With a start Glen glanced toward the door, and gently untwined her lover’s arms.  Her face, flushed before, was scarlet now.  Never before had the lips of man except her father’s touched her own, and the rapture of the sensation was quickly succeeded by a strong maidenly reserve.  What should she do? she asked herself.  How could she atone for her indiscretion?  She turned instinctively to the piano.

“Play.  Sing,” Reynolds ordered in a low voice, charged with deep emotion.

“What shall I play?” Glen faintly asked as she mechanically turned over several sheets of music.

“Anything; it doesn’t matter, so long as you play.  There, that, ’The Long, Long Trail’; I like it.”

Touching her fingers lightly to the keys, Glen played as well as the agitated state of her mind would permit.  And as she played, Reynolds sang, such as he had never sung before.  Presently Glen joined him, and thus together they sang the song through.

Across the hall Weston sat alone and listened.  The stern expression had disappeared from his face, and his head was bowed in his hands.

“It has been a long, long trail to me,” he murmured, “but the end seems in sight.”

The music of another song now fell upon his ears.  Again they were singing, and he noted how perfectly their voices blended.  Ere long the music was interrupted by laughter, the cause of which Weston could not tell, but he was fully aware that the young couple were happy together, and apparently had forgotten all about him.  At one time this would have annoyed him, but it affected him now in a far different manner, at which he was surprised.

Glen and Reynolds, however, had not forgotten the silent man in the other room, and at times they glanced anxiously toward the door.  They both felt that their happiness would soon end, and then would come the cruel separation.  But as the evening wore on and nothing occurred to mar their pleasure, they wondered, and spoke of it in a low whisper to each other.  They sang several more songs, but most of the time they preferred to talk in the language which lovers alone know, a language more expressive in the glance, the flush of the cheeks, and the accelerated heartbeats, than all the fine words of the masters of literature.  Time to them was a thing of naught, for they were standing on the confines of that timeless kingdom, described on earth as heaven.

The entrance of Nannie at length broke the spell, and brought them speedily back to earth.  They knew that she was the bearer of some message from the master of the house, and what would that message be?  But the woman, merely smiled as she came toward them, and informed Reynolds that it was getting late, and that his room was ready.

“Do you mean that I am to spend the night here?” he asked in surprise.

“It is the master’s wish,” was the reply.  “He gave the order, and your room is ready.  I will show you the way.”