"Ah-huh!" Anderson's characteristic exclamation might have meant little or much. "Lenore, what ails the boy?"

"Nothing that I know of. He has been as--as happy as I am," she replied.

"Then it's all settled?"

"Father, I--I--"

Kathleen's high, shrill, gleeful voice cut in: "Sure it's settled! Look at Lenorry blush!"

Lenore indeed felt the blood stinging face and neck. Nevertheless, she laughed.

"Come into my room," said Anderson.

She followed him there, and as he closed the door she answered his questioning look by running into his arms and hiding her face.

"Wal, I'll be dog-goned!" the rancher e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, with emotion. He held her and patted her shoulder with his big hand. "Tell me, Lenore."

"There's little to tell," she replied, softly. "I love him--and he loves me so--so well that I've been madly happy--in spite of--of--"

"Is that all?" asked Anderson, dubiously.

"Is not that enough?"

"But Dorn's lovin' you so well doesn't say he'll not go to war."

And it was then that forgotten bitterness returned to poison Lenore's cup of joy.

"Ah!"... she whispered.

"Good Lord! Lenore, you don't mean you an' Dorn have been alone all the time these few days--an' you haven't settled that war question?" queried Anderson, in amaze.

"Yes.... How strange!... But since--well, since something happened--we--we forgot," she replied, dreamily.

"Wal, go back to it," said Anderson, forcibly. "I want Dorn to help me.... Why, he's a wonder!... He's saved the situation for us here in the valley. Every rancher I know is praisin' him high. An' he sure treated Neuman square. An' here I am with three big wheat-ranches on my hands!... Lenore, you've got to keep him home."

"Dad!... I--I could not!" replied Lenore. She was strangely realizing an indefinable change in herself. "I can't try to keep him from going to war. I never thought of that since--since we confessed our love.... But it's made some difference.... It'll kill me, I think, to let him go--but I'd die before I'd ask him to stay home."

"Ah-huh!" sighed Anderson, and, releasing her, he began to pace the room. "I don't begin to understand you, girl. But I respect your feelin's. It's a h.e.l.l of a muddle!... I'd forgotten the war myself while chasin' off them I.W.W.'s.... But this war has _got_ to be reckoned with!... Send Dorn to me!"

Lenore found Dorn playing with Kathleen. These two had become as brother and sister.

"Kurt, dad wants to see you," said Lenore seriously.

Dorn looked startled, and the light of fun on his face changed to a sober concern.

"You told him?"

"Yes, Kurt, I told him what little I had to tell."

He gave her a strange glance and then slowly went toward her father's study. Lenore made a futile attempt to be patient. She heard her father's deep voice, full and earnest, and she heard Dorn's quick, pa.s.sionate response. She wondered what this interview meant. Anderson was not one to give up easily. He had set his heart upon holding this capable young man in the great interests of the wheat business. Lenore could not understand why she was not praying that he be successful. But she was not. It was inexplicable and puzzling--this change in her--this end of her selfishness. Yet she shrank in terror from an impinging sacrifice. She thrust the thought from her with pa.s.sionate physical gesture and with stern effort of will.

Dorn was closeted with her father for over an hour. When he came out he was white, but apparently composed. Lenore had never seen his eyes so piercing as when they rested upon her.

"Whew!" he exclaimed, and wiped his face. "Your father has my poor old dad--what does Kathleen say?--skinned to a frazzle!"

"What did he say?" asked Lenore, anxiously.

"A lot--and just as if I didn't know it all better than he knows,"

replied Dorn, sadly. "The importance of wheat; his three ranches and n.o.body to run them; his growing years; my future and a great opportunity as one of the big wheat men of the Northwest; the present need of the government; his only son gone to war, which was enough for his family.... And then he spoke of you--heiress to 'Many Waters'--what a splendid, n.o.ble girl you were--like your mother! What a shame to ruin your happiness--your future!... He said you'd make the sweetest of wives--the truest of mothers!... Oh, my G.o.d!"

Lenore turned away her face, shocked to her heart by his tragic pa.s.sion.

Dorn was silent for what seemed a long time.

"And--then he cussed me--hard--as no doubt I deserved," added Dorn.

"But--what did you say?" she whispered.

"I said a lot, too," replied Dorn, remorsefully.

"Did--did you--?" began Lenore, and broke off, unable to finish.

"I arrived--to where I am now--pretty dizzy," he responded, with a smile that was both radiant and sorrowful. He took her hands and held them close. "Lenore!... if I come home from the war--still with my arms and legs--whole--will you marry me?"

"Only come home _alive_, and no matter what you lose, yes!--yes!" she whispered, brokenly.

"But it's a conditional proposal, Lenore," he insisted. "You must never marry half a man."

"I will marry _you_!" she cried, pa.s.sionately.

It seemed to her that she loved him all the more, every moment, even though he made it so hard for her. Then through blurred, dim eyes she saw him take something from his pocket and felt him put a ring on her finger.

"It fits! Isn't that lucky," he said, softly. "My mother's ring, Lenore...."

He kissed her hand.

Kathleen was standing near them, open-eyed and open-mouthed, in an ecstasy of realization.

"Kathleen, your sister has promised to marry me--when I come from the war," said Dorn to the child.

She squealed with delight, and, manifestly surrendering to a long-considered temptation, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him close.

"It's perfectly grand!" she cried. "But what a chump you are for going at all--when you could marry Lenorry!"

That was Kathleen's point of view, and it must have coincided somewhat with Mr. Anderson's.

"Kathleen, you wouldn't have me be a slacker?" asked Dorn, gently.

"No. But we let Jim go," was her argument.