"Suppose you tell us some of your experiences at the Front," Weston suggested, divining the cause of the young man's confusion. "It has not been my fortune to meet anyone who has come through what you have, and I am sure Glen will enjoy it as well as myself."
Although somewhat loath to tell of his adventures, Reynolds could not very well refuse such a request, so, seating himself, he simply related the story of his service under arms. He said as little as possible about his own part in the fray, and touched but lightly upon the scenes wherein he had won his special decorations. Weston, sitting by his side, listened as a man in a dream. At times a deep sigh escaped his lips, for he himself had ardently longed to enlist, but had been rejected owing to his age.
Not a word of the tale did Glen miss. With her arms upon the table, and her hands supporting her cheeks, she kept her eyes fixed earnestly upon her lover's face. Her bashfulness had departed, and she only saw in the young man across the table her ideal type of a hero. She had no realization of the beautiful picture she presented, with the light falling softly upon her hair and animated, face. But Reynolds knew, and as his eyes met hers, he became slightly confused, and hesitated in his story. What a reward, he told himself, for all that he had endured. He had been happy when the decorations were pinned upon his breast. But that reward was nothing, and the medals mere baubles compared to the joy he was experiencing now. If the love of such a woman had been his during the long, weary campaign, what might he not have accomplished? How he would have been inspired to do and to dare, and in addition to those medals there might have been the coveted Victoria Cross.
"Oh, I wish I were a man!" Glen fervently declared when Reynolds had finished his tale. "How I would like to have been 'over there.' You needn't smile, daddy," she continued. "I know you consider me foolish, but I mean every word I say."
"I understand, dear," was the quiet reply. "I know just how you feel, for it is only natural. However, I am glad that you are not a man, for you are of greater comfort to me because you are a girl. But, there, I think we have talked enough for to-night. You both must be tired after to-day's journey, and we have a hard trip ahead of us to-morrow."
CHAPTER XXIII
AT THE REVOLVER'S POINT
Glen awoke early the next morning, tired and depressed. She had slept but little during the night, for her old fears had returned as she recalled the dream and Klota's warning. Her excitement over Reynolds' story assisted, too, in driving sleep from her eyes, and she pictured him on the field of battle, with shells dropping on every side. He was the one who stood out in clear relief above all others. To her he was the hero in every scene, and she saw all looking to him for inspiration and guidance. The glamor of love and hero-worship enwrapped her a willing victim in its enchanting embrace.
Reynolds was quick to notice the tired expression in Glen's eyes and the lack of color in her cheeks as she came forth from her room and took her place at the table.
"What's wrong, dear?" her father anxiously enquired. "Didn't you sleep well?"