nced the close of this amazing marriage service,
Stampa looked fixedly at his supposed son-in-law.

"Now, Marcus Bauer," he said, "I have done with you. See to it that
you do not again break your plighted vows to my daughter! She is your
wife. You are her husband. Not even death can divide you. Go!"

His strong, splendidly molded face, massive and dignified, cast in
lines that would have appealed to a sculptor who wished to limn the
features of a patriarch of old, wore an aspect of settled calm. He was
at peace with all the world. He had forgiven his enemy.

Bower rose again stiffly. He would have spoken; but Stampa now fell on
his knees and began to pray silently. So the millionaire, humbled
again and terror stricken by the sinister significance of those
concluding words, yet not daring to question them, crept out of the
place of the dead. As he staggered down the hillside he looked back
once. He had eyes only for the little iron gate, but Stampa came not.

Then he essayed to brush some of the clinging snow off his clothes. He
shook himself like a dog after a plunge into water. In the distance he
saw the hotel, with its promise of luxury and forgetfulness. And he
cursed Stampa with a bitter fury of emphasis, trying vainly to
persuade himself that he had been the victim of a maniac's delusion.

CHAPTER XIV

WHEREIN MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY

Millicent was wondering how she would fare in the deep snow in boots
that were never built for such a test. She was standing on the swept
roadway between the hotel and the stables, and the tracks of her
quarry were plainly visible. But the hope of discovering some
explanation of Bower's queer behavior was more powerful than her dread
of wet feet. She was gathering her skirts daintily before taking the
next step, when the two men suddenly reappeared.

They had left the village and were crossing the line of the path.
Shrinking back under cover of an empty wagon, she watched them.
Apparently they were heading for the Orlegna Gorge, and she scanned
the ground eagerly to learn how she could manage to spy on them
without being seen almost immediately. Then she fell into the same
error as Helen in believing that the winding carriage road to the
church offered the nearest way to the clump of firs and azaleas by
which Bower and Stampa would soon be hidden.

Three minutes' sharp walking brought her to the church, but there the
highway turned abruptly toward the village. As