no one had 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.

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.

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 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.

A maid entered with coffee and rolls.

"Who is that man with the English monsieur?" inquired Millicent,
pointing to the two.

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!"

The maid laughed, and created a clatter with basin and hot water can.
Millicent, forcing herself to eat quickly, continued to