by Louis Tracy
CHAPTER X
ON THE GLACIER
Barth, a good man on ice and rock, was not a genius among guides.Faced by an apparently unscalable rock wall, or lost in a wildernessof seracs, he would never guess the one way that led to success. Buthe was skilled in the technic of his profession, and did not make themistake now of subjecting Helen or Spencer to the risk of an uglyfall. The air temperature had dropped from eighty degrees Fahrenheitto below freezing point. Rocks that gave safe foothold an hour earlierwere now glazed with an amalgam of sleet and snow. If, in his dullmind, he wondered why Spencer came next to Helen, rather than Bower orStampa,--either of whom would know exactly when to give that timelyaid with the rope that imparts such confidence to the novice,--he saidnothing. Stampa's eye was on him. His pride was up in arms. Itbehooved him to press on at just the right pace, and commit noblunder.
Helen, who had been glad to get back to the moraine during the ascent,was ready to breathe a sigh of relief when she felt her feet on theice again. Those treacherous rocks were affrighting. They bereft herof trust in her own limbs. She seemed to slip here and there withoutpower to check herself. She expected at any moment to stumblehelplessly on some cruelly sharp angle of a granite boulder, and findthat she was maimed so badly as to render another step impossible.More than once she was sensible that the restraining pull on the ropealone held her from disaster. Her distress did not hinder the growthof a certain surprise that the American should be so sure footed, soquick to judge her needs. When by his help a headlong downward plungewas converted into a harmless slide over the sloping face of a rock,she half turned.
"I must thank you for that afterward," she said, with a fine effort ata smile.
"Eyes front, please," was the quiet answer.
Under less strenuous conditions it might have sounded curt; but thelook that met hers robbed the words of their tenseness, and sent thehot blood tingling in her veins. Bower had never looked at her likethat. Just as some unusually vivid flash of lightning revealed thehidden depths of a crevasse, bringing plainly before the eye chinksand crannies not discernible in the strongest sunlight, so did theglimpse of Spencer's soul illumine her understanding. He was not onlysafeguarding her, but thinking of her, and the stolen knowledge set upa bewildering tumult in her heart.
"Attention!" shouted Barth, halting and making a drive at somethingwith his ax.
The line stopped. Stampa's ringing voice came over Helen's head:
"What is that ahead there?"
"A new fall, I think. We ought to leave the moraine a little lowerdown; but this was not here when we ascended."
How either man, Stampa especially, could see anything at all, wasbeyond the girl's comprehension. The snow was absolutely blinding. Thewind was full in their faces, and it carried the huge flakes upward.They seemed to spring from beneath rather than drop from the clouds.Ever and anon a weirdly blue gleam of lightning would give a demoniactouch to a scene worthy of the Inferno.
"Make for the ice--quick!" cried Stampa, and Barth turned sharply tothe left. Falling stones were now their chief danger, and both menwere anxious to avoid it.
After a brief scramble they mounted the curving glacier. A fiercergust shrieked at them and swept some small space clear of snow. Helenhad a dim vision of lightning playing above the crest of a great moundon the edge of the ice field,--a mound that she did not rememberseeing before. Then the gale sank back to its sustained howling, thesnow swirled in denser volume, and the specter vanished.
Ere they had gone another hundred yards, Barth's hoarse warningchecked them again. "The bridge has fallen!" was his cry. "There hasbeen an ice movement."
There was a question in the man's words. Here was a nice pointsubmitted to his judgment,--whether to follow the line of the recentlyformed schrund yawning at his feet, or endeavor to cross it, or goback to the scene of the landslip? That was where Barth was lacking.In that instant he resigned his pride of place without further effortto retain it. He was in the van, but did not lead. Thenceforth Stampawas master.
"What is the width--ten meters?" demanded the old guide cheerfully.
"About that."
"All the better. It is not deep here. The shock of that avalancheopened it up. You will find a way down. Cut the steps close together.You know how to polish them, Karl?"
"Yes, I can do that," said the porter.
"And watch the _signorina's_ feet."
"Yes, I'll take care."
Barth was peering fixedly into the chasm. To Helen's fancy it wasbottomless, though in reality it was not more than forty feet deep,and the two walls fell away from each other at a practicable angle. Innormal summer weather, a small crevasse always formed there owing tothe glacier flowing over a transverse ridge of rock beneath. To-daythe impact of many thousands of tons of debris had disrupted the iceto an unusual extent. Having decided on the best line, the leadingguide stepped over into space. Helen heard his ax ringing as hefashioned secure foothold down the steep ledge he had selected. He wasquite trustworthy in such work.
Stampa, who had a thought for none save Helen, gave her a reassuringword. "Barth will find a way, _fraeulein_," he said. "And Herr Spencerknows how you should cross your feet and carry your ax, while Karlwill see to your foothold. Remember too that you will be at the bottombefore I begin the descent, so no harm can come to you. Try and standstraight. Don't lean against the slope. Lean away from it. Don't beafraid. Don't trust to the rope or the grip of the ax. Rely on yourown stand."
It was no time to pick and choose phrases, yet Helen realized theoddity of the absence of any reference to Bower. One other in theparty had a thought somewhat akin to hers; but he slurred it over inhis mind, and seized the opportunity to help her by a casual remark.
"Guess you hardly expected genuine ice work in to-day's trip?" hesaid. "Stampa and I had a lot of it last week. It's as easy as walkingdown stairs when you know how."
"I don't think I am afraid," she answered; "but I should havepreferred to walk up stairs first. This is rather reversing thenatural order of things, isn't it?"
"Nature loves irregularities. That is why the prize girl in everynovel has irregular features. A heroine with a Greek face would kill awhole library."
"_Vorwaertz--es geht!_"
Barth's gruff voice sounded hollow from the depths. Karl, in his turn,went over the lip of the crevasse. Helen, conscious of an exaltationthat lifted her out of the region of ignoble fear, looked down. Shecould see now what was being done. Barth was swinging his ax andsmiting the ice with the adz. His head was just below the level of herfeet, though he was distant the full length of two sections of therope. He had cut broad black steps. They did not seem to present anygreat difficulty. Helen found herself speculating on the remarkablelight effects that made these notches black in a gray-green wall.
"Right foot first," said Spencer quietly. "When that is firmly fixed,throw all your weight on it, and bring the left down. Then the rightagain. Hold the pick breast high."
"So!" cried Karl appreciatively, watching her first successful effort.
As Spencer was lowering himself into the crevasse, he heard somethingthat set his nimble wits agog. Stampa, the valiant and light heartedStampa, the genial companion who had laughed and jested even when theywere crossing an ice slope on the giant Monte della Disgrazia,--atraverse of precarious clinging, where a slip meant death a thousandfeet below,--was muttering strangely at Bower.
"_Schwein-hund!_" he was saying, "if any evil befalls the _fraeulein_,I shall drive my ax between your shoulder blades."
There was no reply. Spencer was sure he was not mistaken. Though theguide spoke German, he knew enough of that language to understand thiscomparatively simple sentence. Quite as amazing as Stampa's threat wasBower's silent acceptance of it. He began to piece together somefleeting impressions of the curious wrangle between the two outsidethe hut. He recalled Bower's extraordinary change of tone when toldthat a man named Christian Stampa had followed him from Maloja.
Helen was just taking an
other confident step forward and down,balancing herself with graceful assurance. Spencer had a few secondsin which to steal a backward glance, and a flash of lightning happenedto glimmer on Bower's features. The American was not given to fancifulimaginings; but during many a wild hour in the Far West he had seenthe baleful frown of murder on a man's face too often not to recognizeit now in this snow scourged cleft of a mighty Alpine glacier. Yet hewas helpless. He could neither speak nor act on a mere opinion. Hecould only watch, and be on his guard. From that moment he tried toobserve every movement not only of Helen but of Bower.
The members of the party were roped at intervals of twenty feet.Allowing for the depth of the crevasse, the amount of rope taken up intheir hands ready to be served out as occasion required, and theinclination of Barth's line of descent, the latter ought to benotching the opposing wall before Stampa quitted the surface of theglacier. Though Spencer could not see Stampa now, he knew that therear guide was bracing himself strongly against any tell-tale jerk,with the additional security of an anchor obtained by driving the pickof his ax deeply into the surface ice. It was Bower's business to keepthe rope quite taut both above and below; but the American was surethat he was gathering the slack behind him with his right hand whilehe carried the ax in his left, and did not use it to steady himself.
Spencer assumed, from various comments by Helen and others, that Bowerwas an adept climber. Therefore, the passage of a schrund, or large,shallow crevasse was child's play to him. This departure from all thecanons of the craft as imparted by Stampa during their first week onthe hills together, struck Spencer as exceedingly dangerous. Hereflected that were it not for the words he had overheard, he wouldnever have known of this curious proceeding. Indeed, but for thosewords, with their sinister significance augmented by Bower's devilishexpression, had he even looked back by chance, the maneuver might nothave attracted his attention. What, then, did it imply? Why should askilled mountaineer break an imperative rule that permits of noexceptions? He continued to watch Bower even more closely. He devotedto the task every instant that consideration for Helen's safety andhis own would allow.
There was not much light in the crevasse. Heavy clouds and thesmothering snow wraiths hid the travelers under a dense pall thatsuggested the approach of night, although the actual time was abouthalf past one o'clock in the afternoon. The wind seemed to delight intorturing them with minute particles of ice that stung with a peculiarsensation of burning. These were bad enough. To add to their miseries,fine, powdery snowflakes settled on eyes and eyelids with blindingeffect.
During a particularly baffling gust Helen uttered a slightexclamation. Instantly Spencer stiffened himself, and Barth and Karlhalted.
"It is nothing," she cried. "For a second I could not see."
Barth's ax rang out again. The vibrations of each lusty blow could befelt distinctly along the solid ice wall. After a last downward stephe would begin to notch his way up the other side, where the angle wasmuch more favorable to rapid progress. Spencer stole another glanceover his shoulder. Bower had fully ten feet of the rearmost section ofrope in hand. His head was thrown well back. Standing with his face tothe ice, he was striving to look over the lip of the schrund. Stampa,feeling a steady tension, must be expecting the announcementmomentarily that Barth was crossing the narrow crevice at the bottom.Helen and Karl, intent on the operations of the leader, paid heed tonothing else; but Spencer was fascinated by Bower's peculiar actions.
At last, Barth's deep bass reverberated triumphantly upward."_Vorwaertz!_"
"_Vorwaertz_, Stampa!" repeated Bower, suddenly changing the ice ax tohis right hand and stretching the left as far along the rope and ashigh up as possible. Simultaneously he raised the ax. Then, and nottill then, did Spencer understand. Stampa must be on the point ofrelaxing his grip and preparing to descend. If Bower cut the rope witha single stroke of the adz, a violent tug at the sundered end wouldprecipitate Stampa headlong into the crevasse, while there would beample evidence to show that he had himself severed the rope by amiscalculated blow. The fall would surely kill him. When his corpsewas recovered, it would be found that the cut had been made muchcloser to his own body than to that of his nearest neighbor.
"Stop!" roared Spencer, all a-quiver with wrath at his discovery.
Obedience to the climbers' law held the others rigid. That commandimplied danger. It called for an instant tightening of every muscle towithstand the strain of a slip. Even Bower, a man on the very brink ofcommitting a fiendish crime, yielded to a subconscious acceptance ofthe law, and kept himself braced in his steps.
The American was well fitted to handle a crisis of that nature. "Holdfast, Stampa!" he shouted.
"What is wrong?" came the ready cry, for the rear guide had alreadydriven the pick of his ax into the ice again after having withdrawnit.
Then Spencer spoke English. "I happen to be watching you," he saidslowly, never relaxing a steel-cold scrutiny of Bower's livid face."You seem to forget what you are doing. Follow me until you have takenup the slack of the rope. Do you understand?"
Bower continued to gaze at him with lack-luster eyes. All he realizedwas that his murderous design was frustrated; but how or why heneither knew nor cared.
"Do you hear me?" demanded Spencer even more sternly. "Come along, orI shall explain myself more fully!"
Without answering, the other made shift to move. Spencer, however,meant to save the unwitting guide from further hazard.
"Don't stir, Stampa, till I give the order!" he sang out.
"All right, monsieur, but we are losing time. What is Barth doingthere? _Saperlotte!_ If I were in front----"
Bower, who owned certain strong qualities, swallowed something, tookthree strides downward, and said calmly: "I was waiting to giveStampa a hand. He is lame, you know."
Helen, of course, heard all that passed. She had long since abandonedthe effort to disentangle the skein of that day's events. Everybodywas talking and acting unnaturally. Perhaps the ravel of things wouldclear itself when they regained the commonplace world of the hotel. Inany case, she wished the men would hurry, for it was unutterably coldin the crevasse.
At last, then, there was a movement ahead.
Barth began to mount. Muttering an instruction to Karl that he was togive the girl a friendly pull, he cut smaller steps more widely apartand at a steeper gradient. Soon they were on the floor of the ice andhurrying to the next bridge. Not a word was spoken by anyone. The furyof the gale and the ever gathering snow made it imperative that not amoment should be wasted. The lightning was decreasing perceptibly,while the occasional peals of thunder were scarcely audible above thesoughing of the wind. A tremendous crash on the right announced thefall of another avalanche; but it did not affect the next broadcrevasse. The bridge they had used a few hours earlier stood firm.Indeed, it was new welded by regelation since the sun's rays haddisappeared.
The leader kept a perfect line, never deviating from the right track.Helen, who had completely lost her bearings, thought they had a longway farther to go, when she saw Barth stop and begin to unfasten therope. Then a thrust with the butt of her _pickel_ told her that shewas standing on rock. When she cleared her eyes of the flying snow,she saw a well defined curving ribbon amid the white chaos. It was thepath, covered six inches deep. The violent exertions of nearly threehours since she left the hut had induced a pleasant sense of languor.Did she dare to suggest it, she would have liked to sit down and restfor awhile.
Bower, who had substituted reasoned thought for his madness, addressedSpencer with easy complacence while Barth was unroping them. "Why didyou believe that I was doing a risky thing in stopping to assistStampa?" he asked.
"I guess you know best," was the uncompromising answer.
"Yes, I think I do. Of course, I could not argue the matter then, butI fancy my climbing experience is far greater than yours, Mr.Spencer."
His sheer impudence was admirable. He even smiled in the superior wayof an expert lecturing a novice. But Spencer did not smile.<
br />
"Do you really want to hear my views on your conduct?" he said.
"No, thanks. The discussion might prove interesting, but we canadjourn it to the coffee and cigar period after dinner."
His eyes fell under Spencer's contemptuous glance. Yet he carriedhimself bravely. Though the man he meant to kill, and another man whohad read his inmost thought in time to prevent a tragedy, were lookingat him fixedly, he turned away with a laugh on his lips.
"I am afraid, Miss Wynton, you will regard me in future as a brokenreed where Alpine excursions are concerned," he said.
"You were mistaken--that is obvious," said Helen frankly. "But so wasBarth. He agreed that the storm would be only a passing affair. Don'tyou think we are very deeply indebted to Mr. Spencer and Stampa forcoming to our assistance?"
"I do, indeed. Stampa, one can reward in kind. This sort of thing usedto be his business, I hear. As for Mr. Spencer, a smile from you willrepay him tenfold."
"Herr Spencer," broke in Stampa, "you go on with the _signorina_ andsee that she does not slip. She is tired. Marcus Bauer and I havematters to discuss."
The old man's unwonted harshness appealed to the girl as did the hostof other queer happenings on that memorable day. Bower moved uneasily.A vindictive gleam shot from his eyes. Helen missed none of this. Butshe was fatigued, and her feet were cold and wet, while the sleetencountered on the upper glacier had almost soaked her to the skin.Nevertheless, she strove bravely to lighten the cloud that seemed tohave settled on the men.
"That means a wordy warfare," she said gayly. "I pity you, Mr. Bower.You cannot wriggle out of your difficulty. The snow will soon be afoot deep in the valley. Goodness only knows what would have become ofus up there in the hut!"
He bowed gracefully, with a hint of the foreign air she had noted oncebefore. "I would have brought you safely out of greater perils," hesaid; "but every dog has his day, and this is Stampa's."
"_En route!_" cried the guide impatiently. He loathed the sight ofBower standing there, smiling and courteous, in the presence of onewhom he regarded as a Heaven-sent friend and protectress. Spencerattributed his surliness to its true cause. It supplied another bitof the mosaic he was slowly piecing together. Greatly as he preferredHelen's company, he was willing to sacrifice at least ten minutes ofit, could he but listen to the "discussion" between Stampa and Bower.
Therein he would have erred greatly. Helen was tired, and she admittedit. She did not decline his aid when the path was steep and slippery.In delightful snatches of talk they managed to say a good deal to eachother, and Helen did not fail to make plain the exact circumstancesunder which she first caught sight of Spencer outside the hut. Whenthey arrived at the carriage road, which begins at Lake Cavloccio,they could walk side by side and chat freely. Here, in the valley,matters were normal. The snow did not place such a veil on all things.The windings of the road often brought them abreast of the four menin the rear. Bower was trudging along alone, holding his head down,and seemingly lost in thought.
Close behind him came Stampa and the Engadiners. Karl, of course, wastalking--the others might or might not be lending their ears to hisinterminable gossip.
"We are outstripping our companions. Don't you think we ought to waitfor them?" said Helen once, when Bower chanced to look her way.
"No," said Spencer.
"You are exceedingly positive."
"I tried to be exceedingly negative."
"But why?"
"I rather fancy that they would jar on us."
"But Stampa's promised lecture appears to have ended?"
"I think it never began. It is a safe bet that Mr. Bower and he havenot exchanged a word since our last halt."
Helen laughed. "A genuine case of Greek meeting Greek," she said."Stampa is an excellent guide, I am sure; but Mr. Bower does reallyknow these mountains. I suppose anyone is liable to err in forecastingAlpine weather."
"That is nothing. If it were you or I, Stampa would dismiss the pointwith a grin. You heard how he chaffed Barth, yet trusted him with thelead? No. These two have an old feud to settle. You will hear more ofit."
"A feud! Mr. Bower declared to me that Stampa was absolutely unknownto him."
"It isn't necessary to know a man before you hate him. I can give youa heap of historic examples. For instance, who has a good word to sayfor Ananias?"
The girl understood that he meant to parry her question with a quip.The cross purposes so much in evidence all day were baffling andmysterious to its close.
"My own opinion is that both you and Stampa have taken an unreasonabledislike to Mr. Bower," she said determinedly. The words were outbefore she quite realized their import. She flushed a little.
Spencer was gazing down into the gorge of the Orlegna. The brawlingtorrent chimed with his own mood; but his set face gave no token ofthe storm within. He only said quietly, "How good it must be to haveyou as a friend!"
"I have no reason to feel other than friendly to Mr. Bower," sheprotested hotly. "It was the rarest good fortune for me that he cameto Maloja. I met him once in London, and a second time, by accident,during my journey to Switzerland. Yet, widely known as he is insociety, he was sufficiently large minded to disregard the sneers andinnuendoes of some of those horrid women in the hotel. He has gone outof his way to show me every kindness. Why should I not repay it byspeaking well of him?"
"I shall lay my head on the nearest tree stump, and you can smite mewith your ax, good and hard," said Spencer.
She laughed angrily. "I don't know what evil influence is possessingus," she cried. "Everything is awry. Even the sun refuses to shine.Here am I storming at one to whom I owe my life----"
"No," he broke in decisively. "Don't put it that way, because thewhole credit of the relief expedition is due to Stampa. Say, MissWynton, may I square my small services by asking a favor?"
"Oh, yes, indeed."
"Well, then, if it lies in your power, keep Stampa and Bower apart. Inany event, don't intervene in their quarrel."
"So you are quite serious in your belief that there is a quarrel?"
The American saw again in his mind's eye the scene in the crevassewhen Bower had raised his ax to strike. "Quite serious," he replied,and the gravity in his voice was so marked that Helen placed acontrite hand on his arm for an instant.
"Please, I am sorry if I was rude to you just now," she said. "I havehad a long day, and my nerves are worn to a fine edge. I used toflatter myself that I hadn't any nerves; but they have come to thesurface here. It must be the thin air."
"Then it is a bad place for an American."
"Ah, that reminds me of something I had forgotten. I meant to ask youhow you came to remain in the Maloja. Is that too inquisitive on mypart? I can account for the presence of the other Americans in thehotel. They belong to the Paris colony, and are interested in tennisand golf. I have not seen you playing either game. In fact, you moonabout in solitary grandeur, like myself. And--oh, dear! what a stringof questions!--is it true that you wanted to play baccarat with Mr.Bower for a thousand pounds?"
"It is true that I agreed to share a bank with Mr. Dunston, and thefigure you mention was suggested; but I backed out of theproposition."
"Why?"
"Because your friend, Mr. Hare, thought he was responsible, in asense, having introduced me to Dunston; so I let up on the idea,--justto stop him from feeling bad about it."
"You really meant to play in the first instance?"
"Yes."
"Well, it was very wicked of you. Only the other day you were tellingme how hard you had to work before you saved your first thousandpounds."
"From that point of view my conduct was idiotic. But I would like tocarry the story a little further, Miss Wynton. I was in a mood thatnight to oppose Mr. Bower for a much more valuable stake if the chanceoffered."
"It is rather shocking," said Helen.
"I suppose so. Of course, there are prizes in life that cannot bemeasured by monetary standards."
He was not lo
oking at the Orlegna now, and the girl by his side wellknew it. The great revelation that flooded her soul with light whilecrossing the Forno came back with renewed power. She did not pretendto herself that the words were devoid of a hidden meaning, and herheart fluttered with subtle ecstasy. But she was proud and selfreliant, so proud that she crushed the tumult in her breast, so selfreliant that she was able to give him a timid smile.
"That deals with the second head of the indictment, then," she saidlightly. "Now for the first. Why did you select the Engadine for yourholiday?"
"If I could tell you that, I should know something of the occultimpulses that govern men's lives. One minute I was in London, meaningto go north. The next I was hurrying to buy a ticket for St. Moritz."
"But----" She meant to continue, "you arrived here the same day as Idid." Somehow that did not sound quite the right thing to say. Hertongue tripped; but she forced herself to frame a sentence. "It is oddthat you, like myself, should have hit upon an out of the way placelike Maloja. The difference is that I was sent here, whereas you cameof your own free will."
"I guess you are right," said he, laughing as though she had utteredan exquisite joke. "Yes, that is just it. I can imagine two youngEnglish swallows, meeting in Algeria in the winter, twitteringexplanations of the same sort."
"I don't feel a bit like a swallow, and I am sure I can't twitter, andas for Algeria, a home of sunshine--well, just look at it!" She waveda hand at the darkening panorama of hills and pine woods, all etchedin black lines and masses, where rocks and trees and houses broke thedead white of the snow mantle.
They happened to be crossing a bridge that spans the Orlegna before ittakes its first frantic plunge towards Italy. Bower, who had quickenedhis pace, took the gesture as a signal, and sent an answeringflourish. Helen stopped. He evidently wished to overtake them.
"More explanations," murmured Spencer.
"But he was mistaken. I was calling Nature to witness that your similewas not justified."
"Tell you what," he said in a low voice, "if this storm has blown overby the morning, meet me after breakfast, and we will walk down thevalley to Vicosoprano for luncheon. There is a diligence back in theafternoon. We can stroll there in three hours, and I shall have timeto clear up this swallow proposition."
"That will be delightful, if the weather improves."
"It will. I will compel it."
Bower was nearing them rapidly. A constrained silence fell betweenthem. To end it, Helen cried:
"Well, are you feeling duly humbled, Mr. Bower?"
He did not seem to understand her meaning. Apparently, he might haveforgotten that Stampa still lived. Then he roused his wits with aneffort. "Not humbled, but elated," he said. "Have I not led you tofeats of derring-do? Why, the Wragg girls will be green with envy whenthey hear of your exploits."
He swung round the corner to the bridge. After a smiling glance atSpencer's impassive face, he turned to Helen. "You have come out ofthe ordeal with flying colors," he said. "That flower you picked onthe way up has not withered. Give it to me as a memento."
The words were almost a challenge. The girl hesitated.
"No," she said. "I must find you some other souvenir."
"But I want that--if----"
"There is no 'if.' You forget that I took it from--from the bouldermarked by a cross."
"I am not superstitious."
"Nor am I. Nevertheless, I should not care to give you such a symbol."
She caught Bower and Spencer exchanging a strange look. These menshared some secret that they sedulously kept from her. Perhaps theAmerican meant to enlighten her during their projected walk toVicosoprano.
Stampa and the others approached. Together they climbed the littlehill leading to the summit of the pass. In the village they said "Goodnight" to the two guides and Karl.
Helen promised laughingly to make the acquaintance of Johann Klucker'scat at the first opportunity. She was passing through a wicket thatprotects the footpath across the golf links, when she heard Stampagrowl:
"_Morgen frueh!_"
"_Ja!_" snapped Bower.
She smiled to herself at the thought that things were going to happento-morrow. She was right. But she had not yet done with the presentday. When she entered the cozy and brilliantly lighted veranda of thehotel, the first person her amazed eyes alighted upon was MillicentJaques.
