with Dorn a wonderful
calmness came to her.

"Miss Anderson, I'd rather not--not meet your mother and sisters
to-night," said Dorn. "I'm upset. Won't it be all right to wait till
to-morrow?"

"Surely. But I think they've gone to bed," replied Lenore, as she
glanced into the dark sitting-room. "So they have.... Come, let us go
into the parlor."

Lenore turned on the shaded lights in the beautiful room. How
inexplicable was the feeling of being alone with him, yet utterly free
of the torment that had possessed her before! She seemed to have divined
an almost insurmountable obstacle in Dorn's will. She did not have her
father's assurance. It made her tremble to realize her responsibility
--that her father's earnest wishes and her future of love or
woe depended entirely upon what she said and did. But she felt that
indeed she had become a woman. And it would take a woman's wit and charm
and love to change this tragic boy.

"Miss--Anderson," he began, brokenly, with restraint let down, "your
father--doesn't understand. I've _got_ to go.... And even if I am
spared--I couldn't ever come back.... To work for him--all the time in
love with you--I couldn't stand it.... He's so good. I know I could care
for him, too.... Oh, I thought I was bitterly resigned--hard--inhuman.
But all this makes it--so--so much worse."

He sat down heavily, and, completely unnerved, he covered his face with
his hands. His shoulders heaved and short, strangled sobs broke from
him.

Lenore had to overcome a rush of tenderness. It was all she could do to
keep from dropping to her knees beside him and slipping her arms around
his neck. In her agitation she could not decide whether that would be
womanly or not; only, she must make no mistakes. A hot, sweet flush went
over her when she thought that always as a last resort she could reveal
her secret and use her power. What would he do when he discovered she
loved him?

"Kurt, I understand," she said, softly, and put a hand on his shoulder.
And she stood thus beside him, sadly troubled, vaguely divining that her
presence was helpful, until he recovered his composure. As he raised his
head and wiped tears from his eyes he made no excuses for his weakness,
nor did he show any shame.

"Miss Anderson--" he began.

"Please call me Lenore. I feel so--so stiff when you are formal. My
friends call me Lenore," she said.

"You mean--you consider me your friend?" he queried.

"Indeed I do," she replied,