nfused 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.

"What are you afraid of, _signorina_?" he asked in Italian.

She half understood, but her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth.
Her terror was manifest, and he pitied her.

He repeated his question in German. A child might have recognized that
this man of the benignant face and kindly, sorrow laden eyes intended
no evil.

"I am sorry. I beg your pardon, Herr Stampa," she managed to stammer.

"Ah, you know me, then, _signorina_! But everybody knows old Stampa.
Have you lost your way?"

"I was taking a little walk, and happened to approach the cemetery. I
saw----"

"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."

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.

"You are in great trouble," she murmured. "I suppose Herr Bower has
injured you?"

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 the
rocks and shrubs in such weather, and he was in no mood to suffer her
inquiries.

"I am in no trouble," he said, "and Herr Bauer has not injured me."

"But you fought," she persisted. "I thought you had killed him. I
almost wish you had. I hate him!"

"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."

He bowed with an ease that would have proclaimed his nationality if he
had not been an Italian mountaineer in every poise and gesture.
Stoo