"You are very fond of your daughter, are you not?"
"Certainly. She is all I have in the world, and she is dearer to me than life itself."
"Just so," and Reynolds smiled. "And for her sake, at least, you would not dare to burn any man alive."
"Wouldn't dare! Why not?"
"Simply because you would be hunted down as a murderer, and hung. Why, the Mounted Police would have had you in their clutches long before this."
"They would, eh? What do I care about law? Am I not a law unto myself?"
"In a way you are, so long as you do not commit any crime. But even though you might not care about yourself, you would not dare to do anything wrong for your daughter's sake. She means so much to you, that you would not dare to commit any desperate act for fear of disgracing her. Is not that so?"
Weston made no reply, but sat looking intently into Reynolds' face.
"There is another reason," the latter continued, "to which I feel certain you can make no objection, and it is that."
He pointed as he spoke to a framed picture hanging above the desk. It was the face of a woman of remarkable beauty, and closely resembling Glen, although somewhat older.