he yard of a Russian villa. Stewart and Anita were twelfth;
a man in a green stocking-cap was eleventh. The hillside was steep.
Marie negotiated it by running from tree to tree, catching herself,
steadying for a second, then down again. Once she fell and rolled a
little distance. There was no time to think; perhaps had she thought she
would have weakened. She had no real courage, only desperation.

As she reached the track the man in the green stocking-cap was in
sight. A minute and a half she had then, not more. She looked about her
hastily. A stone might serve her purpose, almost anything that would
throw the sled out of its course. She saw a tree branch just above the
track and dragged at it frantically. Some one was shouting at her from
an upper window of the Russian villa. She did not hear. Stewart and
Anita had made the curve above and were coming down at frantic speed.
Marie stood, her back to the oncoming rush of the sled, swaying
slightly. When she could hear the singing of the runners she stooped and
slid the tree branch out against the track.

She had acted almost by instinct, but with devilish skill. The sled
swung to one side up the snowbank, and launched itself into the air.
Marie heard the thud and the silence that followed it. Then she turned
and scuttled like a hunted thing up the mountain side.

Peter put in a bad day. Marie was not about, could not be located.
Stewart, suffering from concussion, lay insensible all day and all of
the night. Peter could find no fracture, but felt it wise to get another
opinion. In the afternoon he sent for a doctor from the Kurhaus and
learned for the first time that Anita had also been hurt--a broken arm.
"Not serious," said the Kurhaus man. "She is brave, very brave, the
young woman. I believe they are engaged?" Peter said he did not know and
thought very hard. Where was Marie? Not gone surely. Here about him lay
all her belongings, even her purse.

Toward evening Stewart showed some improvement. He was not conscious,
but he swallowed better and began to toss about. Peter, who had had a
long day and very little sleep the night before, began to look jaded. He
would have sent for a nurse from the Kurhaus, but he doubted Stewart's
ability to stand any extra financial strain, and Peter could not help
any.

The time for supper passed, and no Marie.

The landlady sent up a tray to Peter, stewed meat and potatoes, a
salad, coffee. Peter sat in a corner with his back to