ay.
The lake lay like a mirror, its borders black with the shadows of the
near-by trees.

At the kitchen window Weston stood wrapped in thought. Forgotten was
the man lying in the bunk, for his mind was upon the two slowly wending
their way to the lake. The room seemed to stifle him, so he went to
the door and stood there, silent and alone. He was fighting the
hardest battle of his life, much harder, in fact, than the one he had
fought in his study the night he had first interviewed Reynolds. He
knew that he was at the parting of the ways. That Glen had given her
heart to the young stranger he was certain, and he believed that she
would never be happy apart from him. They would leave the northland,
and should he remain? That was the question which was now agitating
his mind. How could he live alone without Glen's inspiring presence?
There was no one to take her place, and he was getting well along in
years. He thought of her who had meant so much to him in the sweet
days of old. What agony had wrung his soul when she was taken from
him, and how his whole life had been changed. A slight groan escaped
the lips of the unhappy man, and mechanically he reached out his hands
into the night. At once there flashed into his mind the words Glen and
Reynolds had sung together at Glen West:

"'Tis a tale that is truer and older
Than any the sagas tell.
I loved you in life too little--
I love you in death too well."

The sound of happy laughter from the shore fell upon his ears. He
started and looked down toward the shore. He could dimly see the two
standing near the water close to each other, and intuitively he knew
its meaning. They had forgotten him and everything else. They were
sufficient to each other, and all cares for the time had vanished.
Weston knew that the old, old tale was being repeated by the shore of
that inland lake, and that two young hearts were responding to the
sweet, luring charm of that divine influence, which banishes all grief
and care, and transfigures life with the halo of romance.

CHAPTER XXVI

THROUGH THE STORM

Next morning Reynolds started with Sconda for Big Draw. As he mounted
his horse in front of the cabin, Glen stood nearby, and he thought that
he had never seen her look so pretty. If any man had ever been tempted
to express all that was in his mind he had been the previous evening as
they stood by the shore of the lake. He believed that Glen loved him,