The Silent Barrier
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?"
Bartelommeo grunted, and put his pipe in his mouth again.
CHAPTER XVII
THE SETTLEMENT
Though Helen was the better linguist, it was left to Spencer to
explain that circumstances would prevent the lady from going to
Malenco that day. He did not fully understand why the men should
exchange glances of darksome intelligence when he made this statement.
He fancied they were disappointed at losing a good customer; so he
went on brokenly:
"You are in no hurry, eh? Well, then, take us across the glacier to
the Aguagliouls. We should obtain a fine view from the summit, and get
back to the hotel for luncheon. I will pay the same rates as for the
Sella."
Both guides were manifestly pleased. Pietro began a voluble recital of
the glories that would meet their enraptured gaze from the top of the
mighty rock.
"You will see the Bernina splendidly," he cried, "and Roseg too, and
the Glueschaint and Il Chapuetschin. If the lady will trust to us, we
can bring her down the Tschierva glacier safely. You are a climber,
_signor_, else you could never have crossed the Ota before dawn. But
let us make another cup of coffee. The middle Roseg ice is safe at any
hour, and if we are on the rock by nine o'clock that will be perfect
for the sun."
Already a grand panorama of glaciers and peaks was unfolding itself. A
cloudless sky promised a lovely August day, and what that means in the
high Alps the mountaineer alone can tell. But Spencer turned his back
on the outer glory. He had eyes only for Helen, while she, looking
mistily at the giant rock across the valley, saw it not at all, for
she was peering into her own soul, and found the prospect dazzling in
its pure delight.
So they sat down to a fresh brew of coffee, and Spencer horrified
Helen by a confession that he had eaten nothing since the previous
evening. Her tender solicitude for his needs, her hasty unpacking of
rolls and sandwiches, her anxiety that he should endeavor to consume
the whole of the provisions intended for the day's march, were all
sufficing guerdon for the sufferings of those miserable days since the
hour when Mrs. de la Vere told him that Helen had gone. It was a new
experience for Spencer to have a gracious and smiling woman so greatly
concerned for his welfare; but it was decidedly agreeable. These
little attentions admitted so much that she dared not tell--as yet.
And he had such a budget of news for her! Though he found it difficult
to eat and talk at the same time, he boldly made the attempt.
"Stampa was the genius who really unraveled the mystery," he said.
"Certainly, I managed to discover, in the first instance, that you had
deposited your baggage in your own name. Had all else failed, I should
have converted myself into a label and stuck to your boxes till you
claimed them at Basle; but once we ascertained that you had not
quitted St. Moritz by train, Stampa did the rest. He knows St. Moritz
like a book, and it occurred to him that you had changed your
name----"
"Why, I wonder?" she broke in.
"That is rather hard to say." He wrestled valiantly with the leg of a
tough chicken, and thus was able to evade the question.
Poor Stampa! clinging tenaciously to the belief that Helen bore some
resemblance to his lost daughter, remembered that when Etta made her
sorrowful journey from Zermatt she gave another name at the little
hostelry in Maloja where she ended her life.
"Anyhow," went on Spencer, having dexterously severed the joint, "he
tracked you from St. Moritz to the Roseg. He even hit on the shop in
which you bought your rucksack and alpenstock. Then he put me on to
the telephone, and the remainder of the chase was up to me."
"I am sorry now that the dear old man did not come with you," cried
Helen. "I look on him as the first of my friends in Switzerland, and
shall be more than pleased to see him again."
"I pressed him to come along; but he refused. I don't wish to pain
you, dearest, but I guess he wants to keep track of Bower."
Helen, who had no inkling of the tragedy that linked those two,
blushed to her ears at the recollection of her parting from the
millionaire.
"Do you--do you know that Mr. Bower proposed to me?" she stammered.
"He told me that, and a lot more."
"Did you quarrel?"
"We--said things. But I couldn't treat Bower as I handled Georgie. I
was forced to admit his good taste, you see."
"Well, dear, promise me----"
"That I sha'n't slay him! Why, Helen, if he is half the man I take him
for, he will come to our wedding. I told Mrs. de la Vere I should
bring you back, and she agreed that there was nothing else to be
done."
The color ebbed and flowed on Helen's face at an alarming rate. "What
in the world are you talking about?" she asked, with a calm severity
that her fluttering heart denied.
Spencer laughed so happily that Pietro, who understood no word of what
his voyageurs were saying, gave Bartelommeo a sapient wink.
"Well, now," he cried, "wouldn't we be the queerest pair of zanies to
go all that long way to London to get married when a parson, and a
church, and all the needful consular offices are right here under our
noses, so to speak. Why, we have a ready-made honeymoon staring us in
the face. We'll just skate round Switzerland after your baggage and
then drop down the map into Italy. I figured it all out last night,
together with 'steen methods of making the preliminary declaration.
I'll tell you the whole scheme while we--Oh, well, if you're in a real
hurry to cross the glacier, I must defer details and talk in
headlines."
For Helen, absolutely scarlet now, had risen with a tragic air and
bade the guides prepare for instant departure.
The snow lay deep on the Roseg, and roping was essential, though
Pietro undertook to avoid any difficult crevasses. He led, Spencer
followed, with Helen next, and Bartelommeo last. They reached the
opposite moraine in half an hour, and began to climb steadily. The
rock which looked so forbidding from the hut was by no means steep and
not at all dangerous. They had plenty of time, and often stopped to
admire the magnificent vistas of the Val Roseg and the Bernina range
that were gradually unfolding before their eyes. Soon they were on a
level with the hut, the Alpine palace that had permitted their first
embrace.
"When we make our next trip to St. Moritz, Helen, we must seek out
the finest and biggest photograph of the Mortel that money can buy,"
said Spencer.
Helen was standing a little above him on a broad ledge. Her hand was
resting on his shoulder.
"Oh, look!" she cried suddenly, pointing with her alpenstock to the
massive mountain wall that rose above the _cabane_. A few stones had
fallen above a widespread snow slope. The stones started an avalanche,
and the roar of the tremendous cascade of snow and rock was distinctly
audible.
Pietro uttered an exclamation, and hastily unslung a telescope. He
said something in a low tone to Bartelommeo; but Spencer and Helen
grasped its meaning.
The girl's eyes dilated with terror. "There has been an accident!" she
whispered. Bartelommeo took the telescope in his turn and evidently
agreed with the leading guide.
"A party has fallen on Corvatsch," said Pietro gravely. "Two men are
clinging to a ledge. It is not a bad place; but they cannot move. They
must be injured, and there may be others--below."
"Let us go to their assistance," said Spencer instantly.
"_Per certo, signor._ That is the law of the hills. But the _signora_?
What of her?"
"She will remain at the hut."
"I will do anything you wish," said Helen sorrowfully, for her
gladness had been changed to mourning by the fearsome tidings that
two, if not more, human beings were in imminent danger on the slopes
of the very hill that had witnessed the avowal of her love. They raced
back over the glacier, doubling on their own track, and were thus
enabled to travel without precaution.
Leaving Helen at the hut, the men lost no time in beginning the
ascent. They were gone so long that she was almost frantic with dread
in their behalf; but at last they came, slowly, with the tread of
care, for they were carrying the body of a man.
While they were yet a couple of hundred feet above the hut, Spencer
intrusted the burden to the Italians alone. He advanced with rapid
strides, and Helen knew that he brought bad news.
"Come, dear one," he said gently. "We must go to the inn and send
help. Our guides are bringing an injured man to the hut, and there is
one other whom we left on the mountain."
"Dead?"
"Yes, killed instantly by a stone. That was all. Just a mishap--one of
the things that can never be avoided in climbing. But come, dear. More
men are needed, and a doctor. This poor fellow is badly hurt."
"Can I do nothing for him?" she pleaded.
A species of fright twitched his grave face for an instant. "No, no,
that is not to be thought of," he urged. "Pietro says he has some
little skill in these matters. He can do all that is needed until a
doctor arrives. Believe me, Helen, it is imperative that we should
reach the hotel without delay."
She went with him at once. "Who is it?" she asked. He steeled himself
to answer according to his intent. Though he had vowed that never
again would he utter a syllable to his love that was not transparently
true, how could he tell her then that Stampa was stretched lifeless on
the broad bosom of Corvatsch, and that the Italians were carrying
Bower, crushed and raving in delirium, to the hut.
"An Englishman and his guide, I am sorry to say," was his prepared
reply. "The guide is dead; but his employer can be saved, I am sure,
if only we rush things a bit. Now, Helen, let us go at top speed. No
talking, dear. We must make the hotel under the hour."
They did it, and help was soon forthcoming. Then Spencer ordered a
carriage, and insisted that Helen should drive to Maloja forthwith. He