Lenore waited for Kurt, and stood half concealed behind the curtains. It
had dawned upon her that she had an ordeal at hand. Her heart
palpitated. She heard his quick step on the stairs. She called before
she showed herself.
"Hello!... Oh, but you startled me!" he exclaimed. He had been
surprised, too, at the abrupt meeting. Certainly he had not been
thinking of her. His pale, determined face attested to stern and
excitable thought.
He halted before her.
"Where are you going?" asked Lenore.
"To see your father."
"What about?"
"It's rather important," he replied, with hesitation.
"Will it take long?"
He showed embarrassment. "I--He--We'll be occupied 'most all evening."
"Indeed!... Very well. If you'd rather be--_occupied_--than spend the
evening with me!" Lenore turned away, affecting a disdainful and hurt
manner.
"Lenore, it's not that," he burst out. "I--I'd rather spend an evening
with you than anybody else--or do anything."
"That's very easy to say, Mr. Dorn," she returned, lightly.
"But it's true," he protested.
"Come out of the hall. Father will hear us," she said, and led him into
the room. It was not so light in there, but what light there was fell
upon his face and left hers in shadow.
"I've made an--an appointment for to-night," he declared, with
difficulty.
"Can't you break it?" she asked.
"No. That would lay me open to--to cowardice--perhaps your father's
displeasure."
"Kurt Dorn, it's brave to give up some things!... And if you go you'll
incur _my_ displeasure."
"Go!" he ejaculated, staring at her.
"Oh, I know!... And I'm--well, not flattered to see you'd rather go hang
I.W.W.'s than stay here with me." Lenore did not feel the assurance and
composure with which she spoke. She was struggling with her own
feelings. She believed that just as soon as she and Kurt understood each
other--faced each other without any dissimulation--then she would feel
free and strong. If only she could put the situation on a sincere
footing! She must work for that. Her difficulty was with a sense of
falsity. There was no time to plan. She must change his mind.
Her words had made him start.
"Then you know?" he asked.
"Of course."
"I'm sorry for that," he replied, soberly, as he brushed a hand up
through his wet hair.
"But you will stay home?"
"No," he returned, shortly, and he looked hard.
"Kurt, I don't want _you_ mixed up with any lynching-bees," she said,
earnestly.
"I'm a citizen of Washington. I'll join the vigilantes. I'm American.
I've been ruined by these I.W.W.'s. No man in the West has lost so much!
Father--home--land--my great harvest of wheat!... Why shouldn't I go?"
"There's no reason except--_me_," she replied, rather unsteadily.
He drew himself up, with a deep breath, as if fortifying himself.
"That's a mighty good reason.... But you will be kinder if you withdraw
your objections."
"Can't you conceive of any reason why I--I beg you not to go?"
"I can't," he replied, staring at her. It seemed that every moment he
spent in her presence increased her effect upon him. Lenore felt this,
and that buoyed up her failing courage.
"Kurt, you've made a very distressing--a terrible and horrible blunder,"
she said, with a desperation that must have seemed something else to
him.
"My heavens! What have I done?" he gasped, his face growing paler. How
ready he was to see more catastrophe! It warmed her heart and
strengthened her nerve.
The moment had come. Even if she did lose her power of speech she still
could show him what his blunder was. Nothing in all her life had ever
been a hundredth part as hard as this. Yet, as the words formed, her
whole heart seemed to be behind them, forcing them out. If only he did
not misunderstand!
Then she looked directly at him and tried to speak. Her first attempt
was inarticulate, her second was a whisper, "Didn't you ever--think I--I
might care for you?"
It was as if a shock went over him, leaving him trembling. But he did
not look as amazed as incredulous. "No, I certainly never did," he said.
"Well--that's your blunder--for I--I do. You--you never--never--asked
me."
"You do what--care for me?... What on earth do you mean by that?"
Lenore was fighting many emotions now, the one most poignant being a
wild desire to escape, which battled with an equally maddening one to
hide her face on his breast.
Yet she could see how white he had grown--how different. His hands
worked convulsively and his eyes pierced her very soul.
"What should a girl mean--telling she cared?"
"I don't know. Girls are beyond me," he replied, stubbornly.
"Indeed that's true. I've felt so far beyond you--I had to come to
this."
"Lenore," he burst out, hoarsely, "you talk in riddles! You've been so
strange, yet so fine, so sweet! And now you say you care for me!...
Care?... What does that mean? A word can drive me mad. But I never dared
to hope. I love you--love you--love you--my God! you're all I've left to
love. I--"
"Do you think you've a monopoly on all the love in the world?"
interrupted Lenore, coming to her real self. His impassioned declaration
was all she needed. Her ordeal was over.
It seemed as if he could not believe his ears or eyes.
"Monopoly! World!" he echoed. "Of course I don't. But--"
"Kurt, I love you just as much as--as you love me.... So there!"
Lenore had time for one look at his face before he enveloped her. What a
relief to hide her own! It was pressed to his breast very closely. Her
eyes shut, and she felt hot tears under the lids. All before her
darkened sight seemed confusion, whirling chaos. It seemed that she
could not breathe and, strangely, did not need to. How unutterably happy
she felt! That was an age-long moment--wonderful for her own relief and
gladness--full of changing emotions. Presently Kurt appeared to be
coming to some semblance of rationality. He released her from that
crushing embrace, but still kept an arm around her while he held her off
and looked at her.
"Lenore, will you kiss me?" he whispered.
She could have cried out in sheer delight at the wonder of that whisper
in her ear. It had been she who had changed the world for Kurt Dorn.
"Yes--presently," she replied, with a tremulous little laugh. "Wait
till--I get my breath--"
"I was beside myself--am so yet," he replied, low voiced as if in awe.
"I've been lifted to heaven.... It cannot be true. I believe, yet I'll
not be sure till you kiss me.... You--Lenore Anderson, this girl of my
dreams! Do you love me--is it true?"
"Yes, Kurt, indeed I do--very dearly," she replied, and turned to look
up into his face. It was transfigured. Lenore's heart swelled as a deep
and profound emotion waved over her.
"Please kiss me--then."
She lifted her face, flushing scarlet. Their lips met. Then with her
head upon his shoulder and her hands closely held she answered the
thousand and one questions of a bewildered and exalted lover who could
not realize the truth. Lenore laughed at him and eloquently furnished
proof of her own obsession, and told him how and why and when it all
came about.
Not for hours did Kurt come back to actualities. "I forgot about the
vigilantes," he exclaimed, suddenly. "It's too late now.... How the time
has flown!... Oh, Lenore, thought of other things breaks in, alas!"
He kissed her hand and got up. Another change was coming over him.
Lenore had long expected the moment when realization would claim his
attention. She was prepared.
"Yes, you forgot your appointment with dad and the vigilantes. You've
missed some excitement and violence."
His face had grown white again--grave now and troubled. "May I speak to
your father?" he asked.
"Yes," she replied.
"If I come back from the war--well--not crippled--will you promise to
marry me?"
"Kurt, I promise now."
That seemed to shake him. "But, Lenore, it is not fair to you. I don't
believe a soldier should bind a girl by marriage or engagement before he
goes to war. She should be free.... I want you to be free."
"That's for you to say," she replied, softly. "But for my part, I don't
want to be free--if you go away to war."
"If!... I'm going," he said, with a start. "You don't want to be free?
Lenore, would you be engaged to me?"
"My dear boy, of course I would.... It seems I _am,_ doesn't it?" she
replied, with one of her deep, low laughs.
He gazed at her, fascinated, worked upon by overwhelming emotions.
"Would you marry me--before I go?"
"Yes," she flashed.
He bent and bowed then under the storm. Stumbling to her, almost on his
knees, he brokenly expressed his gratitude, his wonder, his passion, and
the terrible temptation that he must resist, which she must help him to
resist.
"Kurt, I love you. I will see things through your eyes, if I must. I
want to be a comfort to you, not a source of sorrow."
"But, Lenore, what comfort can I find?... To leave you now is going to
be horrible!... To part from you now--I don't see how I can."
Then Lenore dared to broach the subject so delicate, so momentous.
"You need not part from me. My father has asked me to try to keep you
home. He secured exemption for you. You are more needed here than at the
front. You can feed many soldiers. You would be doing your duty--with
honor!... You would be a soldier. The government is going to draft young
men for farm duty. Why not you? There are many good reasons why you
would be better than most young men. Because you know wheat. And wheat
is to become the most important thing in the world. No one misjudges
your loyalty.... And surely you see that the best service to your
country is what you can do best."
He sat down beside her, with serious frown and somber eyes. "Lenore, are
you asking me not to go to war?"
"Yes, I am," she replied. "I have thought it all over. I've given up my
brother. I'd not ask you to stay home if you were needed at the front as
much as here. That question I have had out with my conscience.... Kurt,
don't think me a silly, sentimental girl. Events of late have made me a
woman."
He buried his face in his hands. "That's the most amazing of
all--you--Lenore Anderson, my American girl--asking me not to go to
war."
"But, dear, it is not so amazing. It's reasonable. Your peculiar point
of view makes it look different. I am no weak, timid, love-sick girl
afraid to let you go!... I've given you good, honorable, patriotic
reasons for your exemption from draft. Can you see that?"
"Yes. I grant all your claims. I know wheat well enough to tell you that
if vastly more wheat-raising is not done the world will starve. That
would hold good for the United States in forty years without war."
"Then if you see my point why are you opposed to it?" she asked.
"Because I am Kurt Dorn," he replied, bitterly.
His tone, his gloom made her shiver. It would take all her intelligence
and wit and reason to understand him, and vastly more than that to
change him. She thought earnestly. This was to be an ordeal profoundly
more difficult than the confession of her love. It was indeed a crisis
dwarfing the other she had met. She sensed in him a remarkably strange
attitude toward this war, compared with that of her brother or other
boys she knew who had gone.
"Because you are Kurt Dorn," she said, thoughtfully. "It's in the name,
then.... But I think it a pretty name--a good name. Have I not consented
to accept it as mine--for life?"
He could not answer that. Blindly he reached out with a shaking hand, to
find hers, to hold it close. Lenore felt the tumult in him. She was
shocked. A great tenderness, sweet and motherly, flooded over her.
"Dearest, in this dark hour--that was so bright a little while ago--you
must not keep anything from me," she replied. "I will be true to you. I
will crush my selfish hopes. I will be your mother.... tell me why you
must go to war because you are Kurt Dorn."
"My father was German. He hated this country--yours and mine. He plotted
with the I.W.W. He hated your father and wanted to destroy him....
Before he died he realized his crime. For so I take the few words he
spoke to Jerry. But all the same he was a traitor to my country. I bear
his name. I have German in me.... And by God I'm going to pay!"
His deep, passionate tones struck into Lenore's heart. She fought with a
rising terror. She was beginning to understand him. How helpless 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. "It fills me with joy.... Tell
me I could have kept you--tell me."
"Yes. I've no power to resist you. But I might have hated--"
"Hush!... It's all might have.... I've risen above myself."
"Lenore, you distress me. A little while ago you bewildered me with your
sweetness and love.... Now--you look like an angel or a goddess.... Oh,
to have your face like this--always with me! Yet it distresses me--so
terrible in purpose. What are you about to tell me? I see something--"
"Listen," she broke in. "I meant to make you weak. I implore you now to
be strong. You must go to war! But with all my heart and soul I beg you
to go with a changed spirit.... You were about to do a terrible thing.
You hated the German in you and meant to kill it by violence. You
despised the German blood and you meant to spill it. Like a wild man you
would have rushed to fight, to stab and beat, to murder--and you would
have left your breast open for a bayonet-thrust.... Oh, I know it!...
Kurt, you are horribly wrong. That is no way to go to war.... War is a
terrible business, but men don't wage it for motives such as yours. We
Americans all have different strains of blood--English--French--German.
One is as good as another. You are obsessed--you are out of your head on
this German question. You must kill that idea--kill it with one
bayonet-thrust of sense.... You must go to war as my soldier--with my
ideal. Your country has called you to help uphold its honor, its pledged
word. You must fight to conquer an enemy who threatens to destroy
freedom.... You must be brave, faithful, merciful, clean--an American
soldier!... You are only one of a million. You have no personal need for
war. You are as good, as fine, as noble as any man--my choice, sir, of
all the men in the world!... I am sending you. I am giving you up....
Oh, my darling--you will never know how hard it is!... But go! Your life
has been sad. You have lost so much. I feel in my woman's heart what
will be--if only you'll change--if you see God in this as I see. Promise
me. Love that which you hated. Prove for yourself what I believe. Trust
me--promise me... Then--oh, I know God will send you back to me!"
He fell upon his knees before her to bury his face in her lap. His whole
frame shook. His hands plucked at her dress. A low sob escaped him.
"Lenore," he whispered, brokenly, "I can't see God in this--for me!... I
can't promise!"