He looked at her sadly, touched by her loyal faith in the mother she had never known.
"But think, my dear," he said. "You were but a few days old when she stole away in the night and left you without a line to tell us of her whereabouts. But John's blood was up. He traced her to New York, and learned enough to be sure that she had returned to her lover. Then he lost all trace of them, and came home reluctantly enough, for he would have shot the villain if he could have laid hands on him."
"It is a plausible story," the girl said, thoughtfully. "I might believe it if any one but John Glenalvan had told it. But oh, grandpa, that man always reminds me of a snake in the grass."
"My child, that is one of old Dinah's homely phrases," he remonstrated.
"It is a very true one, though," she maintained, stoutly.
He saw that he could not convince her, so he sighed and remained silent.
He had never thought of doubting his son's assertion himself. Golden's incredulity awakened a vague sense of uneasiness in his mind.
The girl sat silently also for a brief space of time, while the old clock in the corner slowly ticked away the moments of that momentous night.
She roused herself from her drooping, dejected attitude at last and looked up at the quiet old man.
"Grandpa," she said anxiously, as if some sudden doubt or fear had come into her mind, "what will Bert say when he hears this dreadful story?"