicent could not know that. Losing all command of herself, she +shrieked in terror, and ran wildly among the trees. She stumbled and +fell before she had gone five yards over the rough ground. Quite in a +panic, confused and blinded with snow, she rose and ran again, only to +find herself speeding back to the burial ground. Then, in a very agony +of distress, she stood still. Stampa was looking at her, with mild +surprise displayed in every line of his expressive features.</p> + +<p>“What are you afraid of, <i>sigñorina</i>?” he asked in Italian.</p> + +<p>She half understood, but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. +Her terror was manifest, and he pitied her.</p> + +<p>He repeated his question in German. A child might have recognized that +this man of the benignant <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>face and kindly, sorrow laden eyes intended +no evil.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry. I beg your pardon, Herr Stampa,” she managed to stammer.</p> + +<p>“Ah, you know me, then, <i>sigñorina</i>! But everybody knows old Stampa. +Have you lost your way?”</p> + +<p>“I was taking a little walk, and happened to approach the cemetery. I +saw——”</p> + +<p>“There is nothing to interest you here, madam, and still less to cause +fear. But it is a sad place, at the best. Follow that path. It will +lead you to the village or the hotel.”</p> + +<p>Her fright was subsiding rapidly. She deemed the opportunity too good +to be lost. If she could win his confidence, what an immense advantage +it would be in her struggle against Bower! Summoning all her energies, +and trying to remember some of the German sentences learned in her +school days, she smiled wistfully.</p> + +<p>“You are in great trouble,” she murmured. “I suppose Herr Bower has +injured you?”</p> + +<p>Stampa glanced at her keenly. He had the experience of sixty years of +a busy life to help him in summing up those with whom he came in +contact, and this beautiful, richly dressed woman did not appeal to +his simple nature as did Helen when she surprised his grief on a +morning not so long ago. Moreover, the elegant stranger was little +better than a spy, for none but a spy would have wandered among <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>the +rocks and shrubs in such weather, and he was in no mood to suffer her +inquiries.</p> + +<p>“I am in no trouble,” he said, “and Herr Bauer has not injured me.”</p> + +<p>“But you fought,” she persisted. “I thought you had killed him. I +almost wish you had. I hate him!”</p> + +<p>“It is a bad thing to hate anyone. I am three times your age; so you +may, or may not, regard my advice as excellent. Come round by the +corner of the wall, and you will reach the path without walking in the +deep snow. Good morning, madam.”</p> + +<p>He bowed with an ease that would have proclaimed his nationality if he +had not been an Italian mountaineer in every poise and gesture. +Stooping to recover his Alpine hat, which was lying near the cross at +the head of the grave, he passed out through the gate before Millicent +was clear of the wall. He made off with long, uneven, but rapid +strides, leaving her hot with annoyance that a mere peasant should +treat her so cavalierly. Though she did not understand all he said, +she grasped its purport. But her soreness soon passed. The great fact +remained that she shared some secret with him and Bower, a secret of +an importance she could not yet measure. She was tempted to go inside +the cemetery, and might have yielded to the impulse had not a load of +snow suddenly tumbled off the broad fronds of a pine. The incident set +her heart beating furiously again. How <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>lonely was this remote +hilltop! Even the glorious sunshine did not relieve its brooding +silence.</p> + +<p>Thus it came about that these three people went down into the valley, +each within a short distance of the others, and Spencer saw them all +from the high road, where he was questioning an official of the +federal postoffice as to the method of booking seats in the banquette +of the diligence from Vicosoprano.</p> + +<p>That he was bewildered by the procession goes without saying. Where +had they been, and how in the name of wonder could the woman’s +presence be accounted for? The polite postmaster must have thought +that the Englishman was very dense that morning. Several times he +explained fully that the two desired seats in the diligence must be +reserved from Chiavenna. As many times did Spencer repeat the +information without in the least seeming to comprehend it. He spoke +with the detached air of a boy in the first form reciting the fifth +proposition in Euclid. At last the postmaster gave it up in despair.</p> + +<p>“You see that man there?” he said to a keenly interested policeman +when Spencer strolled away in the direction of the village. “He is of +the most peculiar. He talks German like a parrot. He must be a rich +American. Perhaps he wants to buy a diligence.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Wer weiss?</i>” said the other. “Money makes some folk mad.”</p> + +<p>And, indeed, through Spencer’s brain was running <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>a Bedlamite jingle, +a triolet of which the dominant line was Bower, Stampa, and Millicent +Jaques. The meeting of Bower and Stampa was easy of explanation. After +the guide’s story of the previous evening, nothing but Stampa’s death +or Bower’s flight could prevent it. But the woman from the Wellington +Theater, how had she come to know of their feud? He was almost tempted +to quote the only line of Molière ever heard beyond the shores of +France.</p> + +<p>Like every visitor to the Maloja, he was acquainted with each of its +roads and footpaths except the identical one that these three +descended. Where did it lead to? Before he quite realized what he was +doing, he was walking up the hill. In places where the sun had not yet +caught the snow there was a significant trail. Bower had come and gone +once, Stampa, or some man wearing village-made boots, twice; but the +single track left by Millicent’s smart footwear added another +perplexing item to the puzzle. So he pressed on, and soon was gazing +at the forlorn cemetery, with its signs of a furious struggle between +the gateposts, the uncovered grave space, and Millicent’s track round +two corners of the square built wall.</p> + +<p>It was part of his life’s training to read signs. The mining engineer +who would hit on a six-inch lode in a mountain of granite must combine +imagination with knowledge, and Spencer quickly made out something of +the silent story,—something, not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>all, but enough to send him in +haste to the hotel by the way Millicent had arrived on the scene.</p> + +<p>“Guess there’s going to be a heap of trouble round here,” he said to +himself. “Helen must be recalled to London. It’s up to me to make the +cable hot to Mackenzie.”</p> + +<p>He had yet to learn that the storm which brought about a good deal of +the preceding twenty-four hours’ excitement had not acted in any +niggardly fashion. It had laid low whole sections of the telegraph +system on both sides of the pass during the night. Gangs of men were +busy repairing the wires. Later in the day, said a civil spoken +attendant at the <i>bureau des postes</i>, a notice would be exhibited +stating the probable hour of the resumption of service.</p> + +<p>“Are the wires down beyond St. Moritz?” asked Spencer.</p> + +<p>“I cannot give an assurance,” said the clerk; “but these southwest +gales usually do not affect the Albula Pass. The road to St. Moritz is +practicable, as this morning’s mail was only forty minutes behind +time.”</p> + +<p>Spencer ordered a carriage, wrote a telegram, and gave it to the +driver, with orders to forward it from St. Moritz if possible. And +this was the text:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“<span class="smcap">Mackenzie, ‘Firefly’ Office, Fleet-st., London.</span> Wire Miss Wynton +positive instructions to return to England immediately. Say she is +wanted at office. I shall arrange matters before she arrives. This +is urgent. <span class="smcap">Spencer.</span>”</p></div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span></p><p>A heavy weight gradually lifted off his shoulders as he watched the +wheels of the vehicle churning up the brown snow broth along the +valley road. Within two hours his message would reach a telegraph +office. Two more would bring it to Mackenzie. With reasonable luck, +the line repairers would link Maloja to the outer world that +afternoon, and Helen would hie homeward in the morning. It was a pity +that her holiday and his wooing should be interfered with; but who +could have foretold that Millicent Jaques would drop from the sky in +that unheralded way? Her probable interference in the quarrel between +Stampa and Bower put Mrs. de la Vere’s suggestion out of court. A +woman bent on requiting a personal slight would never consent to +forego such a chance of obtaining ample vengeance as Bower’s earlier +history provided.</p> + +<p>In any case, Spencer was sure that the sooner Helen and he were +removed from their present environment the happier they would be. He +hoped most fervently that the course of events might be made smooth +for their departure. He cared not a jot for the tittle-tattle of the +hotel. Let him but see Helen re-established in London, and it would +not be his fault if they did not set forth on their honeymoon before +the year was much older.</p> + +<p>He disliked this secret plotting and contriving. He adopted such +methods only because they offered the surest road to success. Were he +to consult his own feelings, he would go straight to Helen, tell <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>her +how chance had conspired with vagrom fancy to bring them together, and +ask her to believe, as all who love are ready to believe, that their +union was predestined throughout the ages.</p> + +<p>But he could not explain his presence in Switzerland without referring +to Bower, and the task was eminently distasteful. In all things +concerning the future relations between Helen and himself, he was done +with pretense. If he could help it, her first visit to the Alps should +not have its record darkened by the few miserable pages torn out of +Bower’s life. After many years the man’s sin had discovered him. That +which was then done in secret was now about to be shrieked aloud from +the housetops. “Even the gods cannot undo the past,” said the old +Greeks, and the stern dogma had lost nothing of its truth with the +march of the centuries. Indeed, Spencer regretted his rival’s +threatened exposure. If it lay in his power, he would prevent it: +meanwhile, Helen must be snatched from the enduring knowledge of her +innocent association with the offender and his pillory. He set his +mind on the achievement. To succeed, he must monopolize her company +until she quitted the hotel en route for London.</p> + +<p>Then he thought of Mrs. de la Vere as a helper. Her seeming +shallowness, her glaring affectations, no longer deceived him. The +mask lifted for an instant by that backward glance as she convoyed +Helen to her room the previous night had proved <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>altogether +ineffective since their talk on the veranda. He did not stop to ask +himself why such a woman, volatile, fickle, blown this way and that by +social zephyrs, should champion the cause of romance. He simply +thanked Heaven for it, nor sought other explanation than was given by +his unwavering belief in the essential nobility of her sex.</p> + +<p>Therein he was right. Had he trusted to her intuition, and told +Millicent Jaques at the earliest possible moment exactly how matters +stood between Helen and himself, it is only reasonable to suppose that +the actress would have changed her plan of campaign. She had no +genuine antipathy toward Helen, whose engagement to Spencer would be +her strongest weapon against Bower. As matters stood, however, Helen +was a stumbling block in her path, and her jealous rage was in process +of being fanned to a passionate intensity, when Spencer, searching for +Mrs. de la Vere, saw Millicent in the midst of a group composed of the +Vavasours, mother and son, the General, and his daughters.</p> + +<p>Mrs. de Courcy Vavasour was the evil spirit who brought about this +sinister gathering. She was awed by Bower, she would not risk a +snubbing from Mrs. de la Vere, and she was exceedingly annoyed to +think that Helen might yet topple her from her throne. To one of her +type this final consideration was peculiarly galling. And the too +susceptible Georgie would be quite safe with the lady from the +Wellington Theater. Mrs. Vavasour remembered <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>the malice in +Millicent’s fine eyes when she refused to quail before Bower’s wrath. +A hawk in pursuit of a plump pigeon would not turn aside to snap up an +insignificant sparrow. So, being well versed in the tactics of these +social skirmishes, she sought Millicent’s acquaintance.</p> + +<p>The younger woman was ready to meet her more than halfway. The hotel +gossips were the very persons whose aid she needed. A gracious smile +and a pouting complaint against the weather were the preliminaries. In +two minutes they were discussing Helen, and General Wragg was drawn +into their chat. Georgie and the Misses Wragg, of course, came +uninvited. They scented scandal as jackals sniff the feast provided by +the mightier beasts.</p> + +<p>Millicent, really despising these people, but anxious to hear the +story of Bower’s love making, made no secret of her own sorrows. “Miss +Wynton was my friend,” she said with ingenuous pathos. “She never met +Mr. Bower until I introduced her to him a few days before she came to +Switzerland. You may guess what a shock it gave me when I heard that +he had followed her here. Even then, knowing how strangely coincidence +works at times, I refused to believe that the man who was my promised +husband would abandon me under the spell of a momentary infatuation. +For it can be nothing more.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure?” asked the sympathetic Mrs. Vavasour.</p> + +<p>“By gad!” growled Wragg, “I’m inclined to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>differ from you there, Miss +Jaques. When Bower turned up last week they met as very old friends, I +can assure you.”</p> + +<p>“Obviously a prearranged affair,” said Mrs. Vavasour.</p> + +<p>“None of us has had a look in since,” grinned Georgie vacuously. “Even +Reggie de la Vere, who is a deuce of a fellah with the girls, could +not get within yards of her.”</p> + +<p>This remark found scant favor with his audience. Miss Beryl Wragg, who +had affected de la Vere’s company for want of an eligible bachelor, +pursed her lips scornfully.</p> + +<p>“I can hardly agree with that,” she said. “Edith de la Vere may be a +sport; but she doesn’t exactly fling her husband at another woman’s +head. Anyhow, it was amazing bad form on her part to include Miss +Wynton in her dinner party last night.”</p> + +<p>Millicent’s blue eyes snapped. “Did Helen Wynton dine in public +yesterday evening?” she demanded.</p> + +<p>“Rather! Quite a lively crowd they were too.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed. Who were the others?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, the Badminton-Smythes, and the Bower man, and that +American—what’s his name?”</p> + +<p>Then Millicent laughed shrilly. She saw her chance of delivering a +deadly stroke, and took it without mercy. “The American? Spencer? What +a delightful mixture! Why, he is the very man who is paying Miss +Wynton’s expenses.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span></p><p>“So you said last night. A somewhat—er—dangerous statement,” coughed +the General.</p> + +<p>“Rather stiff, you know—Eh, what?” put in Georgie.</p> + +<p>His mother silenced him with a frosty glance. “Of course you have good +reasons for saying that?” she interposed.</p> + +<p>Spencer passed at that instant, and there was a thrilling pause. +Millicent was well aware that every ear was alert to catch each +syllable. When she spoke, her words were clear and precise.</p> + +<p>“Naturally, one would not say such a thing about any girl without the +utmost certainty,” she purred. “Even then, there are circumstances +under which one ought to try and forget it. But, if it is a question +as to my veracity in the matter, I can only assure you that Miss +Wynton’s mission to Switzerland on behalf of ‘The Firefly’ is a mere +blind for Mr. Spencer’s extraordinary generosity. He is acting through +the paper, it is true. But some of you must have seen ‘The Firefly.’ +How could such a poor journal afford to pay a young lady one hundred +pounds and give her a return ticket by the Engadine express for four +silly articles on life in the High Alps? Why, it is ludicrous!”</p> + +<p>“Pretty hot, I must admit,” sniggered Georgie, thinking to make peace +with Beryl Wragg; but she seemed to find his humor not to her taste.</p> + +<p>“It is the kind of arrangement from which one <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>draws one’s own +conclusions,” said Mrs. Vavasour blandly.</p> + +<p>“But, I say, does Bower know this?” asked Wragg, swinging his +eyeglasses nervously. Though he dearly loved these carpet battles, he +was chary of figuring in them, having been caught badly more than once +between the upper and nether millstones of opposing facts.</p> + +<p>“You heard me tell him,” was Millicent’s confident answer. “If he +requires further information, I am here to give it to him. Indeed, I +have delayed my departure for that very reason. By the way, General, +do you know Switzerland well?”</p> + +<p>“Every hotel in the country,” he boasted proudly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite mean in that sense. Who are the authorities? For +instance, if I had a friend buried in the cemetery here, to whom +should I apply for identification of the grave?”</p> + +<p>The General screwed up his features into a judicial frown. +“Well—er—I should go to the communal office in the village, if I +were you,” said he.</p> + +<p>Braving his mother’s possible displeasure, George de Courcy Vavasour +asserted his manliness for Beryl’s benefit.</p> + +<p>“I know the right Johnny,” he said. “Let me take you to him, Miss +Jaques—Eh, what?”</p> + +<p>Millicent affected to consider the proposal. She saw that Mrs. +Vavasour was content. “It is very kind of you,” she said, with her +most charming smile. “Have we time to go there before lunch?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p><p>“Oh, loads.”</p> + +<p>“I am walking toward the village. May I come with you?” asked Beryl +Wragg.</p> + +<p>“That will be too delightful,” said Millicent.</p> + +<p>Georgie, feeling the claws beneath the velvet of Miss Wragg’s voice, +could only suffer in silence. The three went out together. The two +women did the talking, and Millicent soon discovered that Bower had +unquestionably paid court to Helen from the first hour of his arrival +in the Maloja, whereas Spencer seemed to be an utter stranger to her +and to every other person in the place. This statement offered a +curious discrepancy to the story retailed by Mackenzie’s assistant. +But it strengthened her case against Helen. She grew more determined +than ever to go on to the bitter end.</p> + +<p>A communal official raised no difficulty about giving the name of the +occupant of the grave marked by the seventh cross from the tomb she +described. A child was buried there, a boy who died three years ago. +With Beryl Wragg’s assistance, she cross examined the man, but could +not shake his faith in the register.</p> + +<p>The parents still lived in the village. The official knew them, and +remembered the boy quite well. He had contracted a fever, and died +suddenly.</p> + +<p>This was disappointing. Millicent, prepared to hear of a tragedy, was +confronted by the commonplace. But the special imp that attends all +mischief makers prompted her next question.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p><p>“Do you know Christian Stampa, the guide?” she asked.</p> + +<p>The man grinned. “Yes, <i>sigñora</i>. He has been on the road for years, +ever since he lost his daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Was he any relation to the boy? What interest would he have in this +particular grave?”</p> + +<p>The custodian of parish records stroked his chin. He took thought, and +reached for another ledger. He ran a finger through an index and +turned up a page.</p> + +<p>“A strange thing!” he cried. “Why, that is the very place where Etta +Stampa is buried. You see, <i>sigñora</i>,” he explained, “it is a small +cemetery, and our people are poor.”</p> + +<p>Etta Stampa! Was this the clew? Millicent’s heart throbbed. How stupid +that she had not thought of a woman earlier!</p> + +<p>“How old was Etta Stampa?” she inquired.</p> + +<p>“Her age is given here as nineteen, <i>sigñora</i>; but that is a guess. It +was a sad case. She killed herself. She came from Zermatt. I have +lived nearly all my life in this valley, and hers is the only suicide +I can recall.”</p> + +<p>“Why did she kill herself, and when?”</p> + +<p>The official supplied the date; but he had no knowledge of the affair +beyond a village rumor that she had been crossed in love. As for poor +old Stampa, who met with an accident about the same time, he never +mentioned her.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>“Stampa is the lame Johnny who went up the Forno yesterday,” +volunteered Georgie, when they quitted the office. “But, I say, Miss +Jaques, his daughter couldn’t be a friend of yours?”</p> + +<p>Millicent did not answer. She was thinking deeply. Then she realized +that Beryl Wragg was watching her intently.</p> + +<p>“No,” she said, “I did not mean to convey that she was my friend; only +that one whom I know well was interested in her. Can you tell me how I +can find out more of her history?”</p> + +<p>“Some of the villagers may help,” said Miss Wragg. “Shall we make +inquiries? It is marvelous how one comes across things in the most +unlikely quarters.”</p> + +<p>Vavasour, whose stroll with a pretty actress had resolved itself into +a depressing quest into the records of the local cemetery, looked at +his watch. “Time’s up,” he announced firmly. “The luncheon gong will +go in a minute or two, and this keen air makes one peckish—Eh, what?”</p> + +<p>So Millicent returned to the hotel, and when she entered the dining +room she saw Helen and Spencer sitting with the de la Veres. Edith de +la Vere stared at her in a particularly irritating way. Cynical +contempt, bored amusement, even a quizzical surprise that such a +vulgar person could be so well dressed, were carried by wireless +telegraphy from the one woman to the other. Millicent countered with a +studied indifference. She gave her whole attention <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>to the efforts of +the head waiter to find a seat to her liking. He offered her the +choice between two. With fine self control, she selected that which +turned her back on Helen and her friends.</p> + +<p>She had just taken her place when Bower came in. He stopped near the +door, and spoke to an under manager; but his glance swept the crowded +room. Spencer and Helen happened to be almost facing him, and the girl +was listening with a smile to something the American was saying. But +there was a conscious shyness in her eyes, a touch of color on her sun +browned face, that revealed more than she imagined.</p> + +<p>Bower, who looked ill and old, hesitated perceptibly. Then he seemed +to reach some decision. He walked to Helen’s side, and bent over her +with courteous solicitude. “I hope that I am forgiven,” he said.</p> + +<p>She started. She was so absorbed in Spencer’s talk, which dealt with +nothing more noteworthy than the excursion down the Vale of Bregaglia, +which he secretly hoped would be postponed, that she had not observed +Bower’s approach.</p> + +<p>“Forgiven, Mr. Bower? For what?” she asked, blushing now for no +assignable reason.</p> + +<p>“For yesterday’s fright, and its sequel.”</p> + +<p>“But I enjoyed it thoroughly. Please don’t think I am only a fair +weather mountaineer.”</p> + +<p>“No. I am not likely to commit that mistake. It was feminine spite, +not elemental, that I fancied <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>might have troubled you. Now I am going +to face the enemy alone. Pity me, and please drink to my success.”</p> + +<p>He favored Spencer and the de la Veres with a comprehensive nod, and +turned away, well satisfied that he had claimed a condition of +confidence, of mutual trust, between Helen and himself.</p> + +<p>Millicent was reading the menu when she heard Bower’s voice at her +shoulder. “Good morning, Millicent,” he said. “Shall we declare a +truce? May I eat at your table? That, at least, will be original. +Picture the amazement of the mob if the lion and the lamb split a +small bottle.”</p> + +<p>He was bold; but chance had fenced her with triple brass. “I really +don’t feel inclined to forgive you,” she said, with a quite forgiving +smile.</p> + +<p>He sat down. The two were watched with discreet stupefaction by many.</p> + +<p>“Never give rein to your emotions, Millicent. You did so last night, +and blundered badly in consequence. Artifice is the truest art, you +know. Let us, then, be unreal, and act as though we were the dearest +friends.”</p> + +<p>“We are, I imagine. Self interest should keep us solid.”</p> + +<p>Bower affected a momentary absorption in the wine list. He gave his +order, and the waiter left them.</p> + +<p>“Now, I want you to be good,” he said. “Put your cards on the table, +and I will do the same. Let us discuss matters without prejudice, as +the lawyers <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>say. And, in the first instance, tell me exactly what you +imply by the statement that Mr. Charles K. Spencer, of Denver, +Colorado, as he appears in the hotel register, is responsible for +Helen Wynton’s presence here to-day.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i307.jpg" width="500" height="283" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>A COWARD’S VICTORY</h3> + +<p style="float: left; font-size: 100%; line-height: 80%; margin-top: 0;">“</p><p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t is a queer story,” said Bower.</p> + +<p>“Because it is true,” retorted Millicent.</p> + +<p>“Yet she never set eyes on the man until she met him here.”</p> + +<p>“That is rather impossible, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It is a fact, nevertheless. On the day I arrived in Maloja, a letter +came from the editor of ‘The Firefly,’ telling her that he had written +to Spencer, whom he knew, and suggested that they should become +acquainted.”</p> + +<p>“These things are easily managed,” said Millicent airily.</p> + +<p>“I accept Miss Wynton’s version.” Bower spoke with brutal frankness. +The morning’s tribulation had worn away some of the veneer. He fully +expected the girl to flare into ill suppressed rage. Then he could +deal with her as he liked. He had not <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>earned his repute in the city +of London without revealing at times the innate savagery of his +nature. As soon as he had taunted his adversaries into a passion, he +found the weak joints in their armor. He was surprised now that +Millicent should laugh. If she was acting, she was acting well.</p> + +<p>“It is too funny for words to see you playing the trustful swain,” she +said.</p> + +<p>“One necessarily believes the best of one’s future wife.”</p> + +<p>“So you still keep up that pretense? It was a good line in last +night’s situation; but it becomes farcical when applied to light +comedy.”</p> + +<p>“I give you credit for sufficient wit to understand why I joined you +here. We can avoid unpleasant explanations. I am prepared to bury the +hatchet—on terms.”</p> + +<p>“Terms?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. You are a blackmailer, a somewhat dangerous one. You tempt me to +revise the wisest of La Rochefoucauld’s maxims, and say that every +woman is at heart a snake. You owe everything to me; yet you are not +content. Without my help you would still be carrying a banner in the +chorus. Unless I continue my patronage, that is what you must go back +to. Don’t imagine that I am treating with you out of sentiment. For +Helen’s sake, for her sake only, I offer a settlement.”</p> + +<p>Millicent’s eyes narrowed a little; but she affected to admire the +gleaming beads in a glass of champagne. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>“Pray continue,” she said. +“Your views are interesting.”</p> + +<p>There was some danger lest Bower should reverse his wonted procedure, +and lose his own temper in this unequal duel. They both spoke in low +tones. Anyone watching them would find the smiles of conventionality +on their lips. To all outward seeming, they were indulging in a +friendly gossip.</p> + +<p>“Of course, you want money,” he said. “That is the be-all and end-all +of your existence. Very well. Write a letter to Miss Wynton +apologizing for your conduct, take yourself away from here at three +o’clock, and from St. Moritz by the next train, and I not only +withdraw my threat to bar you in the profession but shall hand you a +check for a thousand pounds.”</p> + +<p>Millicent pretended to consider his proposal. She shook her head. “Not +nearly enough,” she said, with a sweetly deprecatory moue.</p> + +<p>“It is all you will get. I repeat that I am doing this to spare +Helen’s feelings. Perhaps I am ill advised. You have done your worst +already, and it only remains for me to crush you. But I stick to the +bargain—for five minutes.”</p> + +<p>“Dear, dear!” she sighed. “Only five minutes? Do you get rid of your +troubles so quickly? How nice to be a man, and to be able to settle +matters with such promptitude.”</p> + +<p>Bower was undeniably perplexed; but he held to his line. Unwavering +tenacity of purpose was his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>chief characteristic. “Meanwhile,” he +said, “let us talk of the weather.”</p> + +<p>“A most seasonable topic. It was altogether novel this morning to wake +and find the world covered with snow.”</p> + +<p>“If the Maloja is your world, you must have thought it rather +chilling,” he laughed.</p> + +<p>“Yes, cold, perhaps, but fascinating. I went for a walk. You see, I +wanted to be alone, to think what I should do for the best. A woman is +so helpless when she has to fight a big, strong man like you. Chance +led me to the cemetery. What an odd little place it is? Wouldn’t you +hate to be buried there?”</p> + +<p>It was now Millicent’s turn to be surprised. Not by the slightest +tremor did Bower betray the shock caused by her innuendo. His nerves +were proof against further assault that day. Fear had conquered him +for an instant when he looked into the gate of darkness. With its +passing from before his eyes, his intellect resumed its sway, and he +weighed events by that nicely adjusted balance. None but a man who +greatly dared would be sitting opposite Millicent at that moment. None +but a fool would have failed to understand her. But he gave no sign +that he understood. He refilled his glass, and emptied it with the +gusto of a connoisseur.</p> + +<p>“That is a good wine,” he said. “Sometimes pints are better than +quarts, although of the same vintage. Waiter, another half bottle, +please.”</p> + +<p>“No more for me, of course,” murmured Millicent. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span>“I must keep my head +clear,—so much depends on the next five minutes.”</p> + +<p>“Three, to be exact.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, then, I must use them to advantage. Shall I tell you more about +my early stroll?”</p> + +<p>“What time did you go out?”</p> + +<p>“Soon after ten o’clock.”</p> + +<p>“You saw—what?”</p> + +<p>“A most exciting struggle—and—what shall I call it?—a ceremony.”</p> + +<p>Bower was silent for an appreciable time. He watched a waiter +uncorking the champagne. When the bottle was placed on the table he +pretended to read the label. He was thinking that Stampa’s marriage +service was not so futile, after all. It had soon erected its first +barrier. Millicent, who had qualities rare in a woman, turned and +looked at a clock. Incidentally, she discovered that Spencer was +devoting some attention to the proceedings at her table. Still Bower +remained silent. She stole a glance at him. She was conscious that an +abiding dread was stealing into her heart; but her stage training came +to her aid, and she managed to say evenly:</p> + +<p>“My little ramble does not appear to interest you?”</p> + +<p>“It does,” he said. “I have been arguing the pros and cons of a +ticklish problem. There are two courses to me. I can either bribe you, +or leave you to your own devices. The latter method implies the +interference of the police. I dislike that. Helen <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>would certainly be +opposed to it. I make the one thousand into five; but I want your +answer now.”</p> + +<p>“I accept,” she said instantly.</p> + +<p>“Ah, but you are trembling. Queer, isn’t it, how thin is the partition +between affluence and a prison? There are dozens of men who stand high +in commercial circles in London who ought to be in jail. There are +quite as many convicts in Portland who reached penal servitude along +precisely the same road. That is the penalty of being found out. Let +me congratulate you. And do try another glass of this excellent wine. +You need it, and you have to pack your belongings at once, you know.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you.”</p> + +<p>Her eyes sparkled. Her well modulated voice was hardly under control. +Five thousand pounds was a great deal of money; but the tragedy of +Etta Stampa’s life might have been worth more. How could she find out +the whole truth? She must accomplish that, in some way.</p> + +<p>Therein, however, she greatly miscalculated. Bower divined her thought +almost before it was formed. “For goodness’ sake, let us put things in +plain English!” he said. “I am paying you handsomely to save the woman +I am going to marry from some little suffering and heartache. Perhaps +it is unnecessary. Her fine nature might forgive a man a transgression +of his youth. At any rate, I avert the risk by this payment. The check +will be payable to you personally. In other words, you must place <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>it +to your own account in your bank. Any breach of our contract in letter +or spirit during the next two days will be punished by its stoppage. +After that time, the remotest hint on your part of any scandalous +knowledge affecting me, or Helen, or the causes which led to my +present weakness in allowing you to blackmail me, will imply the +immediate issue of a warrant for your arrest. Need I explain the +position at greater length?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Millicent, who wished now that she had bitten off the end +of her tongue before she vented her spleen to the Vavasours and the +Wraggs.</p> + +<p>“On second thoughts,” went on Bower unconcernedly, “I forego the +stipulation as to a letter of apology. I don’t suppose Helen will +value it. Assuredly, I do not.”</p> + +<p>The cheapening of her surrender stung more than she counted on. “I +have tried to avoid the appearance of uncalled for rudeness to-day,” +she blurted out.</p> + +<p>“Well—yes. What is the number of your room?”</p> + +<p>She told him.</p> + +<p>“I shall send the check to you at once. Have you finished?”</p> + +<p>He accompanied her to the door, bowed her out, and came back. Smiling +affably, he pulled a chair to Mrs. de la Vere’s side.</p> + +<p>“I quite enjoyed my luncheon,” he said. “You all heard that stupid +outburst of Millicent’s last <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>night; so there is no harm in telling +you that she regrets it. She is leaving the hotel forthwith.”</p> + +<p>Helen rose suddenly. “She is one of my few friends,” she said. “I +cannot let her go in anger.”</p> + +<p>“She is unworthy of your friendship,” exclaimed Bower sharply. “Take +my advice and forget that she exists.”</p> + +<p>“You cannot forget that anyone exists, or has existed,” said Spencer +quietly.</p> + +<p>“What? You too?” said Bower. His eyes sought the American’s, and +flashed an unspoken challenge.</p> + +<p>He felt that the world was a few hundred years too old. There were +historical precedents for settling affairs such as that now troubling +him by means that would have appealed to him. But he opposed no +further hindrance to Helen’s departure. Indeed, he perceived that her +meeting with Millicent would provide in some sense a test of his own +judgment. He would soon learn whether or not money would prevail.</p> + +<p>He waited a little while, and then sent his valet with the check and a +request for an acknowledgment. The man brought him a scribbled note:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Was rather taken aback by appearance of H. She says you told her +I was leaving the hotel. We fell on each other’s neck and wept. Is +that right? M. J.”</p></div> + +<p>He cut the end off a cigar, lit the paper with a match, and lit the +cigar with the paper.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p><p>“Five thousand pounds!” he said to himself. “It is a lot of money to +one who has none. I remember the time when I would have sold my soul +to the devil for half the amount.”</p> + +<p>But that was not a pleasing notion. It suggested that, by evil hazard, +some such contract had, in fact, been made, but forgotten by one of +the parties to it. So he dismissed it. Having disposed of Stampa and +Millicent, practically between breakfast and lunch, there were no +reasons why he should trouble further about them. The American +threatened a fresh obstacle. He was winning his way with Helen +altogether too rapidly. In the light of those ominous words at the +luncheon table his close association with Stampa indicated a definite +knowledge of the past. Curse him! Why did he interfere?</p> + +<p>Bower was eminently a selfish man. He had enjoyed unchecked success +for so long a time that he railed now at the series of mischances that +tripped the feet of his desires. Looking back through recent days, he +was astonished to find how often Spencer had crossed his path. Before +he was four hours in Maloja, Helen, in his hearing, had singled out +the American for conjecture and scrutiny. Then Dunston spoke of the +same man as an eager adversary at baccarat; but the promised game was +arranged without Spencer’s coöperation, greatly to Dunston’s loss. A +man did not act in such fashion without some motive. What was it? This +reserved, somewhat contemptuous rival had also snatched <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>Helen from +his company many times. He had undoubtedly rendered some service in +coming to the Forno hut; but Bower’s own lapse from sanity on that +occasion did not escape his notice. Finally, this cool mannered, alert +youngster from the New World did not seem to care a fig for any prior +claim on Helen’s affections. His whole attitude might be explained by +the fact that he was Stampa’s employer, and had won the old guide’s +confidence.</p> + +<p>Yes, the American was the real danger. That pale ghost conjured from +the grave by Stampa was intangible, powerless, a dreamlike wraith +evoked by a madman’s fancy. Already the fear engendered myopia of the +morning was passing from Bower’s eyes. The passage of arms with +Millicent had done him good. He saw now that if he meant to win Helen +he must fight for her.</p> + +<p>Glancing at his watch, he found that the time was a quarter to three. +He opened a window in his sitting room, which was situated in the +front of the hotel. By leaning out he could survey the carriage stand +at the foot of the long flight of steps. A pair-horse vehicle was +drawn up there, and men were fastening portly dress baskets in the +baggage carrier over the hind wheels.</p> + +<p>He smiled. “The pretty dancer travels luxuriously,” he thought. “I +wonder whether she will be honest enough to pay her debts with my +money?”</p> + +<p>He still hated her for having dragged him into a public squabble. He +looked to the future to requite <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>him. A year, two years, would soon +pass. Then, when funds were low and engagements scarce, she would +appeal to him again, and his solicitors would reply. He caught himself +framing curt, stinging sentences to be embodied in the letter; but he +drew himself up with a start. Surely there was something very wrong +with Mark Bower, the millionaire, when he gloated over such paltry +details. Why, his reflections were worthy of that old spitfire, Mrs. +de Courcy Vavasour.</p> + +<p>His cigar had gone out. He threw it away. It had the taste of +Millicent’s cheap passion. A decanter of brandy stood on the table, +and he drank a small quantity, though he had imbibed freely of +champagne at luncheon. He glanced at a mirror. His face was flushed +and care lined, and he scowled at his own apparition.</p> + +<p>“I must go and see the last of Millicent. It will cheer me up,” he +said to himself.</p> + +<p>When he entered the foyer, Millicent was already in the veranda, a +dainty picture in furs and feathers. Somewhat to his surprise, Helen +was with her. A good many people were watching them covertly, a quite +natural proceeding in view of their strained relations overnight.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/i318.jpg" class="illogap" width="350" height="500" alt="“It will paralyze the dowager brigade if we hug each other.”" +title="" /> +<span class="caption">“It will paralyze the dowager brigade if we hug each other.”<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;"><i>Page <a href="#Page_309">309</a></i></span></span> +</div> + +<p>Millicent’s first action after quitting the <i>salle à manger</i> had been +to worm out of Léontine the full, true, and particular history of Etta +Stampa, or so much of the story as was known to the hotel servants. +The recital was cut short by Helen’s visit, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>but resumed during packing operations, as Millicent had enlarged her +store of knowledge considerably during the process of reconciliation.</p> + +<p>So, alive to possibilities going far beyond a single check, even for +five thousand pounds, at the last moment she sent a message to Helen.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Come and see me off,” she wrote. “It will simply paralyze the +dowager brigade if we hug each other on the mat.”</p></div> + +<p>Helen agreed. She was not sorry that her critics should be paralyzed, +or stupefied, or rendered incapable in some way of inflicting further +annoyance. In her present radiant mood, nearly all her troubles having +taken unto themselves wings, she looked on yesterday’s episode in the +light of a rather far fetched joke. Bower stood so high in her esteem +that she was sure the outspoken announcement of his intentions was +dictated chiefly by anger at Millicent’s unfair utterances. Perhaps he +had some thought of marriage; but he must seek a wife in a more +exalted sphere. She felt in her heart that Spencer was only awaiting a +favorable opportunity to declare his love, and she did not strive to +repress the wave of divine happiness that flooded her heart at the +thought.</p> + +<p>After much secret pondering and some shy confidences intrusted to Mrs. +de la Vere, she had resolved to tell him that if he left the Maloja at +once—an elastic phrase in lovers’ language—and came to her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>in +London next month, she would have an answer ready. She persuaded +herself that there was no other honorable way out of an embarrassing +position. She had come to Switzerland for work, not for love making. +Spencer would probably wish to marry her forthwith, and that was not +to be thought of while “The Firefly’s” commission was only half +completed. All of which modest and maidenly reasoning left wholly out +of account Spencer’s strenuous wooing; it is chronicled here merely to +show her state of mind when she kissed Millicent farewell.</p> + +<p>It is worthy of note also that two young people who might be expected +to take the liveliest interest in each other’s company were steadfast +in their determination to separate. Each meant to send the other back +to England with the least possible delay, and both were eager to fly +into each other’s arms—in London! Whereat the gods may have laughed, +or frowned, as the case may be, if they glanced at the horoscopes of +certain mortals pent within the mountain walls of the Upper Engadine.</p> + +<p>While Helen was still gazing after Millicent’s retreating carriage, +Bower came from the darksome foyer to the sunlit veranda. “So you +parted the best of friends?” he said quietly.</p> + +<p>She turned and looked at him with shining eyes. “I cannot tell you how +pleased I am that a stupid misunderstanding should be cleared away!” +she said.</p> + +<p>“Then I share your pleasure, though, to be candid, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>I was thinking +that a woman’s kiss has infinite gradations. It may savor of Paradise +or the Dead Sea.”</p> + +<p>“But she told me how grieved she was that she had behaved so +foolishly, and appealed to me not to let the folly of a day break the +friendship of years.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Millicent picks up some well turned sentiments on the stage. Come +out for a little stroll, and tell me all about it.”</p> + +<p>Helen hesitated. “It will soon be tea time,” she said, with a self +conscious blush. She had promised Spencer to walk with him to the +château; but her visit to Millicent had intervened, and he was not on +the veranda at the moment.</p> + +<p>“We need not go far. The sun has garnished the roads for us. What do +you say if we make for the village, and interview Johann Klucker’s cat +on the weather?”</p> + +<p>His tone was quite reassuring. To her transparent honesty of purpose +it seemed better that they should discuss Millicent’s motive in coming +to the hotel and then dismiss it for ever. “A most excellent idea,” +she cried lightly. “I have been writing all the morning, so a breath +of fresh air will be grateful.”</p> + +<p>They passed down the steps.</p> + +<p>They had not gone more than a few paces when the driver of an empty +carriage pulled up his vehicle and handed Bower a telegram.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>“They gave it to me at St. Moritz, Herr Bower,” he said. “I took a +message there for Herr Spencer, and they asked me to bring this to +you, as it would reach you more quickly than if it came by the post.”</p> + +<p>Bower thanked the man, and opened the envelop. It was a very long +telegram; but he only glanced at it in the most cursory manner before +putting it in a pocket.</p> + +<p>At a distant corner of the road by the side of the lake, Millicent +turned for a last look at the hotel and waved a hand at them. Helen +replied.</p> + +<p>“I almost wish now she was staying here a few days,” she said +wistfully. “She ought to have seen our valley in its summer greenery.”</p> + +<p>“I fear she brought winter in her train,” was Bower’s comment. “But +the famous cat must decide. Here, boy,” he went on, hailing a village +urchin, “where is Johann Klucker’s house?”</p> + +<p>The boy pointed to a track that ran close to the right bank of the +tiny Inn. He explained volubly, and was rewarded with a franc.</p> + +<p>“Do you know this path?” asked Bower. “Klucker’s chalet is near the +waterfall, which should be a fine sight owing to the melting snow.”</p> + +<p>It was Helen’s favorite walk. She would have preferred a more +frequented route; but the group of houses described by the boy was +quite near, and she could devise no excuse for keeping to the busy +highway. As the path was narrow she walked in front. The grass and +flowers seemed to have drawn fresh <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>tints from the snow, which had +cleared away with magical rapidity from this sheltered spot. But the +little rivulet, usually diamond bright, was now a turbulent and +foaming stream. Care was needed not to slip. If anyone fell into that +miniature torrent, it would be no easy matter to escape without broken +bones.</p> + +<p>“Would you ever believe that a few hours’ snow, followed by a hot sun, +would make such a difference to a mere ribbon of water like this?” she +asked, when they were passing through a narrow cleft in a wall of rock +through which the Inn roared with a quite respectable fury.</p> + +<p>“I am in a mood to believe anything,” said Bower. “Do you remember our +first meeting at the Embankment Hotel? Who would have imagined then +that Millicent Jaques, a few weeks later, would rush a thousand miles +to the Maloja and scream her woes to Heaven and the multitude. Neither +you nor I, I fancy, had seen her during the interval. Did she tell you +the cause of her extraordinary behavior?”</p> + +<p>“No. I did not ask her. But it scarce needed explanation, Mr. Bower. +I—I fear she suspected me of flirting. It was unjust; but I can well +conceive that a woman who thinks her friend is robbing her of a man’s +affections does not wait to consider nice points of procedure.”</p> + +<p>“Surely Millicent did not say that I had promised to marry her?”</p> + +<p>Though Helen was not prepared for this downright <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>plunge into an +embarrassing discussion, she managed to evade a direct answer. “There +was more than a suggestion of that in her words last night,” she said. +“Perhaps she thought so in all seriousness. You seem to have +undeceived her to-day, and I am sure you must have dealt with her +kindly, or she would not have acknowledged her mistake in such frank +terms to me. There, now! That is the end of a very disagreeable +episode. Shall we say no more about it?”</p> + +<p>Helen was flushed and hurried of speech: but she persevered bravely, +hoping that Bower’s tact would not desert him at this crisis. She +quickened her pace a little, with the air of one who has said the last +word on a difficult topic and is anxious to forget it.</p> + +<p>Bower overtook her. He grasped her shoulder almost roughly, and drew +her round till she faced him. “You are trying to escape me, Helen!” he +said hoarsely. “That is impossible. Someone must have told you what I +said to Millicent in the hearing of all who chose to listen. Her +amazing outburst forced from me an avowal that should have been made +to you alone. Helen, I want you to be my wife. I love you better than +all the world. I have my faults,—what man is flawless?—but I have +the abiding virtue of loving you. I shall make your life happy, Helen. +For God’s sake do not tell me that you are already promised to +another!”</p> + +<p>His eyes blazed into hers with a passion that was appalling in its +intensity. She seemed to lose the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>power to speak or move. She looked +up at him like a frightened child, who hears strange words that she +does not comprehend. Thinking he had won her, he threw his arms about +her and strained her fiercely to his breast. He strove to kiss away +the tears that began to fall in piteous protest; but she bent her head +as if in shame.</p> + +<p>“Oh, please let me go!” she sobbed. “Please let me go! What have I +done that you should treat me so cruelly.”</p> + +<p>“Cruelly, Helen? How should I be cruel to you whom I hold so dear?”</p> + +<p>Still he clasped her tightly, hardly knowing what he did in his +transport of joy at the belief that she was his.</p> + +<p>She struggled to free herself. She shrank from this physical contact +with a strange repulsion. She felt as a timid animal must feel when +some lord of the jungle pulls it down and drags it to his lair. Bower +was kissing her cheeks, her forehead, her hair, finding a mad rapture +in the fragrance of her skin. He crushed her in a close embrace that +was almost suffocating.</p> + +<p>“Oh, please let me go!” she wailed. “You frighten me. Let me go! How +dare you!”</p> + +<p>She fought so wildly that he yielded to a dim sense that she was in +earnest. He relaxed his grip. With the instinct of a hunted thing, she +took a dangerous leap for safety clean across the swollen Inn. Luckily +she alighted on a broad boulder, or a sprained <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>ankle would have been +the least penalty for that desperate means of escape.</p> + +<p>As she stood there, with tears streaming down her face and the crimson +brand of angry terror on her brow, the dreadful knowledge that he had +lost her smote Bower like a rush of cold air from a newly opened tomb. +Between them brawled the tiny torrent. It offered no bar to an active +man; but even in his panic of sudden perception he resisted the +impulse that bade him follow.</p> + +<p>“Helen,” he pleaded, stretching forth his hands in frenzied gesture, +“why do you cast me off? I swear by all a man holds sacred that I mean +no wrong. You are dear to me as life itself. Ah, Helen, say that I may +hope! I do not even ask for your love. I shall win that by a lifetime +of devotion.”</p> + +<p>At last she found utterance. He had alarmed her greatly; but no woman +can feel it an outrage that a man should avow his longing. And she +pitied Bower with a great pity. Deep down in her heart was a suspicion +that they might have been happy together had they met sooner. She +would never have loved him,—she knew that now beyond cavil,—but if +they were married she must have striven to make life pleasant for him, +while she drifted down the smooth stream of existence free from either +abiding joys or carking sorrows.</p> + +<p>“I am more grieved than I can tell that this should have happened,” +she said, striving hard to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>restrain the sob in her voice, though it +gave her words the ring of genuine regret. “I little dreamed that you +thought of me in that way, Mr. Bower. But I can never marry +you—never, no matter what the circumstances! Surely you will help me +to dispel the memory of a foolish moment. It has been trying to both +of us. Let us pretend that it never was.”</p> + +<p>Had she struck him with a whip he could not have flinched so visibly +beneath the lash as from the patent honesty of her words. For a time +he did not answer, and the sudden calm that came quick on the heels of +frenzy had in it a weird peacefulness.</p> + +<p>Neither could ever again forget the noisy rush of the stream, the glad +singing of birds in a thicket overhanging the bank, the tinkle of the +cow bells as the cattle began to climb to the pastures for a luxurious +hour ere sundown. It was typical of their lives that they should be +divided by the infant Inn, almost at its source, and that thenceforth +the barrier should become ever wider and deeper till it reached the +infinite sea.</p> + +<p>He seemed to take his defeat well. He was pale, and his lips twitched +with the effort to attain composure. He looked at Helen with a hungry +longing that was slowly acknowledging restraint.</p> + +<p>“I must have frightened you,” he said, breaking a silence that was +growing irksome. “Of course I apologize for that. But we cannot leave +things where they are. If you must send me away from <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>you, I may at +least demand a clear understanding. Have no fear that I shall distress +you further. May I join you, or will you walk to the bridge a little +higher up?”</p> + +<p>“Let us return to the hotel,” she protested.</p> + +<p>“No, no. We are not children. We have broken no law of God or man. Why +should I be ashamed of having asked you to marry me, or you to listen, +even though it be such a hopeless fantasy as you say?”</p> + +<p>Helen, deeply moved in his behalf, walked to a bridge of planks a +little distance up stream. Bower joined her there. He had deliberately +resolved to do a dastardly thing. If Spencer was the cause of Helen’s +refusal, that obstacle, at any rate, could be smashed to a pulp.</p> + +<p>“Now, Helen,” he said, “I want you to believe that your happiness is +my only concern. Perhaps, at some other time, you may allow me to +renew in less abrupt manner the proposal I have made to-day. But when +you hear all that I have to tell, you will be forced to admit that I +placed your high repute above every other consideration in declaring +my love before, rather than after, you learned how and why you came to +Switzerland.”</p> + +<p>His manner was becoming more calm and judicial each moment. It reacted +on Helen, who gazed at him with a very natural surprise in her still +tear-laden eyes.</p> + +<p>“That, at least, is simple enough,” she cried.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span></p><p>“No. It is menacing, ugly, a trick calculated to wound you sorely. +When first it came to my ears I refused to credit the vile meanness of +it. You saw that telegram which reached my hands as we quitted the +hotel? It is a reply to certain inquiries I caused to be made in +London. Read it.”</p> + +<p>Helen took the crumpled sheets of thin paper and began to read. Bower +watched her face with a maleficent confidence that might have warned +her had she seen it. But she paid heed to nothing else at that moment +save the mysterious words scrawled in a foreign handwriting:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>“Have investigated ‘Firefly’ incident fully. Pargrave compelled +Mackenzie to explain. The American, Charles K. Spencer, recently +residing at Embankment Hotel, is paying Miss Helen Wynton’s +expenses, including cost of publishing her articles. He followed +her on the day of her departure, and has since asked Mackenzie for +introduction. Pargrave greatly annoyed, and holds Mackenzie at +your disposal.</p> + +<p class="right"><span style="margin-right: 2em;">“<span class="smcap">Kennett.</span>”</span></p></div> + +<p>Helen went very white; but she spoke with a firmness that was amazing, +even to Bower. “Who is Kennett?” she said.</p> + +<p>“One of my confidential clerks.”</p> + +<p>“And Pargrave?”</p> + +<p>“The proprietor of ‘The Firefly.’”</p> + +<p>“Did Millicent know of this—plot?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>Then she murmured a broken prayer. “Ah, dear Heaven!” she complained, +“for what am I punished so bitterly?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p><p>Karl, the voluble and sharp-eyed, retailed a bit of gossip to Stampa +that evening as they smoked in Johann Klucker’s chalet. “As I was +driving the cattle to the middle alp to-day, I saw our <i>fräulein</i> in +the arms of the big <i>voyageur</i>,” he said.</p> + +<p>Stampa withdrew his pipe from between his teeth. “Say that again,” he +whispered, as though afraid of being overheard.</p> + +<p>Karl did so, with fuller details.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure?” asked Stampa.</p> + +<p>Karl sniffed scornfully. “<i>Ach, Gott!</i> How could I err?” he cried. +“There are not so many pretty women in the hotel that I should not +recognize our <i>fräulein</i>. And who would forget Herr Bower? He gave me +two louis for a ten francs job. We must get them together on the hills +again, Christian. He will be soft hearted now, and pay well for taking +care of his lady.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Stampa, resuming his pipe. “You are right, Karl. There is +no place like the hills. And he will pay—the highest price, look you! +<i>Saperlotte!</i> I shall exact a heavy fee this time.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i331.jpg" width="500" height="273" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>SPENCER EXPLAINS</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span> sustained rapping on the inner door of the hut roused Helen from +dreamless sleep. In the twilight of the mind that exists between +sleeping and waking she was bewildered by the darkness, perhaps +baffled by her novel surroundings. She strove to pierce the gloom with +wide-open, unseeing eyes, but the voice of her guide broke the spell.</p> + +<p>“Time to get up, <i>sigñora</i>. The sun is on the rock, and we have a +piece of bad snow to cross.”</p> + +<p>Then she remembered, and sighed. The sigh was involuntary, the half +conscious tribute of a wearied heart. It needed an effort to brace +herself against the long hours of a new day, the hours when thoughts +would come unbidden, when regrets that she was fighting almost +fiercely would rush in and threaten to overwhelm her. But Helen was +brave. She had the courage that springs from the conviction of having +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>done that which is right. If she was a woman too, with a woman’s +infinite capacity for suffering—well, that demanded another sort of +bravery, a resolve to subdue the soul’s murmurings, a spiritual +teeth-clenching in the determination to prevail, a complete acceptance +of unmerited wrongs in obedience to some inexplicable decree of +Providence.</p> + +<p>So she rose from a couch which at least demanded perfect physical +health ere one could find rest on it, and, being fully dressed, went +forth at once to drink the steaming hot coffee that filled the tiny +hut with its fragrance.</p> + +<p>“A fine morning, Pietro?” she asked, addressing the man who had +summoned her.</p> + +<p>“<i>Si, sigñora.</i> Dawn is breaking with good promise. There is a slight +mist on the glacier; but the rock shows clear in the sun.”</p> + +<p>She knew that an amiable grin was on the man’s face; but it was so +dark in the <i>cabane</i> that she could see little beyond the figures of +the guide and his companion. She went to the door, and stood for a +minute on the narrow platform of rough stones that provided the only +level space in a witches’ cauldron of moss covered boulders and rough +ice. Beneath her feet was an ultramarine mist, around her were masses +of black rock; but overhead was a glorious pink canopy, fringed by far +flung circles of translucent blue and tenderest green. And this +heaven’s own shield was ever widening. Eastward its arc was broken by +an irregular dark mass, whose pinnacles <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>glittered like burnished +gold. That was the Aguagliouls Rock, which rises so magnificently in +the midst of a vast ice field, like some great portal to the +wonderland of the Bernina. She had seen it the night before, after +leaving the small restaurant that nestles at the foot of the Roseg +Glacier. Then its scarred sides, brightened by the crimson and violet +rays of the setting sun, looked friendly and inviting. Though its base +was a good mile distant across the snow-smoothed surface of the ice, +she could discern every crevice and ledge and steep couloir. Now, all +these distinguishing features were merged in the sea-blue mist. The +great wall itself seemed to be one vast, unscalable precipice, capped +by a series of shining spires.</p> + +<p>And for the first time in three sorrowful days, while her eyes dwelt +on that castle above the clouds, the mysterious grandeur of nature +healed her vexed spirit, and the peace that passeth all understanding +fell upon her. The miserable intrigues and jealousies of the past +weeks were so insignificant, so far away, up here among the mountains. +Had she only consulted her own happiness, she mused, she would not +have ordered events differently. There was no real reason why she +should have flown from the hotel like a timid deer roused by hounds +from a thicket. Instead of doubling and twisting from St. Moritz to +Samaden, and back by carriage to a remote hotel in the Roseg Valley, +she might have remained and defied her persecutors. But now the fume +and fret <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>were ended, and she tried to persuade herself she was glad. +She felt that she could never again endure the sight of Bower’s face. +The memory of his passionate embrace, of his blazing eyes, of the +thick sensual lips that forced their loathsome kisses upon her, was +bitter enough without the need of reviving it each time they met. She +was sorry it was impossible to bid farewell to Mrs. de la Vere. Any +hint of her intent would have drawn from that well-disposed cynic a +flood of remonstrance hard to stem; though nothing short of force +would have kept Helen at Maloja once she was sure of Spencer’s double +dealing.</p> + +<p>Of course, she might write to Mrs. de la Vere when she was in calmer +mood. It would be easier then to pick and choose the words that would +convey in full measure her detestation of the American. For she hated +him—yes, hatred alone was satisfying. She despised her own heart +because it whispered a protest. Yet she feared him too. It was from +him that she fled. She admitted this to her honest mind while she +watched the spreading radiance of the new day. She feared the candor +of his steady eyes more than the wiles and hypocrisies of Bower and +her false friend, Millicent. By a half miraculous insight into the +history of recent events, she saw that Bower had followed her to +Switzerland with evil intent.</p> + +<p>But the discovery embittered her the more against Spencer, who had +lured her there deliberately, than <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>against Bower who knew of it, nor +scrupled to use the knowledge as best it marched with his designs. It +was nothing to her, she told herself, that Spencer no less than Bower +had renounced his earlier purpose, and was ready to marry her. She +still quivered with anger at the thought that she had fallen so +blindly into the toils. Even though she accepted Mackenzie’s +astounding commission, she might have guessed that there was some +ignoble element underlying it. She felt now that it was possible to be +prepared,—to scrutinize occurrences more closely, to hold herself +aloof from compromising incidents. The excursion to the Forno, the +manifest interest she displayed in both men, the concealment of her +whereabouts from friends in London, her stiff lipped indifference to +the opinion of other residents in the hotel,—these things, trivial +individually, united into a strong self indictment.</p> + +<p>As for Spencer, though she meant, above all things, to avoid meeting +him, and hoped that he was now well on his way to the wide world +beyond Maloja, she would never forgive him—no, never!</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to hurry you, <i>sigñora</i>, but there is a bit of really bad +snow on the Sella Pass,” urged Pietro apologetically at her shoulder, +and she reëntered the hut at once, sitting down to that which she +deemed to be her last meal on the Swiss side of the Upper Engadine.</p> + +<p>It was in a hotel at St. Moritz that she had settled her route with +the aid of a map and a guidebook. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>When, on that day of great +happenings, she quitted the Kursaal-Maloja, she stipulated that the +utmost secrecy should be observed as to her departure. Her boxes and +portmanteau were brought from her room by the little used exit she had +discovered soon after her arrival. A closed carriage met her there in +the dusk, and she drove straight to St. Moritz station. Leaving her +baggage in the parcels office, she sought a quiet hotel for the night, +registering her room under her mother’s maiden name of Trenholme. She +meant to return to England by the earliest train in the morning; but +her new-born terror of encountering Spencer set in motion a scheme for +evading pursuit either by him or Bower.</p> + +<p>By going up the Roseg Valley, and carrying the barest necessaries for +a few days’ travel, she could cross the Bernina range into Italy, +reach the rail at Sondrio, and go round by Como to Lucerne and thence +to Basle, whither the excellent Swiss system of delivering passengers’ +luggage would convey her bulky packages long before she was ready to +claim them.</p> + +<p>With a sense of equity that was creditable, she made up her mind to +expend every farthing of the money received from “The Firefly.” She +had kept her contract faithfully: Mackenzie, therefore, or Spencer, +must abide by it to the last letter. The third article of the series +was already written and in the post. The fourth she wrote quietly in +her room at the St. Moritz hotel, nor did she stir out <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>during the +next day until it was dark, when she walked a few yards up the main +street to buy a rucksack and an alpenstock.</p> + +<p>Early next morning, close wrapped and veiled, she took a carriage to +the Restaurant du Glacier. Here she met an unforeseen check. The local +guides were absent in the Bernina, and the hotel proprietor—good, +careful man!—would not hear of intrusting the pretty English girl to +inexperienced villagers, but persuaded her to await the coming of a +party from Italy, whose rooms were bespoke. Their guides, in all +probability, would be returning over the Sella Pass, and would charge +far less for the journey.</p> + +<p>He was right. On the afternoon of the following day, three tired +Englishmen arrived at the restaurant, and their hardy Italian pilots +were only too glad to find a <i>voyageur</i> ready to start at once for the +Mortel hut, whence a nine hours’ climb would take them back to the Val +Malenco, provided they crossed the dangerous névé on the upper part of +the glacier soon after daybreak.</p> + +<p>Pietro, the leader, was a cheery soul. Like others of his type in the +Bernina region, he spoke a good deal of German, and his fund of +pleasant anecdote and reminiscence kept Helen from brooding on her own +troubles during the long evening in the hut.</p> + +<p>And now, while she was finishing her meal in the dim light of dawn, +and the second guide was packing their few belongings, Pietro regaled +her with a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>legend of the Monte del Diavolo, which overlooks Sondrio +and the lovely valley of the Adda.</p> + +<p>“Once upon a time, <i>sigñora</i>, they used to grow fine grapes there,” he +said, “and the wine was always sent to Rome for the special use of the +Pope and his cardinals. That made the people proud, and the devil took +possession of them, which greatly grieved a pious hermit who dwelt in +a cell in the little Val Malgina, by the side of a torrent that flows +into the Adda. So one day he asked the good Lord to permit the devil +to visit him; but when Satan appeared the saint laughed at him. ‘You!’ +he cried. ‘Who sent for you? You are not the Prince of the Infernal +Regions?’—‘Am I not?’ said the stranger, with a truly fiendish grin. +‘Just try my powers, and see what will happen!’—‘Very well,’ said the +saint, ‘produce me twenty barrels of better wine than can be grown in +Sondrio.’ So old Barbariccia stamped his hoof, and lo! there were the +twenty barrels, while the mere scent of them nearly made the saint +break a vow that he would never again taste fermented wine. But he +held fast, and said, ‘Now, drink the lot.’—‘Oh, nonsense!’ roared the +devil. ‘Pooh!’ said the hermit, ‘you’re not much of a devil if you +can’t do in a moment what the College of Cardinals can do in a week.’ +That annoyed Satan, and he put away barrel after barrel, until the +saint began to feel very uneasy. But the last barrel finished him, and +down he went like a log, whereupon the holy man put him into one of +his own tubs and sent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>him to Rome to be dealt with properly. There +was a tremendous row, it is said, when the cask was opened. In the +confusion, Satan escaped; but in revenge for the trick that had been +played on him, he put a blight on the vines of the Adda, and from that +day to this never a liter of decent wine came out of Sondrio.”</p> + +<p>“I guess if that occurred anywhere in Italy nowadays, they’d lynch the +hermit,” said a voice in English outside.</p> + +<p>Helen screamed, and the two Italians were startled. No one was +expected at the hut at that hour. Its earliest visitors should come +from the inner range, after a long tramp from Italy or Pontresina.</p> + +<p>“Sorry if I scared you,” said Spencer, his tall figure suddenly +darkening the doorway; “but I didn’t like to interrupt the story.”</p> + +<p>Helen sprang to her feet. Her cheeks, blanched for a few seconds, +became rosy red. “You!” she cried. “How dare you follow me here?”</p> + +<p>In the rapidly growing light she caught a transitory gleam in the +American’s eyes, though his face was as impassive as usual. And the +worst of it was that it suggested humor, not resentment. Even in the +tumult of wounded pride that took her heart by storm, she realized +that her fiery vehemence had gone perilously near to a literal +translation of the saintly scoff at old Barbariccia. And, now if ever, +she must be dignified. Anger yielded to disdain. In an instant she +grew cold and self collected.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p><p>“I regret that in my surprise I spoke unguardedly,” she said. “Of +course, this hut is open to everyone——”</p> + +<p>“Judging by the look of things between here and the hotel, we shall +not be worried by a crowd,” broke in Spencer. “I meant to arrive half +an hour earlier; but that slope on the Alp Ota offers surprising +difficulties in the dark.”</p> + +<p>“I wished to say, when you interrupted me, that I am leaving at once, +so my presence can make little difference to you,” said Helen grandly.</p> + +<p>“That sounds more reasonable than it really is,” was the quietly +flippant reply.</p> + +<p>“It conveys my intent. I have no desire to prolong this conversation,” +she cried rather more flurriedly.</p> + +<p>“Now, there I agree with you. We have started on the wrong set of +rails. It is my fault. I ought to have coughed, or fallen down the +moraine, or done any old thing sooner than butt into the talk so +unexpectedly. If you will allow me, I’ll begin again right now.”</p> + +<p>He turned to the Italians, who were watching and listening in curious +silence, trying to pick up an odd word that would help to explain the +relations between the two.</p> + +<p>“Will you gentlemen take an interest in the scenery for five minutes?” +he asked, with a smile.</p> + +<p>Though the valley of the Adda may have lost its wine, it will never +lose its love of romance. The <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>polite Italians raised their hats and +went out. Helen, drawing a long breath, withdrew somewhat into the +shadow. She felt that she would have more command over herself if the +American could not see her face. The ruse did not avail her at all. +Spencer crossed the floor of the hut until he looked into her eyes.</p> + +<p>“Helen,” he said, “why did you run away from me?”</p> + +<p>The tender reproach in his voice almost unnerved her; but she answered +simply, “What else would you have me do, once I found out the +circumstances under which I came to Switzerland?”</p> + +<p>“It may be that you were not told the truth. Who was your informant?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Bower.”</p> + +<p>“None other?”</p> + +<p>“What, then? Is my pitiful story the property of the hotel?”</p> + +<p>“It is now. I took care of that. Some of the people there had been +spreading a misleading version, and it was necessary to correct it. +The women, of course, I could not deal with. As the General was an old +man, I picked out George de Courcy Vavasour as best fitted to digest +the wrong edition. I made him eat it. It seemed to disagree with him; +but he got through with an effort.”</p> + +<p>Helen felt that she ought to decline further discussion. But she was +tongue tied. Spencer was regarding her so fixedly that she began to +fear lest <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>he might notice the embarrassed perplexity that she herself +was quite conscious of.</p> + +<p>“Will you be good enough to explain exactly what you mean?” she said, +forcing the question mechanically from her lips.</p> + +<p>“That is why I am here. I assure you that subterfuge can never again +exist between you and me,” said he earnestly. “You can accept my words +literally. Acting for himself and others, Vavasour wrote on paper the +lying insinuations made by Miss Jaques, and ate them—both words and +paper. He happened to use the thin, glazed, Continental variety, so +what it lost in bulk it gained in toughness. He didn’t like it, and +said so; but he had to do it.”</p> + +<p>She was nervously aware of a wish to laugh; but unless she gave way to +hysteria that was not to be thought of. Trying to retreat still +farther into the friendly shade, she backed round the inner end of the +table, but found the way blocked by a rough bench. Something must be +said or done to extricate herself. The dread that her voice might +break was becoming an obsession.</p> + +<p>“You speak of a false version, and that implies a true one,” she +managed to say constrainedly. “How far was Mr. Bower’s statement false +or true?”</p> + +<p>“I settled that point too. Mr. Bower told you the facts. The deduction +he forced on you was a lie. To my harmless notion of gratifying a +girl’s longing for a holiday abroad he added the motive <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>that inspired +his own journey. I overheard your conversation with Miss Jaques in the +Embankment Hotel; I saw Bower introduced to you; I saw him looking for +you in Victoria Station, and knew that he represented the meeting as +accidental. I felt a certain responsibility on your account; so I +followed by the next train. Bower played his cards so well that I +found myself in a difficult position. I was busy guessing; but was +unable to prove anything, while the one story I was sure of was not in +the game. And then, you see, he wanted to make you his wife, which +brought about the real complication. I haven’t much use for him; but I +must be fair, and Bower’s only break was when he misrepresented my +action in subsidizing ‘The Firefly.’ I don’t deny he was pretty mad at +the idea of losing you, and jealousy will often drive a man to do a +mean thing which might otherwise be repugnant to his better +<span style="white-space: nowrap;">nature——”</span></p> + +<p>“Jealousy!” shrilled Helen, her woman’s wit at last finding a joint in +his armor. Yet never did woman err more than she in thinking that her +American suitor would flinch beneath the shaft.</p> + +<p>“That is the word,” was the quiet reply.</p> + +<p>She flared into indignant scorn. “Pray tell me why he or any other man +should feel jealous of you where I am concerned,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I am going to tell you right away—Helen. But that is the last +chapter. There is quite a long record as to the way I hit on your +track in St. Moritz, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>and heard of you by telephone last night. Of +course, that part of the story will <span style="white-space: nowrap;">keep——”</span></p> + +<p>“Is it necessary that I should hear any portion of it?” she +interrupted, hoping to irritate him, and thus lessen the strain +imposed by his studiously tranquil manner.</p> + +<p>“Well, it ought to interest you. But it has humorous points to which I +can’t do justice under present conditions. You are right, Helen—you +most always are. The real question at issue is my position in the +deal, which becomes quite clear when I say that you are the only woman +I have ever loved or ever shall love. More than that, you are the only +woman to whom I have ever spoken a word of love, and as I have set +about loving the dearest and prettiest and healthiest girl I have ever +seen, it is safe to figure that you will have sole claim on all the +nice things I can try to say to any woman during the remainder of my +life.”</p> + +<p>He hesitated a moment. He did not appear to notice that Helen, after a +rebellious gasp or two, had suddenly become very still.</p> + +<p>“I suppose I ought to have fixed up a finer bit of word painting than +that,” he continued slowly. “As a matter of fact, I don’t mind +admitting that ever since eleven o’clock last night, when the +proprietor of the hotel below there telephoned to me that Miss +Trenholme had gone to the Mortel hut with two guides, I have been +rehearsing X plus Y multiplied by Z ways of telling you just how dear +you are to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>me. But they all vanished like smoke when I saw your sweet +face. You tried to be severe with me, Helen; but your voice didn’t +ring true, and you are the poorest sort of prevaricator I know. And +the reason those set forms wouldn’t work at the right moment is that +they were addressed to the silent air. You are near me now, my sweet. +You are almost in my arms. You are in my arms, Helen, and it sounds +just right to keep on telling you that I love you now and shall love +you for ever. Oh, my dear, my dear, you must never, never, run away +again! Search the dictionary for all the unkindest things you can say +about me; but don’t run away ... for I know now that when you are +absent the day is night and the night is akin to death.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Guide Pietro was somewhat a philosopher. Stamping about on the tiny +stone plateau of the hut to keep at bay the cold mists from the +glacier, he happened to glance through the open door. He drew away +instantly.</p> + +<p>“Bartelommeo,” he said to his companion, “we shall not cross the Sella +to-day with our charming <i>voyageur</i>.”</p> + +<p>Bartelommeo was surprised. He looked at the clean cut crest of the +rock, glowing now in vivid sunlight. Argument was not required; he +pointed silently with the stem of his pipe.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” murmured Pietro. “We couldn’t have a better day for the pass. +It is not the weather.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p><p>“Then what is it?” asked Bartelommeo, moved to speech.</p> + +<p>“She is going the other way. Didn’t you catch the tears in her voice +yesterday? She smiled at my stories, and carried herself bravely; but +her eyes were heavy, and the corners of her mouth drooped when she was +left to her thoughts. And again, my friend, did you not see her face +when the young <i>sigñor</i> arrived?”</p> + +<p>“She was frightened.”</p> + +<p>Pietro laughed softly. “A woman always fears her lover,” he said. +“That is just the reason why you married Caterina. You liked her for +her shyness. It made you feel yourself a man—a devil of a fellow. +Don’t you remember how timid she was, how she tried to avoid you, how +she would dodge into anybody’s chalet rather than meet you?”</p> + +<p>“But how do you know?” demanded Bartelommeo, waking into resentful +appreciation of Pietro’s close acquaintance with his wooing.</p> + +<p>“Because I married Lola two years earlier. Women are all the same, no +matter what country they hail from—nervous as young chamois before +marriage—but after! Body of Bacchus! Was it on Wednesday that +Caterina hauled you out of the albergo to chop firewood?”</p> + +<p>Bartelommeo grunted, and put his pipe in his mouth again.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span></p> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i347.jpg" width="500" height="274" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>THE SETTLEMENT</h3> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>hough Helen was the better linguist, it was left to Spencer to +explain that circumstances would prevent the lady from going to +Malenco that day. He did not fully understand why the men should +exchange glances of darksome intelligence when he made this statement. +He fancied they were disappointed at losing a good customer; so he +went on brokenly:</p> + +<p>“You are in no hurry, eh? Well, then, take us across the glacier to +the Aguagliouls. We should obtain a fine view from the summit, and get +back to the hotel for luncheon. I will pay the same rates as for the +Sella.”</p> + +<p>Both guides were manifestly pleased. Pietro began a voluble recital of +the glories that would meet their enraptured gaze from the top of the +mighty rock.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span></p><p>“You will see the Bernina splendidly,” he cried, “and Roseg too, and +the Glüschaint and Il Chapütschin. If the lady will trust to us, we +can bring her down the Tschierva glacier safely. You are a climber, +<i>sigñor</i>, else you could never have crossed the Ota before dawn. But +let us make another cup of coffee. The middle Roseg ice is safe at any +hour, and if we are on the rock by nine o’clock that will be perfect +for the sun.”</p> + +<p>Already a grand panorama of glaciers and peaks was unfolding itself. A +cloudless sky promised a lovely August day, and what that means in the +high Alps the mountaineer alone can tell. But Spencer turned his back +on the outer glory. He had eyes only for Helen, while she, looking +mistily at the giant rock across the valley, saw it not at all, for +she was peering into her own soul, and found the prospect dazzling in +its pure delight.</p> + +<p>So they sat down to a fresh brew of coffee, and Spencer horrified +Helen by a confession that he had eaten nothing since the previous +evening. Her tender solicitude for his needs, her hasty unpacking of +rolls and sandwiches, her anxiety that he should endeavor to consume +the whole of the provisions intended for the day’s march, were all +sufficing guerdon for the sufferings of those miserable days since the +hour when Mrs. de la Vere told him that Helen had gone. It was a new +experience for Spencer to have a gracious and smiling woman so greatly +concerned for his welfare; but it was decidedly agreeable. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>These +little attentions admitted so much that she dared not tell—as yet. +And he had such a budget of news for her! Though he found it difficult +to eat and talk at the same time, he boldly made the attempt.</p> + +<p>“Stampa was the genius who really unraveled the mystery,” he said. +“Certainly, I managed to discover, in the first instance, that you had +deposited your baggage in your own name. Had all else failed, I should +have converted myself into a label and stuck to your boxes till you +claimed them at Basle; but once we ascertained that you had not +quitted St. Moritz by train, Stampa did the rest. He knows St. Moritz +like a book, and it occurred to him that you had changed your +<span style="white-space: nowrap;">name——”</span></p> + +<p>“Why, I wonder?” she broke in.</p> + +<p>“That is rather hard to say.” He wrestled valiantly with the leg of a +tough chicken, and thus was able to evade the question.</p> + +<p>Poor Stampa! clinging tenaciously to the belief that Helen bore some +resemblance to his lost daughter, remembered that when Etta made her +sorrowful journey from Zermatt she gave another name at the little +hostelry in Maloja where she ended her life.</p> + +<p>“Anyhow,” went on Spencer, having dexterously severed the joint, “he +tracked you from St. Moritz to the Roseg. He even hit on the shop in +which you bought your rucksack and alpenstock. Then he put me on to +the telephone, and the remainder of the chase was up to me.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span></p><p>“I am sorry now that the dear old man did not come with you,” cried +Helen. “I look on him as the first of my friends in Switzerland, and +shall be more than pleased to see him again.”</p> + +<p>“I pressed him to come along; but he refused. I don’t wish to pain +you, dearest, but I guess he wants to keep track of Bower.”</p> + +<p>Helen, who had no inkling of the tragedy that linked those two, +blushed to her ears at the recollection of her parting from the +millionaire.</p> + +<p>“Do you—do you know that Mr. Bower proposed to me?” she stammered.</p> + +<p>“He told me that, and a lot more.”</p> + +<p>“Did you quarrel?”</p> + +<p>“We—said things. But I couldn’t treat Bower as I handled Georgie. I +was forced to admit his good taste, you see.”</p> + +<p>“Well, dear, promise me——”</p> + +<p>“That I sha’n’t slay him! Why, Helen, if he is half the man I take him +for, he will come to our wedding. I told Mrs. de la Vere I should +bring you back, and she agreed that there was nothing else to be +done.”</p> + +<p>The color ebbed and flowed on Helen’s face at an alarming rate. “What +in the world are you talking about?” she asked, with a calm severity +that her fluttering heart denied.</p> + +<p>Spencer laughed so happily that Pietro, who understood no word of what +his voyageurs were saying, gave Bartelommeo a sapient wink.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span></p><p>“Well, now,” he cried, “wouldn’t we be the queerest pair of zanies to +go all that long way to London to get married when a parson, and a +church, and all the needful consular offices are right here under our +noses, so to speak. Why, we have a ready-made honeymoon staring us in +the face. We’ll just skate round Switzerland after your baggage and +then drop down the map into Italy. I figured it all out last night, +together with ’steen methods of making the preliminary declaration. +I’ll tell you the whole scheme while we—Oh, well, if you’re in a real +hurry to cross the glacier, I must defer details and talk in +headlines.”</p> + +<p>For Helen, absolutely scarlet now, had risen with a tragic air and +bade the guides prepare for instant departure.</p> + +<p>The snow lay deep on the Roseg, and roping was essential, though +Pietro undertook to avoid any difficult crevasses. He led, Spencer +followed, with Helen next, and Bartelommeo last. They reached the +opposite moraine in half an hour, and began to climb steadily. The +rock which looked so forbidding from the hut was by no means steep and +not at all dangerous. They had plenty of time, and often stopped to +admire the magnificent vistas of the Val Roseg and the Bernina range +that were gradually unfolding before their eyes. Soon they were on a +level with the hut, the Alpine palace that had permitted their first +embrace.</p> + +<p>“When we make our next trip to St. Moritz, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>Helen, we must seek out +the finest and biggest photograph of the Mortel that money can buy,” +said Spencer.</p> + +<p>Helen was standing a little above him on a broad ledge. Her hand was +resting on his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Oh, look!” she cried suddenly, pointing with her alpenstock to the +massive mountain wall that rose above the <i>cabane</i>. A few stones had +fallen above a widespread snow slope. The stones started an avalanche, +and the roar of the tremendous cascade of snow and rock was distinctly +audible.</p> + +<p>Pietro uttered an exclamation, and hastily unslung a telescope. He +said something in a low tone to Bartelommeo; but Spencer and Helen +grasped its meaning.</p> + +<p>The girl’s eyes dilated with terror. “There has been an accident!” she +whispered. Bartelommeo took the telescope in his turn and evidently +agreed with the leading guide.</p> + +<p>“A party has fallen on Corvatsch,” said Pietro gravely. “Two men are +clinging to a ledge. It is not a bad place; but they cannot move. They +must be injured, and there may be others—below.”</p> + +<p>“Let us go to their assistance,” said Spencer instantly.</p> + +<p>“<i>Per certo, sigñor.</i> That is the law of the hills. But the <i>sigñora</i>? +What of her?”</p> + +<p>“She will remain at the hut.”</p> + +<p>“I will do anything you wish,” said Helen sorrowfully, for her +gladness had been changed to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>mourning by the fearsome tidings that +two, if not more, human beings were in imminent danger on the slopes +of the very hill that had witnessed the avowal of her love. They raced +back over the glacier, doubling on their own track, and were thus +enabled to travel without precaution.</p> + +<p>Leaving Helen at the hut, the men lost no time in beginning the +ascent. They were gone so long that she was almost frantic with dread +in their behalf; but at last they came, slowly, with the tread of +care, for they were carrying the body of a man.</p> + +<p>While they were yet a couple of hundred feet above the hut, Spencer +intrusted the burden to the Italians alone. He advanced with rapid +strides, and Helen knew that he brought bad news.</p> + +<p>“Come, dear one,” he said gently. “We must go to the inn and send +help. Our guides are bringing an injured man to the hut, and there is +one other whom we left on the mountain.”</p> + +<p>“Dead?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, killed instantly by a stone. That was all. Just a mishap—one of +the things that can never be avoided in climbing. But come, dear. More +men are needed, and a doctor. This poor fellow is badly hurt.”</p> + +<p>“Can I do nothing for him?” she pleaded.</p> + +<p>A species of fright twitched his grave face for an instant. “No, no, +that is not to be thought of,” he urged. “Pietro says he has some +little skill in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>these matters. He can do all that is needed until a +doctor arrives. Believe me, Helen, it is imperative that we should +reach the hotel without delay.”</p> + +<p>She went with him at once. “Who is it?” she asked. He steeled himself +to answer according to his intent. Though he had vowed that never +again would he utter a syllable to his love that was not transparently +true, how could he tell her then that Stampa was stretched lifeless on +the broad bosom of Corvatsch, and that the Italians were carrying +Bower, crushed and raving in delirium, to the hut.</p> + +<p>“An Englishman and his guide, I am sorry to say,” was his prepared +reply. “The guide is dead; but his employer can be saved, I am sure, +if only we rush things a bit. Now, Helen, let us go at top speed. No +talking, dear. We must make the hotel under the hour.”</p> + +<p>They did it, and help was soon forthcoming. Then Spencer ordered a +carriage, and insisted that Helen should drive to Maloja forthwith. He +would stay at Roseg, he said, to make certain that everything possible +was done for the unfortunate climber. Indeed, when his beloved was +lost to sight down the winding road that leads to the main valley of +the Engadine, he accompanied the men who went to the Mortel. Halfway +they met Pietro and Bartelommeo carrying Bower on an improvised +stretcher, ice axes and a blanket.</p> + +<p>By this time, under the stimulus of wine and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>warmth, Bower had +regained his senses. He recognized Spencer, and tried to speak; but +the American told him that even the least excitement must be avoided.</p> + +<p>Once the hotel was reached, and they were waiting for the doctor, +Bower could not be restrained.</p> + +<p>“It was you who rescued me?” he said feebly.</p> + +<p>“I, and two Italian guides. We saw the accident from the other side of +the Roseg glacier.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Stampa pointed you out to me. I could not believe my eyes. I +watched you till the thought came that Stampa had befooled me. Then he +pushed me off the rock where we were standing. I broke my leg in the +fall; but he held me there on the rope and taunted me. Great God! how +I suffered!”</p> + +<p>“You really ought not to talk about it,” said Spencer soothingly.</p> + +<p>“Why not? He brought me there to kill me, he said. The cunning old fox +told me that I would find Helen in the Mortel hut, and offered to take +me to her by a short cut over Corvatsch. And I believed him! I was +mad, I suppose. We did the Marmoré ascent by the light of the stars. +Do you realize what that means? It is a hard climb for experts in +broad daylight. But I meant to beat you, Spencer. Stampa vowed you +were in St. Moritz. And again I believed him! Think of it—I was +hoodwinked by an old peasant.”</p> + +<p>“Hush! Try and forget things till your broken limb is fixed.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span></p><p>“What does it matter? Confound it! you’ve won; so let me tell my +story. I must have lost my senses when I saw you and Helen leaving the +glacier with two strange guides. I forgot all else in my rage. I stood +there, frozen, bewitched. Stampa was watching me all the time, and the +instant I turned to revile him he threw me off my balance with a +thrust of his ax. ‘Now you are going to die, Marcus Bauer!’ he said, +grinning at me with a lunatic’s joy. He even gloated over the +unexpected injury I received in falling. My groans and cries were so +pleasing to him that he did not cut the rope at once as he meant to +do, but kept me dangling there, listening to his reproaches. Then the +stones fell, and pinned him to the ledge; but not one touched me, and +I hauled myself up, broken leg and all, till I crawled on to the big +rock that rested on his body. You found me there, eh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I wish you luck. I meant to snatch Helen from you, even at the +twelfth hour; but Stampa over-reached me. That mock marriage of his +contriving had more power than I counted on. Curse it! how these +crushed bones are beginning to ache! Give me some brandy. I want to +drink Helen’s health, and my own, and yours, damn you! See that you +treat her well and make her life happy! She is worthy of all your +love, and I suppose she loves you, whereas I might have striven for +years to win her affection and then failed in the end.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p><p>Late that night Spencer arrived at the Maloja. Helen was waiting for +him, as he had telephoned the hour he might be expected. Rumor had +brought the news of Stampa’s death and Bower’s accident. Then she +understood why her lover had sent her away so quickly. She was +troubled all day, blaming herself as the unconscious cause of so much +misery. Spencer saw that the full truth alone would dispel her self +reproach. So he told her everything, even showing her Millicent’s +letter and a telegram received from Mackenzie, in which the editor of +“The Firefly” put it quite plainly that the proprietor of the magazine +had forbidden him (Mackenzie) from taking any steps whatever with +regard to Helen’s return to England without definite instructions.</p> + +<p>The more she learned of the amazing web of intrigue and +misunderstanding that surrounded her movements since she left the +Embankment Hotel after that memorable luncheon with Millicent, the +less inclined she was to deny Spencer’s theory that Fate had brought +them together.</p> + +<p>“I cleared out of Colorado as though a tarantula had bitten me,” he +said. “I traveled five thousand miles to London, saw you, fooled +myself into the belief that I was intended by Providence to play the +part of a heavy uncle, and kept up that notion during another +thousand-mile trip to this delightful country. Then you began to reach +out for me, <span style="white-space: nowrap;">Helen——”</span></p> + +<p>“I did nothing of the kind!” she protested.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p><p>“Oh, yes, you did,—just grabbed me good and hard,—and when Bower +showed up I stacked my chips on the table and sat down to the game. +What am I talking about? I don’t know. Kiss me good night, sweetheart, +and don’t you give a red cent who’s looking. For once in a way, I +don’t mind admitting that I’m tired—all in. I could sleep on a row of +porcupines.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p>Stampa was buried in the grave that held his daughter’s remains. +Spencer purchased the space for a suitable monument, and the +inscription does not fail to record the fact that one of the men who +first conquered the Matterhorn had paid tribute to the mountains by +meeting his death on Corvatsch.</p> + +<p>The American went many times to visit Bower at the Roseg inn. He found +his erstwhile rival resigned to the vagaries of fortune. The doctors +summoned from St. Moritz deemed his case so serious that they brought +a specialist from Paris, and the great surgeon announced that the +millionaire’s leg would be saved; but there must remain a permanent +stiffness.</p> + +<p>“I know what that means,” said Bower, with a wry smile. “It is a +legacy from Stampa. That is really rather funny, considering that the +joke is against myself. By the way, did I tell you I gave Millicent +Jaques a check for five thousand pounds to stop her tongue?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span></p><p>“I guessed the check, but couldn’t guess the amount.”</p> + +<p>“She wrote last week, threatening all sorts of terrible things because +I withheld payment. You will remember that when you and I placed on +record our mutual opinion of each other, we agreed at any rate that it +was a mean thing on her part to give away our poor Helen to the +harpies in the hotel. So I telegraphed at once to my bankers, and Miss +Millicent didn’t make good, as you would put it. Now she promises to +‘expose’ me. Humorous, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“I think you ought to marry her,” said Spencer, with that immobile +look of his.</p> + +<p>“Perhaps I may, one of these days. But first she must learn to behave +herself. A nice girl, Millicent. She would look decorative, sitting +beside an invalid in a carriage. Yes, I’ll think of it. Meanwhile, I +shall chaff her about the five thousand and see how she takes it.”</p> + +<p>Millicent behaved. Helen saw that she did.</p> + +<p>On a day in September, after a wedding that was attended by as many +people as could be crowded into the little English church at Maloja, +Mr. and Mrs. Charles K. Spencer drove over the pass and down the Vale +of Bregaglia en route to Como, Milan, and Venice. At the wedding +breakfast, when Mrs. de la Vere officiated as hostess, the Rev. Philip +Hare amused the guests by stating that he had taken pains to discover +what the initial “K” represented in his American friend’s name.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span></p><p>“His second name is Knox,” said the vicar, “and I understand that he +is a direct descendant of a famous Scottish divine known to history as +a very stubborn person. Well, it has been said by a gentleman present +that Mr. Spencer has a backbone of cast steel, so the ‘K’ is fully +accounted for, while the singular affinity of steel of any variety for +a magnet gives a ready explanation of the admirable union which has +resulted from the chance that brought the bride and bridegroom under +the same roof.”</p> + +<p>Everybody said that Hare was much happier on such occasions than in +the pulpit, and even the Wragg girls were heard to admit that Helen +looked positively charming.</p> + +<p>So it is clear that many hatchets were blunted in Maloja, which is as +it should ever be in such a fairyland, and that Helen, looking back at +the mighty chain of the Alps from the deck of a steamer on Lake Como, +had no reason to regret the day when first she crossed that solemn +barrier.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="centerbox bbox2"><p class="double2"> </p> + +<h3>TITLES SELECTED FROM</h3> +<h2>GROSSET & DUNLAP’S LIST</h2> + +<p class="double"> </p> + +<p class="center">May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</p> + +<p class="double"> </p> + +<p><span class="u">HIS HOUR.</span> By Elinor Glyn. Illustrated.</p> + +<p>A beautiful blonde Englishwoman visits Russia, and is violently made +love to by a young Russian aristocrat. A most unique situation +complicates the romance.</p> + +<p><span class="u">THE GAMBLERS.</span> By Charles Klein and Arthur Hornblow. Illustrated by C. +E. Chambers.</p> + +<p>A big, vital treatment of a present day situation wherein men play for +big financial stakes and women flourish on the profits—or repudiate +the methods.</p> + +<p><span class="u">CHEERFUL AMERICANS.</span> By Charles Battell Loomis. Illustrated by Florence +Scovel Shinn and others.</p> + +<p>A good, wholesome, laughable presentation of some Americans at home +and abroad, on their vacations and during their hours of relaxation.</p> + +<p><span class="u">THE WOMAN OF THE WORLD.</span> By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.</p> + +<p>Clever, original presentations of present day social problems and the +best solutions of them. A book every girl and woman should possess.</p> + +<p><span class="u">THE LIGHT THAT LURES.</span> By Percy Brebner. Illustrated. Handsomely +colored wrapper.</p> + +<p>A young Southerner who loved Lafayette, goes to France to aid him +during the days of terror, and is lured in a certain direction by the +lovely eyes of a Frenchwoman.</p> + +<p><span class="u">THE RAMRODDERS.</span> By Holman Day. Frontispiece by Harold Matthews Brett.</p> + +<p>A clever, timely story that will make politicians think and will make +women realize the part that politics play—even in their romances.</p> + +<p class="double"> </p> + +<p class="center"><i>Ask for complete list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> + +<p class="double"> </p> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="AD"> + +<tr> +<td align="left" style="20%;"><span class="smcap">Grosset & Dunlap,</span></td> +<td style="2%;"> </td> +<td align="left" style="20%;"><span class="smcap">Publishers,</span></td> +<td style="2%;"> </td> +<td align="right" style="56%;"><span class="smcap">New York</span></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p class="double3"> </p></div> + +<p> </p> + +<div class="centerbox bbox2"><h2>The Prodigal Judge</h2> + +<h3>By VAUGHAN KESTER</h3> + +<p>This great novel—probably the most popular book in this country +to-day—is as human as a story from the pen of that great master of +“immortal laughter and immortal tears,” Charles Dickens.</p> + +<p>The Prodigal Judge is a shabby outcast, a tavern hanger-on, a genial +wayfarer who tarries longest where the inn is most hospitable, yet +with that suavity, that distinctive politeness and that saving grace +of humor peculiar to the American man. He has his own code of +morals—very exalted ones—but honors them in the breach rather than +in the observance.</p> + +<p>Clinging to the Judge closer than a brother, is Solomon +Mahaffy—fallible and failing like the rest of us, but with a sublime +capacity for friendship; and closer still, perhaps, clings little +Hannibal, a boy about whose parentage nothing is known until the end +of the story. Hannibal is charmed into tolerance of the Judge’s +picturesque vices, while Miss Betty, lovely and capricious, is charmed +into placing all her affairs, both material and sentimental, in the +hands of this delightful old vagabond.</p> + +<p>The Judge will be a fixed star in the firmament of fictional +characters as surely as David Harum or Col. Sellers. He is a source of +infinite delight, while this story of Mr. Kester’s is one of the +finest examples of American literary craftsmanship.</p> + +<hr class="total" /> + +<p class="center"><i>Ask for complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> + +<p class="double"> </p> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="100%" cellpadding="1" cellspacing="0" summary="AD2"> + +<tr> +<td align="left" style="20%;"><span class="smcap">Grosset & Dunlap,</span></td> +<td style="2%;"> </td> +<td align="left" style="20%;"><span class="smcap">Publishers,</span></td> +<td style="2%;"> </td> +<td align="right" style="56%;"><span class="smcap">New York</span></td></tr> +</table></div></div> + +<p> </p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Notes:</span></h2> + +<p>Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; +otherwise, every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s +words and intent.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Silent Barrier, by Louis Tracy + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SILENT BARRIER *** + +***** This file should be named 31635-h.htm or 31635-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/1/6/3/31635/ + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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