should trouble further about them. The American
threatened a fresh obstacle. He was winning his way with Helen
altogether too rapidly. In the light of those ominous words at the
luncheon table his close association with Stampa indicated a definite
knowledge of the past. Curse him! Why did he interfere?

Bower was eminently a selfish man. He had enjoyed unchecked success
for so long a time that he railed now at the series of mischances that
tripped the feet of his desires. Looking back through recent days, he
was astonished to find how often Spencer had crossed his path. Before
he was four hours in Maloja, Helen, in his hearing, had singled out
the American for conjecture and scrutiny. Then Dunston spoke of the
same man as an eager adversary at baccarat; but the promised game was
arranged without Spencer's cooperation, greatly to Dunston's loss. A
man did not act in such fashion without some motive. What was it? This
reserved, somewhat contemptuous rival had also snatched Helen from
his company many times. He had undoubtedly rendered some service in
coming to the Forno hut; but Bower's own lapse from sanity on that
occasion did not escape his notice. Finally, this cool mannered, alert
youngster from the New World did not seem to care a fig for any prior
claim on Helen's affections. His whole attitude might be explained by
the fact that he was Stampa's employer, and had won the old guide's
confidence.

Yes, the American was the real danger. That pale ghost conjured from
the grave by Stampa was intangible, powerless, a dreamlike wraith
evoked by a madman's fancy. Already the fear engendered myopia of the
morning was passing from Bower's eyes. The passage of arms with
Millicent had done him good. He saw now that if he meant to win Helen
he must fight for her.

Glancing at his watch, he found that the time was a quarter to three.
He opened a window in his sitting room, which was situated in the
front of the hotel. By leaning out he could survey the carriage stand
at the foot of the long flight of steps. A pair-horse vehicle was
drawn up there, and men were fastening portly dress baskets in the
baggage carrier over the hind wheels.

He smiled. "The pretty dancer travels luxuriously," he thought. "I
wonder whether she will be honest enough to pay her debts with my
money?"

He still hated her for having dragged him into a public squabble. He
looked to the future to requite him. A year, two years, would soon
pass. Then, w