f American fightin' come
home to you, straight an' true. I say that's what the Germans have
roused. Well, it was a bad day for them when they figgered
everythin' on paper, had it all cut an' dried, but failed to see the
spirit of men!"

Lenore tore herself away from the window so that she could not hear any
more, and in the darkness of her room she began to pace to and fro,
beginning to undress for bed, shaking in some kind of a frenzy, scarcely
knowing what she was about, until sundry knocks from furniture and the
falling over a chair awakened her to the fact that she was in a tumult.

"What--_am_ I--doing!" she panted, in bewilderment, reaching out in the
dark to turn on the light.

Like awakening from a nightmare, she saw the bright light flash up. It
changed her feeling. Who was this person whose image stood reflected in
the mirror? Lenore's recognition of herself almost stunned her. What had
happened? She saw that her hair fell wildly over her bare shoulders; her
face shone white, with red spots in her cheeks; her eyes seemed balls of
fire; her lips had a passionate, savage curl; her breast, bare and
heaving, showed a throbbing, tumultuous heart. And as she realized how
she looked, it struck her that she felt an inexplicable passion. She
felt intense as steel, hot as fire, quivering with the pulsation of
rapid blood, a victim to irrepressible thrills that rushed over her from
the very soles of her feet to the roots of her hair. Something glorious,
terrible, and furious possessed her. When she understood what it was she
turned out the light and fell upon the bed, where, as the storm slowly
subsided, she thought and wondered and sorrowed, and whispered to
herself.

The tale of Dorn's tragedy had stirred to the depths the primitive,
hidden, and unplumbed in the unknown nature of her. Just now she had
looked at herself, at her two selves--the white-skinned and fair-haired
girl that civilization had produced--and the blazing, panting, savage
woman of the bygone ages. She could not escape from either. The story of
Demon Dorn's terrible fight had retrograded her, for the moment, to the
female of the species, more savage and dangerous than the male. No use
to lie! She had gloried in his prowess. He was her man, gone out with
club, to beat down the brutes that would steal her from him.

"Alas! What are we? What am I?" she whispered. "Do I know myself? What
could I not have done a moment ago?"

She had