action
seemed to restore his power of speech.

"I suppose you have some motive in bringing me here. What is it?" he
said.

"You must come to the cemetery. It is not far."

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.

"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."

"Do you expect me to walk quietly to the burial ground in order that I
may be slaughtered conveniently?"

"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."

"A moment ago you spoke differently."

"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 either
kneel by my little girl's grave or tumble into your own."

"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."

"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!"

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.

"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."

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,