"It is quite an easy matter," was the smiling response. "Poor Stampa is not only too eager to pa.s.s every other vehicle on the road, but he is inclined to watch the mountains rather than his horses' ears. He was a famous guide once; but he met with misfortune, and took to carriage work as a means of livelihood. He has damaged his turnout twice this year; so this morning he was dismissed by telephone, and another driver is coming from St. Moritz to take his place."

Spencer looked at Stampa. He liked the strong, worn face, with its half wistful, half resigned expression. An uneasy feeling gripped him that the whim of a moment in the Embankment Hotel might exert its crazy influence in quarters far removed from the track that seemed then to be so direct and pleasure-giving.

"Why did he want to b.u.t.t in between the other fellow and the landscape? What was the hurry, anyhow?" he asked.

Stampa smiled genially when the questions were translated to him. "I was talking to the _signorina_," he explained, using his native tongue, for he was born on the Italian side of the Bernina.

"That counts, but it gives no good reason why he should risk her life," objected Spencer.

Stampa's weather furrowed cheeks reddened. "There was no danger," he muttered wrathfully. "Madonna! I would lose the use of another limb rather than hurt a hair of her head. Is she not my good angel? Has she not drawn me back from the gate of h.e.l.l? Risk her life! Are people saying that because a worm-eaten wheel went to pieces against a stone?"

"What on earth is he talking about?" demanded Spencer. "Has he been pestering Miss Wynton this morning with some story of his present difficulties?"

The manager knew Stampa's character. He put the words in kindlier phrase. "Does the _signorina_ know that you have lost your situation?"

he said.

Even in that mild form, the suggestion annoyed the old man. He flung it aside with scornful gesture, and turned to leave the office. "Tell the gentleman to go to Zermatt and ask in the street if Christian Stampa the guide would throw himself on a woman's charity," he growled.

Spencer did not wait for any interpretation. "Hold on," he said quietly. "What is he going to do now? Work, for a man of his years, doesn't grow on gooseberry bushes, I suppose."

"Christian, Christian! You are hot-headed as a boy," cried the manager. "The fact is," he went on, "he came to me to offer his services. But I have already engaged more drivers than I need, and I am dismissing some stable men. Perhaps he can find a job in St.

Moritz."

"Are his days as guide ended?"

"Unfortunately, yes. I believe he is as active as ever; but people won't credit it. And you cannot blame them. When one's safety depends on a man who may have to cling to an ice covered rock like a fly to a window-pane, one is apt to distrust a crooked leg."

"Did he have an accident?"

The manager hesitated. "It is part of his sad history," he said. "He fell, and nearly killed himself; but he was hurrying to see the last of a daughter to whom he was devoted."

"Is he a local man, then?"

"No. Oh, no! The girl happened to be here when the end came."

"Well, I guess he will suit my limited requirements in the fly and window-pane business while I remain in Maloja," said Spencer. "Tell him I am willing to put up ten francs a day and extras for his exclusive services as guide during my stay."

Poor Stampa was nearly overwhelmed by this unexpected good fortune. In his agitation he blurted out, "Ah, then, the good G.o.d did really send an angel to my help this morning!"

Spencer, however, reviewing his own benevolence over a pipe outside the hotel, expressed the cynical opinion that the hot sun was affecting his brain. "I'm on a loose end," he communed. "Next time I waft myself to Europe on a steamer I'll bring my mother. It would be a bully fine notion to cable for her right away. I want someone to take care of me. It looks as if I had a cinch on running this hotel gratis. What in thunder will happen next?"

He could surely have answered that query if he had the least inkling of the circ.u.mstances governing Helen's prior meeting with Stampa. As it was, the development of events followed the natural course. While Spencer strolled off by the side of the lake, the old guide lumbered into the village street, and waited there, knowing that he would waylay the _bella Inglesa_ on her return. Though she came from the chateau and not from Cavloccio, he did not fail to see her.

At first she was at a loss to fathom the cause of Stampa's delight, and still less to understand why he should want to thank her with such exuberance. She imagined he was overjoyed at having gone back to his beloved profession, and it was only by dint of questioning that she discovered the truth. Then it dawned on her that the man had been goaded to desperation by the curt message from St. Moritz,--that he was sorely tempted to abandon the struggle, and follow into the darkness the daughter taken from him so many years ago,--and the remembrance of her suspicion when they were about to part at the cemetery gate lent a serious note to her words of congratulation.

"You see, Stampa," she said, "you were very wrong to lose faith this morning. At the very moment of your deepest despair Heaven was providing a good friend for you."

"Yes, indeed, _fraulein_. That is why I waited here. I felt that I must thank you. It was all through you. The good G.o.d sent you----"

"I think you are far more beholden to the gentleman who employed you than to me," she broke in.

"Yes, he is splendid, the young _voyageur_; but it was wholly on your account, lady. He was angry with me at first, because he thought I placed you in peril in the matter of the wheel."

Helen was amazed. "He spoke of me?" she cried.

"Ah, yes. He did not say much, but his eyes looked through me. He has the eyes of a true man, that young American."

She was more bewildered than ever. "What is his name?" she asked.

"Here it is. The director wrote it for me, so that I may learn how to p.r.o.nounce it."

Stampa produced a sc.r.a.p of paper, and Helen read, "Mr. Charles K.

Spencer."

"Are you quite certain he mentioned me?" she repeated.

"Can I be mistaken, _fraulein_. I know, because I studied the labels on your boxes. Mees Helene Weenton--so? And did he not rate me about the accident?"

"Well, wonders will never cease," she vowed; and indeed they were only just beginning in her life, which shows how blind to excellent material wonders can be.

At luncheon she summoned the head waiter. "Is there a Mr. Charles K.

Spencer staying in the hotel?" she asked.

"Yes, madam."

"Will you please tell me if he is in the room?"

The head waiter turned. Spencer was studying the menu. "Yes, madam.

There he is, sitting alone, at the second table from the window."

It was quite to be expected that the subject of their joint gaze should look at them instantly. There is a magnetism in the human eye that is unfailing in that respect, and its power is increased a hundredfold when a charming young woman tries it on a young man who happens to be thinking of her at the moment.

Then Spencer realized that Stampa had told Helen what had taken place in the hotel bureau, and he wanted to kick himself for having forgotten to make secrecy a part of the bargain.

Helen, knowing that he knew, blushed furiously. She tried to hide her confusion by murmuring something to the head waiter. But in her heart she was saying, "Who in the world is he? I have never seen him before last night. And why am I such an idiot as to tremble all over just because he happened to catch me looking at him?"

CHAPTER VI

THE BATTLEFIELD

Both man and woman were far too well bred to indulge in an _oeillade_. The knowledge that each was thinking of the other led rather to an ostentatious avoidance of anything that could be construed into any such flirtatious overture.

Though Stampa's curious statement had puzzled Helen, she soon hit on the theory that the American must have heard of the accident to her carriage. Yes, that supplied a ready explanation. No doubt he kept a sharp lookout for her on the road. He arrived at the hotel almost simultaneously with herself, and she had not forgotten his somewhat inquiring glance as they stood together on the steps. With the chivalry of his race in all things concerning womankind, he was eager to render a.s.sistance, and under the circ.u.mstances he probably wondered what sort of damsel in distress it was that needed help. It was natural enough too that in engaging Stampa he should refer to the carelessness that brought about the collapse of the wheel. Really, when one came to a.n.a.lyze an incident seemingly inexplicable, it resolved itself into quite commonplace const.i.tuents.

She found it awkward that he should be sitting between her and a window commanding the best view of the lake. If Spencer had been at any other table, she could have feasted her eyes on the whole expanse of the Ober-Engadin Valley. Therefore she had every excuse for looking that way, whereas he had none for gazing at her. Spencer appeared to be aware of this disability. For lack of better occupation he scrutinized the writing on the menu with a prolonged intentness worthy of a gourmand or an expert graphologist.