of black rock; but overhead was a glorious pink canopy, fringed by
far flung circles of translucent blue and tenderest green. And this
heaven's own shield was ever widening. Eastward its arc was broken
by an irregular dark mass, whose pinnacles glittered like burnished
gold. That was the Aguagliouls Rock, which rises so magnificently
in the midst of a vast ice field, like some great portal to the
wonderland of the Bernina. She had seen it the night before, after
leaving the small restaurant that nestles at the foot of the Roseg
Glacier. Then its scarred sides, brightened by the crimson and violet
rays of the setting sun, looked friendly and inviting. Though its base
was a good mile distant across the snow-smoothed surface of the ice,
she could discern every crevice and ledge and steep couloir. Now, all
these distinguishing features were merged in the sea-blue mist. The
great wall itself seemed to be one vast, unscalable precipice, capped
by a series of shining spires.

And for the first time in three sorrowful days, while her eyes dwelt
on that castle above the clouds, the mysterious grandeur of nature
healed her vexed spirit, and the peace that passeth all understanding
fell upon her. The miserable intrigues and jealousies of the past
weeks were so insignificant, so far away, up here among the mountains.
Had she only consulted her own happiness, she mused, she would not
have ordered events differently. There was no real reason why she
should have flown from the hotel like a timid deer roused by hounds
from a thicket. Instead of doubling and twisting from St. Moritz to
Samaden, and back by carriage to a remote hotel in the Roseg Valley,
she might have remained and defied her persecutors. But now the fume
and fret were ended, and she tried to persuade herself she was glad.
She felt that she could never again endure the sight of Bower's face.
The memory of his passionate embrace, of his blazing eyes, of the
thick sensual lips that forced their loathsome kisses upon her, was
bitter enough without the need of reviving it each time they met. She
was sorry it was impossible to bid farewell to Mrs. de la Vere. Any
hint of her intent would have drawn from that well-disposed cynic a
flood of remonstrance hard to stem; though nothing short of force
would have kept Helen at Maloja once she was sure of Spencer's double
dealing.

Of course, she might write to Mrs. de la Vere when she was in calmer
mood. It would be easier then t