Late that night Spencer arrived at the Maloja. Helen was waiting for him, as he had telephoned the hour he might be expected. Rumor had brought the news of Stampa's death and Bower's accident. Then she understood why her lover had sent her away so quickly. She was troubled all day, blaming herself as the unconscious cause of so much misery. Spencer saw that the full truth alone would dispel her self reproach. So he told her everything, even showing her Millicent's letter and a telegram received from Mackenzie, in which the editor of "The Firefly" put it quite plainly that the proprietor of the magazine had forbidden him (Mackenzie) from taking any steps whatever with regard to Helen's return to England without definite instructions. The more she learned of the amazing web of intrigue and misunderstanding that surrounded her movements since she left the Embankment Hotel after that memorable luncheon with Millicent, the less inclined she was to deny Spencer's theory that Fate had brought them together. "I cleared out of Colorado as though a tarantula had bitten me," he said. "I traveled five thousand miles to London, saw you, fooled myself into the belief that I was intended by Providence to play the part of a heavy uncle, and kept up that notion during another thousand-mile trip to this delightful country. Then you began to reach out for me, Helen----" "I did nothing of the kind!" she protested. "Oh, yes, you did,--just grabbed me good and hard,--and when Bower showed up I stacked my chips on the table and sat down to the game. What am I talking about? I don't know. Kiss me good night, sweetheart, and don't you give a red cent who's looking. For once in a way, I don't mind admitting that I'm tired--all in. I could sleep on a row of porcupines." * * * * * Stampa was buried in the grave that held his daughter's remains. Spencer purchased the space for a suitable monument, and the inscription does not fail to record the fact that one of the men who first conquered the Matterhorn had paid tribute to the mountains by meeting his death on Corvatsch. The American went many times to visit Bower at the Roseg inn. He found his erstwhile rival resigned to the vagaries of fortune. The doctors summoned from St. Moritz deemed his case so serious that they brought a specialist from Paris, and the great surgeon announced that the millionaire's leg would be saved; but there must remain a permanent stiffness. "I know what that means," said Bower, with a wry smile. "It is a legacy from Stampa. That is really rather funny, considering that the joke is against myself. By the way, did I tell you I gave Millicent Jaques a check for five thousand pounds to stop her tongue?" "I guessed the check, but couldn't guess the amount."