The Silent Barrier
her room at the St. Moritz hotel, nor did she stir out during the
next day until it was dark, when she walked a few yards up the main
street to buy a rucksack and an alpenstock.
Early next morning, close wrapped and veiled, she took a carriage to
the Restaurant du Glacier. Here she met an unforeseen check. The local
guides were absent in the Bernina, and the hotel proprietor--good,
careful man!--would not hear of intrusting the pretty English girl to
inexperienced villagers, but persuaded her to await the coming of a
party from Italy, whose rooms were bespoke. Their guides, in all
probability, would be returning over the Sella Pass, and would charge
far less for the journey.
He was right. On the afternoon of the following day, three tired
Englishmen arrived at the restaurant, and their hardy Italian pilots
were only too glad to find a _voyageur_ ready to start at once for the
Mortel hut, whence a nine hours' climb would take them back to the Val
Malenco, provided they crossed the dangerous neve on the upper part of
the glacier soon after daybreak.
Pietro, the leader, was a cheery soul. Like others of his type in the
Bernina region, he spoke a good deal of German, and his fund of
pleasant anecdote and reminiscence kept Helen from brooding on her own
troubles during the long evening in the hut.
And now, while she was finishing her meal in the dim light of dawn,
and the second guide was packing their few belongings, Pietro regaled
her with a legend of the Monte del Diavolo, which overlooks Sondrio
and the lovely valley of the Adda.
"Once upon a time, _signora_, they used to grow fine grapes there," he
said, "and the wine was always sent to Rome for the special use of the
Pope and his cardinals. That made the people proud, and the devil took
possession of them, which greatly grieved a pious hermit who dwelt in
a cell in the little Val Malgina, by the side of a torrent that flows
into the Adda. So one day he asked the good Lord to permit the devil
to visit him; but when Satan appeared the saint laughed at him. 'You!'
he cried. 'Who sent for you? You are not the Prince of the Infernal
Regions?'--'Am I not?' said the stranger, with a truly fiendish grin.
'Just try my powers, and see what will happen!'--'Very well,' said the
saint, 'produce me twenty barrels of better wine than can be grown in
Sondrio.' So old Barbariccia stamped his hoof, and lo! there were the
twenty barrels, while the mere scent of them nearly made the saint
break a vow that he would never again taste fermented wine. But he
held fast, and said, 'Now, drink the lot.'--'Oh, nonsense!' roared the
devil. 'Pooh!' said the hermit, 'you're not much of a devil if you
can't do in a moment what the College of Cardinals can do in a week.'
That annoyed Satan, and he put away barrel after barrel, until the
saint began to feel very uneasy. But the last barrel finished him, and
down he went like a log, whereupon the holy man put him into one of
his own tubs and sent him to Rome to be dealt with properly. There
was a tremendous row, it is said, when the cask was opened. In the
confusion, Satan escaped; but in revenge for the trick that had been
played on him, he put a blight on the vines of the Adda, and from that
day to this never a liter of decent wine came out of Sondrio."
"I guess if that occurred anywhere in Italy nowadays, they'd lynch the
hermit," said a voice in English outside.
Helen screamed, and the two Italians were startled. No one was
expected at the hut at that hour. Its earliest visitors should come
from the inner range, after a long tramp from Italy or Pontresina.
"Sorry if I scared you," said Spencer, his tall figure suddenly
darkening the doorway; "but I didn't like to interrupt the story."
Helen sprang to her feet. Her cheeks, blanched for a few seconds,
became rosy red. "You!" she cried. "How dare you follow me here?"
In the rapidly growing light she caught a transitory gleam in the
American's eyes, though his face was as impassive as usual. And the
worst of it was that it suggested humor, not resentment. Even in the
tumult of wounded pride that took her heart by storm, she realized
that her fiery vehemence had gone perilously near to a literal
translation of the saintly scoff at old Barbariccia. And, now if ever,
she must be dignified. Anger yielded to disdain. In an instant she
grew cold and self collected.
"I regret that in my surprise I spoke unguardedly," she said. "Of
course, this hut is open to everyone----"
"Judging by the look of things between here and the hotel, we shall
not be worried by a crowd," broke in Spencer. "I meant to arrive half
an hour earlier; but that slope on the Alp Ota offers surprising
difficulties in the dark."
"I wished to say, when you interrupted me, that I am leaving at once,
so my presence can make little difference to you," said Helen grandly.
"That sounds more reasonable than it really is," was the quietly
flippant reply.
"It conveys my intent. I have no desire to prolong this conversation,"
she cried rather more flurriedly.
"Now, there I agree with you. We have started on the wrong set of
rails. It is my fault. I ought to have coughed, or fallen down the
moraine, or done any old thing sooner than butt into the talk so
unexpectedly. If you will allow me, I'll begin again right now."
He turned to the Italians, who were watching and listening in curious
silence, trying to pick up an odd word that would help to explain the
relations between the two.
"Will you gentlemen take an interest in the scenery for five minutes?"
he asked, with a smile.
Though the valley of the Adda may have lost its wine, it will never
lose its love of romance. The polite Italians raised their hats and
went out. Helen, drawing a long breath, withdrew somewhat into the
shadow. She felt that she would have more command over herself if the
American could not see her face. The ruse did not avail her at all.
Spencer crossed the floor of the hut until he looked into her eyes.
"Helen," he said, "why did you run away from me?"
The tender reproach in his voice almost unnerved her; but she answered
simply, "What else would you have me do, once I found out the
circumstances under which I came to Switzerland?"
"It may be that you were not told the truth. Who was your informant?"
"Mr. Bower."
"None other?"
"What, then? Is my pitiful story the property of the hotel?"
"It is now. I took care of that. Some of the people there had been
spreading a misleading version, and it was necessary to correct it.
The women, of course, I could not deal with. As the General was an old
man, I picked out George de Courcy Vavasour as best fitted to digest
the wrong edition. I made him eat it. It seemed to disagree with him;
but he got through with an effort."
Helen felt that she ought to decline further discussion. But she was
tongue tied. Spencer was regarding her so fixedly that she began to
fear lest he might notice the embarrassed perplexity that she herself
was quite conscious of.
"Will you be good enough to explain exactly what you mean?" she said,
forcing the question mechanically from her lips.
"That is why I am here. I assure you that subterfuge can never again
exist between you and me," said he earnestly. "You can accept my words
literally. Acting for himself and others, Vavasour wrote on paper the
lying insinuations made by Miss Jaques, and ate them--both words and
paper. He happened to use the thin, glazed, Continental variety, so
what it lost in bulk it gained in toughness. He didn't like it, and
said so; but he had to do it."
She was nervously aware of a wish to laugh; but unless she gave way to
hysteria that was not to be thought of. Trying to retreat still
farther into the friendly shade, she backed round the inner end of the
table, but found the way blocked by a rough bench. Something must be
said or done to extricate herself. The dread that her voice might
break was becoming an obsession.
"You speak of a false version, and that implies a true one," she
managed to say constrainedly. "How far was Mr. Bower's statement false
or true?"
"I settled that point too. Mr. Bower told you the facts. The deduction
he forced on you was a lie. To my harmless notion of gratifying a
girl's longing for a holiday abroad he added the motive that inspired
his own journey. I overheard your conversation with Miss Jaques in the
Embankment Hotel; I saw Bower introduced to you; I saw him looking for
you in Victoria Station, and knew that he represented the meeting as
accidental. I felt a certain responsibility on your account; so I
followed by the next train. Bower played his cards so well that I
found myself in a difficult position. I was busy guessing; but was
unable to prove anything, while the one story I was sure of was not in
the game. And then, you see, he wanted to make you his wife, which
brought about the real complication. I haven't much use for him; but I
must be fair, and Bower's only break was when he misrepresented my
action in subsidizing 'The Firefly.' I don't deny he was pretty mad at
the idea of losing you, and jealousy will often drive a man to do a
mean thing which might otherwise be repugnant to his better
nature----"
"Jealousy!" shrilled Helen, her woman's wit at last finding a joint in
his armor. Yet never did woman err more than she in thinking that her
American suitor would flinch beneath the shaft.
"That is the word," was the quiet reply.
She flared into indignant scorn. "Pray tell me why he or any other man
should feel jealous of you where I am concerned," she said.
"I am going to tell you right away--Helen. But that is the last
chapter. There is quite a long record as to the way I hit on your
track in St. Moritz, and heard of you by telephone last night. Of
course, that part of the story will keep----"
"Is it necessary that I should hear any portion of it?" she
interrupted, hoping to irritate him, and thus lessen the strain
imposed by his studiously tranquil manner.
"Well, it ought to interest you. But it has humorous points to which I
can't do justice under present conditions. You are right, Helen--you
most always are. The real question at issue is my position in the
deal, which becomes quite clear when I say that you are the only woman
I have ever loved or ever shall love. More than that, you are the only
woman to whom I have ever spoken a word of love, and as I have set
about loving the dearest and prettiest and healthiest girl I have ever
seen, it is safe to figure that you will have sole claim on all the
nice things I can try to say to any woman during the remainder of my
life."
He hesitated a moment. He did not appear to notice that Helen, after a
rebellious gasp or two, had suddenly become very still.
"I suppose I ought to have fixed up a finer bit of word painting than
that," he continued slowly. "As a matter of fact, I don't mind
admitting that ever since eleven o'clock last night, when the
proprietor of the hotel below there telephoned to me that Miss
Trenholme had gone to the Mortel hut with two guides, I have been
rehearsing X plus Y multiplied by Z ways of telling you just how dear
you are to me. But they all vanished like smoke 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