"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 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."