nreal that its deadly intent was all the more manifest. "I am the
avenger, not you. I can tear you to pieces with my hands when I will.
It would be here and now, were it not for the presence of the English
_signorina_ who saved me from death. It is not meet that she should
witness your expiation. That is to be settled between you and me
alone."

Bower made one last effort to assert himself. "You are talking in
riddles, man," he said. "If you believe you have some long forgotten
grievance against one of my name, come and see me to-morrow at the
hotel. Perhaps----"

"Yes, I shall see you to-morrow. Do not dream that you can escape me.
Now that I know you live, I would search the wide world for you.
Blessed Mother! How you must have feared me all these years!"

Stampa was using the Romansch dialect of the Italian Alps. Bower spoke
in German. Spencer heard them indistinctly. He marveled that they
should discuss, as he imagined, the state of the weather with such
subdued passion.

"Hello, Christian," he cried, "the clouds are lifting somewhat. Where
is your promised snow?"

Stampa peered up into Bower's face; for his twisted leg had reduced
his own unusual height by many inches. "To-morrow!" he whispered. "At
ten o'clock--outside the hotel. Then we have a settlement. Is it so?"

There was no answer. Bower was wrestling with a mad desire to grapple
with him and fling him down among the black rocks. Stampa crept
nearer. A ghastly smile lit his rugged features, and his _pickel_
clattered to the broken shingle at his feet.

"I offer you to-morrow," he said. "I am in no hurry. Have I not waited
sixteen years? But it may be that you are tortured by a devil, Marcus
Bauer. Shall it be now?"

The clean-souled peasant believed that the millionaire had a
conscience. Not yet did he understand that balked desire is stronger
than any conscience. It really seemed that nothing could withhold
these two from mortal struggle then and there. Spencer was regarding
them curiously; but they paid no heed to him. Bower's tongue was
darting in and out between his teeth. The red blood surged to his
temples. Stampa was still smiling. His lips moved in the strangest
prayer that ever came from a man's heart. He was actually thanking the
Madonna--mother of the great peacemaker--for having brought his enemy
within reach!

"Mr. Bower!" came Helen's voice from the door of the _cabane_. "Why
don't you join us? And you, Mr. Spencer? Stampa, come he