moke when I saw your sweet
face. You tried to be severe with me, Helen; but your voice didn't
ring true, and you are the poorest sort of prevaricator I know. And
the reason those set forms wouldn't work at the right moment is that
they were addressed to the silent air. You are near me now, my sweet.
You are almost in my arms. You are in my arms, Helen, and it sounds
just right to keep on telling you that I love you now and shall love
you for ever. Oh, my dear, my dear, you must never, never, run away
again! Search the dictionary for all the unkindest things you can say
about me; but don't run away ... for I know now that when you are
absent the day is night and the night is akin to death."

* * * * *

Guide Pietro was somewhat a philosopher. Stamping about on the tiny
stone plateau of the hut to keep at bay the cold mists from the
glacier, he happened to glance through the open door. He drew away
instantly.

"Bartelommeo," he said to his companion, "we shall not cross the Sella
to-day with our charming _voyageur_."

Bartelommeo was surprised. He looked at the clean cut crest of the
rock, glowing now in vivid sunlight. Argument was not required; he
pointed silently with the stem of his pipe.

"Yes," murmured Pietro. "We couldn't have a better day for the pass.
It is not the weather."

"Then what is it?" asked Bartelommeo, moved to speech.

"She is going the other way. Didn't you catch the tears in her voice
yesterday? She smiled at my stories, and carried herself bravely; but
her eyes were heavy, and the corners of her mouth drooped when she was
left to her thoughts. And again, my friend, did you not see her face
when the young _signor_ arrived?"

"She was frightened."

Pietro laughed softly. "A woman always fears her lover," he said.
"That is just the reason why you married Caterina. You liked her for
her shyness. It made you feel yourself a man--a devil of a fellow.
Don't you remember how timid she was, how she tried to avoid you, how
she would dodge into anybody's chalet rather than meet you?"

"But how do you know?" demanded Bartelommeo, waking into resentful
appreciation of Pietro's close acquaintance with his wooing.

"Because I married Lola two years earlier. Women are all the same, no
matter what country they hail from--nervous as young chamois before
marriage--but after! Body of Bacchus! Was it on Wednesday that
Caterina hauled you out of the albergo to chop firewood?