r, as always after supper, but to Lenore's
delicate sensitiveness he seemed to be too long about it.

"Lenore, I'm takin' a run to New York--leave to-night at eight--an' I
want you to sort of manage while I'm gone. Here's some jobs I want the
men to do--all noted down here--an' you'll answer letters, 'phone calls,
an' all that. Not much work, you know, but you'll have to hang around.
Somethin' important might turn up."

"Yes, dad. I'll be glad to," she replied. "Why--why this sudden trip?"

Anderson turned away a little and ran his hand over the papers on his
desk. Did she only imagine that his hand shook a little?

"Wheat deals, I reckon--mostly," he said. "An' mebbe I'll run over to
Washington."

He turned then, puffing at his cigar, and calmly met her direct gaze. If
there were really more than he claimed in his going, he certainly did
not intend to tell her. Lenore tried to still her mounting emotion.
These days she seemed all imagination. Then she turned away her face.

"Will you try to find out if Kurt Dorn died of his wound--and all about
him?" she asked, steadily, but very low.

"Lenore, I sure will!" he exclaimed, with explosive emphasis. No doubt
the sincerity of that reply was an immense relief to Anderson. "Once in
New York, I can pull wires, if need be. I absolutely promise you I'll
find out--what--all you want to know."

Lenore bade him good-by and went to her room, where calmness deserted
her for a while. Upon recovering, she found that the time set for her
father's departure had passed. Strangely, then the oppression that had
weighed upon her so heavily eased and lifted. The moment seemed one
beyond her understanding. She attributed her relief, however, to the
fact that her father would soon end her suspense in regard to Kurt Dorn.

In the succeeding days Lenore regained her old strength and buoyancy,
and something of a control over the despondency which at times had made
life misery.

A golden day of sunlight and azure blue of sky ushered in the month of
June. "Many Waters" was a world of verdant green. Lenore had all she
could do to keep from flying to the slopes. But as every day now brought
nearer the possibility of word from her father, she stayed at home. The
next morning about nine o'clock, while she was at her father's desk, the
telephone-bell rang. It did that many times every morning, but this ring
seemed to electrify Lenore. She answered the call hurriedly.

"Hello, Lenore, my girl