ited its vapor on hills and valley in a hoar frost. The sun
rose with a magnificent disregard for yesterday's riot.

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
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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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