Today | News | Books | Recipes Adventure | Science Fiction | Ghost stories | Poetry | Children | History The Silent BarrierThe Project Gutenberg eBook of The Silent Barrier This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title: The Silent Barrier Author: Louis Tracy Illustrator: J. V. McFall A. W. Parsons Release date: March 14, 2010 [eBook #31635] Most recently updated: January 6, 2021 Language: English Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/31635 Credits: Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) *** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE SILENT BARRIER *** Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) The Silent Barrier BY LOUIS TRACY AUTHOR OF CYNTHIA'S CHAUFFEUR, A SON OF THE IMMORTALS, THE WINGS OF THE MORNING, ETC. ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. V. McFALL Page decorations by A. W. PARSONS from photographs by THE ENGADINE PRESS NEW YORK GROSSET & DUNLAP PUBLISHERS COPYRIGHT, 1908, 1911, BY EDWARD J. CLODE Entered at Stationers' Hall [Illustration: "Spare me one moment, Miss Wynton," he said. _Frontispiece_] CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. THE WISH 1 II. THE FULFILLMENT OF THE WISH 19 III. WHEREIN TWO PEOPLE BECOME BETTER ACQUAINTED 41 IV. HOW HELEN CAME TO MALOJA 64 V. AN INTERLUDE 84 VI. THE BATTLEFIELD 103 VII. SOME SKIRMISHING 122 VIII. SHADOWS 144 IX. "ETTA'S FATHER" 167 X. ON THE GLACIER 189 XI. WHEREIN HELEN LIVES A CROWDED HOUR 212 XII. THE ALLIES 232 XIII. THE COMPACT 253 XIV. WHEREIN MILLICENT ARMS FOR THE FRAY 275 XV. A COWARD'S VICTORY 298 XVI. SPENCER EXPLAINS 321 XVII. THE SETTLEMENT 337 Ich muss--Das ist die Schrank, in welcher mich die Welt Von einer, die Natur von andrer Seite haelt. FR. RUeCKERT: _Die Weisheit des Brahmenen._ [I must--That is the Barrier within which I am pent by the World on the one hand and Nature on the other.] THE SILENT BARRIER CHAPTER I THE WISH "Mail in?" "Yes, sir; just arrived. What name?" "Charles K. Spencer." The letter clerk seized a batch of correspondence and sorted it with nimble fingers. The form of the question told him that Spencer was interested in letters stamped for the greater part with bland presentments of bygone Presidents of the United States. In any event, he would have known, by long experience of the type, that the well dressed, straight limbed, strong faced young man on the other side of the counter was an American. He withdrew four missives from the bundle. His quick eyes saw that three bore the Denver postmark, and the fourth hailed from Leadville. "That is all at present, sir," he said. "Would you like your mail sent to your room in future, or shall I keep it here?" "Right here, please, in No. 20 slot. I could receive a reply by cable while I was going and coming along my corridor." The clerk smiled deferentially. He appreciated not only the length of the corridor, but the price paid by the tenant of a second floor suite overlooking the river. "Very well, sir," he said, glancing again at Spencer, "I will attend to it;" and he took a mental portrait of the man who could afford to hire apartments that ranked among the most expensive in the hotel. Obviously, the American was a recent arrival. His suite had been vacated by a Frankfort banker only three days earlier, and this was the first time he had asked for letters. Even the disillusioned official was amused by the difference between the two latest occupants of No. 20,--Herr Bamberger, a tub of a man, bald headed and bespectacled, and this alert, sinewy youngster, with the cleancut features of a Greek statue, and the brilliant, deep set, earnest eyes of one to whom thought and action were alike familiar. Spencer, fully aware that he was posing for a necessary picture, examined the dates on his letters, nipped the end off a green cigar, helped himself to a match from a box tendered by a watchful boy, crossed the entrance hall, and descended a few steps leading to the inner foyer and restaurant. At the foot of the stairs he looked about for a quiet corner. The luncheon hour was almost ended. Groups of smokers and coffee drinkers were scattered throughout the larger room, which widened out below a second short flight of carpeted steps. The smaller anteroom in which he stood was empty, save for a few people passing that way from the restaurant, and he decided that a nook near a palm shaded balcony offered the retreat he sought. He little dreamed that he was choosing the starting point of the most thrilling adventure in a life already adventurous; that the soft carpet of the Embankment Hotel might waft him to scenes not within the common scope. That is ever the way of true romance. Your knight errant may wander in the forest for a day or a year,--he never knows the moment when the enchanted glade shall open before his eyes; nay, he scarce has seen the weeping maiden bound to a tree ere he is called in to couch his lance and ride a-tilt at the fire breathing dragon. It was so when men and maids dwelt in a young world; it is so now; and it will be so till the crack of doom. Manners may change, and costume; but hearts filled with the wine of life are not to be altered. They are fashioned that way, and the world does not vary, else Eve might regain Paradise, and all the fret and fume have an end. Charles K. Spencer, then, would certainly have been the most astonished, though perhaps the most self possessed, man in London had some guardian sprite whispered low in his ear what strange hazard lay in his choice of a chair. If such whisper were vouchsafed to him he paid no heed. Perhaps his occupancy of that particular corner was preordained. It was inviting, secluded, an upholstered backwash in the stream of fashion; so he sat there, nearly stunned a waiter by asking for a glass of water, and composed himself to read his letters. The waiter hesitated. He was a Frenchman, and feared he had not heard aright. "What sort of water, sir," he asked,--"Vichy, St. Galmier, Apollinaris?" Spencer looked up. He thought the man had gone. "No, none of those," he said. "Just plain, unemotional water,--_eau naturelle_,--straight from the pipe,--the microbe laden fluid that runs off London tiles most days. I haven't been outside the hotel during the last hour; but if you happen to pass the door I guess you'll see the kind of essence I mean dripping off umbrellas. If you don't keep it in the house, try to borrow a policeman's cape and s |