the cold gray glimmer of dawn, and after the unpleasant shaking his
pampered body had received all night, some of the romance of this
latest quest had evaporated. He was stiff and weary, and he regretted
the whim that had led him a good twelve hours astray. But he roused
himself and dressed with care. Some twenty minutes short of Zurich he
sent an attendant to Miss Wynton's berth to inquire if she would join
him for early coffee at that station, there being a wait of a quarter
of an hour before the train went on to Coire.

Helen, who was up and dressed, said she would be delighted. She too
had been thinking, and, being a healthy-minded and kind-hearted girl,
had come to the conclusion that her abrupt departure the previous
night was wholly uncalled for and ungracious.

So it was with a smiling face that she awaited Bower on the steps of
her carriage. She shook hands with him cordially, did not object in
the least degree when he seized her arm to pilot her through a noisy
crowd of foreigners, and laughed with utmost cheerfulness when they
both failed to drink some extraordinarily hot coffee served in glasses
that seemed to be hotter still.

Helen had the rare distinction of being quite as bright and pleasing
to the eye in the searching light of the sun's first rays as at any
other hour. Bower, though spruce and dandified, looked rather worn.

"I did not sleep well," he explained. "And the rails to the frontier
on this line are the worst laid in Europe."

"It is early yet," she said. "Why not turn in again when you reach
your hotel?"

"Perish the thought!" he cried. "I shall wander disconsolate by the
side of the lake. Please say you will miss me at breakfast. And, by
the way, you will find a table specially set apart for you. I suppose
you change at Coire?"

"How kind and thoughtful you are. Yes, I am going to the Engadine, you
know."

"Well, give my greetings to the high Alps. I have climbed most of them
in my time. More improbable things have happened than that I may renew
the acquaintance with some of my old friends this year. What fun if
you and I met on the Matterhorn or Jungfrau! But they are far away
from the valley of the inn, and perhaps you do not climb."

"I have never had the opportunity; but I mean to try. Moreover, it is
part of my undertaking."

"Then may we soon be tied to the same rope!"

Thus they parted, with cheery words, and, on Helen's side, a genuine
wish that they might renew a plea