o impelling. She was not proof against the
strong, warm pressure of his hand. She felt in its clasp, as she had
when a little girl, a great and sure safety. It drew her irresistibly.
She crept into his arms and buried her face on his shoulder, and she had
a feeling that if she could not relieve her heart it would burst.

"Oh, d--dad," she whispered, with a soft, hushed voice that broke
tremulously at her lips, "I--I love him!... I do love him.... It's
terrible!... I knew it--that last time you took me to his home--when he
said he was going to war.... And, oh, now you know!"

Anderson held her tight against his broad breast that lifted her with
its great heave. "Ah-huh! Reckon that's some relief. I wasn't so darn
sure," said Anderson. "Has he spoken to you?"

"Spoken! What do you mean?"

"Has Dorn told you he loved you?"

Lenore lifted her face. If that confession of hers had been relief to
her father it had been more so to her. What had seemed terrible began to
feel natural. Still, she was all intense, vibrating, internally
convulsed.

"Yes, he has," she replied, shyly. "But such a confession! He told it as
if to explain what he thought was boldness on his part. He had fallen in
love with me at first sight!... And then meeting me was too much for
him. He wanted me to know. He was going away to war. He asked
nothing.... He seemed to apologize for--for daring to love me. He asked
nothing. And he has absolutely not the slightest idea I care for him."

"Wal, I'll be dog-goned!" ejaculated Anderson. "What's the matter with
him?"

"Dad, he is proud," replied Lenore, dreamily. "He's had a hard struggle
out there in his desert of wheat. They've always been poor. He imagines
there's a vast distance between an heiress of 'Many Waters' and a farmer
boy. Then, more than all, I think, the war has fixed a morbid trouble in
his mind. God knows it must be real enough! A house divided against
itself is what he called his home. His father is German. He is American.
He worshiped his mother, who was a native of the United States. He has
become estranged from his father. I don't know--I'm not sure--but I felt
that he was obsessed by a calamity in his German blood. I divined that
was the great reason for his eagerness to go to war."

"Wal, Kurt Dorn's not goin' to war," replied her father. "I fixed that
all right."

An amazing and rapturous start thrilled over Lenore. "Daddy!" she cried,
leaping up in his arms, "what have you don