“It will. I will compel it.”
Bower was nearing them rapidly. A constrained silence fell between them. To end it, Helen cried:
“Well, are you feeling duly humbled, Mr. Bower?”
He did not seem to understand her meaning. Apparently, he might have forgotten that Stampa still lived. Then he roused his wits with an effort. “Not humbled, but elated,” he said. “Have I not led you to feats of derring-do? Why, the Wragg girls will be green with envy when they hear of your exploits.”
He swung round the corner to the bridge. After a smiling glance at Spencer’s impassive face, he turned to Helen. “You have come out of the ordeal with flying colors,” he said. “That flower you picked on the 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 boulder marked by a cross.”