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."

"But I am here," Reynolds reminded.

"I know you are. But you came in a different way, you see. I believe