suade him that silence was best.

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.

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.

"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?"

Bower's face, deathly pale before, flamed into sudden life. The strain
was unbearable. He could feel his own heart beating violently. "What
do 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?"

"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!"

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.

"For Heaven's sake! what do you mean?" he panted.

"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."

"Come away, Stampa! This thing must be dealt with reasonably. Come
away! Let us find some less mournful place, and I shall tell you----"

"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 spa