For the first time in her young life Glen was sorry that her father had come home.  She was really more than sorry, for a nameless fear possessed her heart, which restrained her usual free and happy manner.  Her father’s keen intuition noted this, and that her words seemed forced.  Her enthusiasm over his arrival was not so hearty and natural as formerly, and he wondered why.

“What is the matter, dear?” he asked after Glen had somewhat haltingly told him about her music and certain household affairs.  “You do not seem like yourself.  Has anything out of the ordinary happened at Glen West since I have been away?”

“Yes, lots of things, daddy,” was the reply.  “One of the most important is your absence from home for such a length of time.  You should be ashamed of yourself.”

Weston laughed, although he felt quite sure that she was evading the real issue.

“I am sorry, dear, and I make my humble confession now.  But what else of importance has been taking place?”

“I was nearly eaten up by a bear on Crooked Trail, and it was a grizzly at that.”

Glen was surprised that her father did not seem more concerned, and she told him so.

“You take it very coolly, daddy.  Just think, you might have come home and not found me here.”

“I am very thankful that you escaped, dear, but did I not forbid your going so far alone beyond the Golden Crest?  I hope your experience has taught you a lesson.  How were you saved from the grizzly?”

“Oh, a hunter shot it just in the nick of time,” Glen explained as indifferently as possible, although she knew that her cheeks were aflame.  “And, oh, daddy, you should have seen the shot he made; it was wonderful!”

“Where was the hunter from, Glen?”

“From Big Draw mining camp, so I understand.”

“Were you talking to him?”

“Yes, just for a few minutes.”

“And have you seen him since?”

Glen’s eyes dropped and the flush left her cheeks.  Her father noted this, and he laid his right hand suddenly upon her arm.

“Speak, Glen, and tell me at once whether you have seen him since.”

Something in her father’s voice startled the girl, and she looked up quickly into his face.

“Tell me,” he again demanded.  “What is the matter?  Have you seen that man lately?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“At Glen West?  He has been here, and you have seen him?  Are you sure?”

“I am certain.  I was with him this afternoon in the canoe.  But, daddy, what is the matter?  Oh, don’t get angry.  I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Jim Weston had risen to his feet, and was looking down upon his daughter.  He was a powerfully-built man, of more than ordinary height.  The northern winter was in his thick hair and heavy moustache, while his steady light-blue eyes and firm, well-built chin betokened a strong will power of unyielding determination.  Glen had often expressed her unbounded admiration for her father, and believed him to be the most handsome man in the world.  But now he seemed like an avenging god, about to visit upon her the force of his wrath.  For the first time in her life she cowered before him, and hid her face in her hands.