Part 45 (1/2)
Glen, however, kept her eyes fixed intently upon her father's face.
”And to think that you have deceived me all these years,” she upbraided. ”Don't you feel thoroughly ashamed of yourself?”
”I suppose I should,” was the laughing confession. ”But I have had so much innocent fun out of it that my conscience doesn't trouble me in the least.”
”And it was you all the time who travelled on the same steamer as I did,” Glen mused. ”I thought it strange that you should be going up or down the coast whenever I did.”
”Yes, I was keeping a good watch over you. I must confess that you behaved yourself very well.”
”Was it not difficult to play your part as a prospector?” Reynolds asked.
”Not after I got used to it, though at first it was a little awkward.
But I threw myself so gladly and heartily into the character I had a.s.sumed that I really believed for the time that I was Frontier Samson.
I might explain that he was a prospector I knew years ago, and was one of the finest men I ever met. So you see, it was quite easy for me to imitate him.”
”How did you happen to lay claim to me, sir, on the _Northern Light_?”
”Oh, that is easily explained. I was always on the lookout for young men different from the ordinary miners who come to this country, and so spotted you at once. I surmised from the first that you were not on your way up here for gold alone, and so I was anxious to learn the story of your life.”
”And did you?”
”Don't you think I did?” and a humorous expression shone in Redmond's eyes. ”Didn't I listen to your words and study you as you were never studied before, unless it was by your mother? But when I found that you were in love with a girl beyond the Golden Crest I became doubly interested, and determined to prove your soul and find out your worth.
The final test was made that night you faced me in my study at Glen West. Had you faltered then or shown the white streak, you would have been dumped beyond the pa.s.s.”
The speaker paused and gazed thoughtfully into the fire. There was an expression of sadness in his eyes, and his face was somewhat strained and drawn. Both Glen and Reynolds noted this as they watched him in silence. At length he turned sharply to Reynolds, and spoke in a rapid and agitated manner.
”Young man,” he began, ”you have found me. I had given up all hope of anyone doing so. I was not easily found, as I wrote in that note I left behind. You have found more than my mere body--you have found my soul, my real self, and that was what I meant. And you have found something else, which is more important in your eyes--you have found your reward--the treasure of all treasures to me. Take her; she is yours, and may G.o.d bless you both.”
Outside, the wind howled through the trees and over the lake. It beat upon the cabin and drove the rain las.h.i.+ngly against the small window-panes. But within the cabin all was peace and happiness. The flames from the burning sticks illumined the faces of the men and the girl as they sat and talked far on into the night. Many were the questions asked and answers given. They opened their hearts to one another, and as they talked and planned, all the disagreeable events of the past were forgotten, and the future looked rosy and bright. It was especially so to the young lovers as they sat close to each other, hand in hand, heart responding to heart, each thrilled with a love, deep, pure and tender--a love which transformed the commonplace into a realm of enchantment, beauty, and peace.
CHAPTER x.x.xI
OUTWARD BOUND
It was Sat.u.r.day night and Andrew Harmon, editor of the _Telegram_ and _Evening News_, was sitting in an easy chair in his bachelor quarters.
It was a cozy room, and the pictures on the walls and the well-filled book-shelves revealed the artistic and literary taste of the owner.
The large shaded electric lamp on the table cast its soft light upon Harmon's face as he sat there with his right hand supporting his firm, clean-shaven chin. It had been a trying week, and he was very weary.
He was thankful that it was Sat.u.r.day night, as he would be able to rest the next day, and think over a special editorial he was planning to write.
Harmon was really a lonely man. Of a reserved and retiring disposition, he had no desire for publicity. As editor of one of the leading papers in the city, he could express his views and remain unknown to most of the readers. His editorials were always written with great care and thought, and they were eagerly read by friends and opponents alike. Such work had always given him considerable pleasure as he felt that he was doing his part in moulding the thought of the community along true and strong lines. But to-night it all seemed of little avail. He had labored, but what had been the result? The only one upon whom he had lavished his affection had disappointed him, and was almost a stranger to him now. Mechanically he picked up a telegram from the table and read it again.
”Am leaving to-night on the _Princess May_.
”TOM.”
That was all. It was dated three days ago, from Skagway, Alaska.