ther in her room,
where he had always been wont to come for sympathy. They gazed at each
other, with hard, dry eyes. Stark-naked truth--grim reality--the nature
of this catastrophe--the consciousness of war--dawned for each in the
look of the other. Brutal shock and then this second exceeding bitter
woe awakened their minds to the futility of individual life.

"Lenore--it's over!" he said, huskily, as he sank into a chair. "Like a
nightmare!... What have I got to live for?"

"You have us girls," replied Lenore. "And if you did not have us there
would be many others for you to live for.... Dad, can't you see--_now_?"

"I reckon. But I'm growin' old an' mebbe I've quit."

"No, dad, you'll never quit. Suppose all we Americans quit. That'd mean
a German victory. Never! Never! Never!"

"By God! you're right!" he ejaculated, with the trembling strain of his
face suddenly fixing. Blood and life shot into his eyes. He got up
heavily and began to stride to and fro before her. "You see clearer than
me. You always did, Lenore."

"I'm beginning to see, but I can't tell you," replied Lenore, closing
her eyes. Indeed, there seemed a colossal vision before her, veiled and
strange. "Whatever happens, we _cannot_ break. It's because of the war.
We have our tasks--greater now than ever we believe could be thrust upon
us. Yours to show men what you are made of! To raise wheat as never
before in your life! Mine to show my sisters and my friends--all the
women--what their duty is. We must sacrifice, work, prepare, and fight
for the future."

"I reckon," he nodded solemnly. "Loss of mother an' Jim changes this
damned war. Whatever's in my power to do must go on. So some one can
take it up when I--"

"That's the great conception, dad," added Lenore, earnestly. "We are
tragically awakened. We've been surprised--terribly struck in the dark.
Something monstrous and horrible!... I can feel the menace in it for
all--over every family in this broad land."

"Lenore, you said once that Jim--Now, how'd you know it was all over for
him?"

"A woman's heart, dad. When I said good-by to Jim I knew it was good-by
forever."

"Did you feel that way about Kurt Dorn?"

"No. He will come back to me. I dream it. It's in my spirit--my instinct
of life, my flesh-and-blood life of the future--it's in my belief in
God. Kurt Dorn's ordeal will be worse than death for him. But I believe
as I pray--that he will come home alive."

"Then, after all, you