s she
felt--how she prayed for inspiration--for wisdom!

"Pay!... How?" she asked.

"In the only way possible. I'll see that a Dorn goes to war--who will
show his American blood--who will fight and kill--and be killed!"

His passion, then, was more than patriotism. It had its springs in the
very core of his being. He had, it seemed, a debt that he must pay. But
there was more than this in his grim determination. And Lenore divined
that it lay hidden in his bitter reference to his German blood. He hated
that--doubted himself because of it. She realized now that to keep him
from going to war would be to make him doubt his manhood and eventually
to despise himself. No longer could she think of persuading him to stay
home. She must forget herself. She knew then that she had the power to
keep him and she could use it, but she must not do so. This tragic thing
was a matter of his soul. But if he went to war with this bitter
obsession, with this wrong motive, this passionate desire to spill blood
in him that he hated, he would lose his soul. He must be changed. All
her love, all her woman's flashing, subtle thought concentrated on this
fact. How strange the choice that had been given her! Not only must she
relinquish her hope of keeping him home, but she must perhaps go to
desperate ends to send him away with a changed spirit. The moment of
decision was agony for her.

"Kurt, this is a terrible hour for both of us," she said, "but, thank
Heaven, you have confessed to me. Now I will confess to you."

"Confess?... You?... What nonsense!" he exclaimed. But in his surprise
he lifted his head from his hands to look at her.

"When we came in here my mind was made up to make you stay home. Father
begged me to do it, and I had my own selfish motive. It was love. Oh, I
do love you, Kurt, more than you can dream of!... I justified my
resolve. I told you that. But I wanted you. I wanted your love--your
presence. I longed for a home with you as husband--master--father to my
babies. I dreamed of all. It filled me with terror to think of you going
to war. You might be crippled--mangled--murdered.... Oh, my dear, I
could not bear the thought!... So I meant to overcome you. I had it all
planned. I meant to love you--to beg you--to kiss you--to make you
stay--"

"Lenore, what are you saying?" he cried, in shocked amaze.

She flung her arms round his neck. "Oh, I could--I could have kept you!"
she answered, low voiced and triumphant. "