"Am I dreaming, or have I taken leave of my senses?" he asked.
Glen laughed, as she rested on her paddle, and turned partly around.
"That is where I live," she explained. "And that is our boat. You were brought in on it the day we picked you up on the lake."
Reynolds made no immediate reply, but drove his paddle suddenly into the water. He knew that this girl had been largely instrumental in saving his life, and he was learning more and more what an important part she was playing in his life, and how one by one the links were being formed to bind them closer together.
Reynolds believed that he had seen the most wonderful sights in the north, but he had to confess that the grandest of all had been reserved for him that afternoon. As they moved on their way, the creek narrowed, and passing through an opening with high frowning rocks on both sides, they ran into a body of water of unruffled calmness, with steep banks, wooded to the shores. On the left rose the high ridge of the Golden Crest, as it shouldered in close to the stream, while on the right towered another crest, grand and austere. Their pinnacles were reflected in the lake, which was one of nature's jewels of surpassing brilliance, set by unseen hands on the fair bosom of the virgin north.
Many were the things the happy young couple talked about that afternoon. They did not paddle all the time, but often were content to let the canoe drift or lie still along the shore. Glen described the life at the Seminary and at Glen West, while Reynolds told of his terrible experiences in the hills and his voyage on the raft down the river.
"I am afraid that Frontier Samson is still hunting for me," he said.
"He is a fine old man, so kind and humorous. Have you ever met him,
Miss Weston?"
"Not to my knowledge," was the reply, "although I have heard a great deal about him."
"He has never been here, I suppose?"
"Oh, no. Daddy never permits any white man to come, not even that old prospector."