Weston and Nannie did not make their appearance, and as Glen sat at the head of the table and poured the coffee, she explained that they already had their breakfast.

“They are earlier than we are,” Reynolds replied.  “I had no idea it was so late.”

“Didn’t you sleep well?” Glen asked.

“Never slept better, that is, after I got to sleep.  The wonderful events of last night kept me awake for a while.”

Glen blushed and her eyes dropped.  She did not tell how she, too, had lain awake much longer than anyone else in the house, nor that her pillow was moist with tears of happiness.

“I hope your dreams were pleasant,” she at length remarked, “You know the old saying.”

Reynolds’ mind seemed suddenly centred upon the piece of meat be was cutting, and he did not at once reply.  This Glen noticed, and an expression of anxiety appeared in her eyes.

“Do you wish me to tell you?” Reynolds asked, lifting his eyes to hers.

“If you don’t mind.  But I am afraid your dreams were bad.”

“Not altogether; merely light and shade.  The light was my dream of you, while the shade was of Curly.”

“You dreamed of him!” Glen paused in her eating, while her face turned pale.

“There, now, I am sorry I mentioned it, Miss Weston.  I knew it would worry you.  But perhaps it is just as well for you to know.”

“Indeed it is, especially when it concerns that man.  Oh, he is not a man, but a brute.  Please tell me about your dream.”

In a few words Reynolds told her all, and when he had ended she sat for some time lost in thought.  Her right arm rested upon the table, and her sunbrowned, shapely fingers lightly pressed her chin and cheek.  She was looking out of the window which fronted the lake, as if she saw something there.  The young man, watching, thought he never saw her look more beautiful.  Presently a tremor shook her body.  Then she gave a little nervous laugh, and resumed her breakfast.

“I am afraid I am not altogether myself this morning,” she apologized.  “But how can I help feeling nervous so long as Curly is anywhere in this country?”

Reynolds was about to reply when Nannie entered and told him that the master of the house wished to see him.  With a quick glance at Glen, and asking to be excused, he left the room, expecting that the storm which had been so mercifully delayed was now about to break.

CHAPTER XIX

THE TURN OF EVENTS

The master of Glen West was sitting at his desk as Reynolds entered.  He was smoking, and at the same time reading a newspaper in which he was deeply interested.  The latter he at once laid aside, and motioned his visitor to a chair.  He then picked up a box of cigars lying near.

“Do you smoke?” he asked.  “If so, you will enjoy these.  They are a special brand.”