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Updated: June 1, 2025
"I reckon it's what you called young Dorn's desert of wheat." "Oh, what a pity!... Have you had word?" "Nothin' but rumors yet. But I'm fearin' the worst an' I'm sorry for our young friend." A sharp pain shot through Lenore's breast, leaving behind an ache. "It will ruin him!" she whispered.
"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?
Long, drifting veils of rain, gray as thin fog, hung suspended between sky and earth. "Listen!" exclaimed Dorn. A warm wind, laden with dry scent of wheat, struck Lenore's face and waved her hair. It brought a silken, sweeping rustle, a whispering of the bearded grain. The soft sound thrilled Lenore.
Sanin had won Frau Lenore's heart from the first day of their acquaintance; as she got used to the idea of his being her son-in-law, she found nothing particularly distasteful in it, though she thought it her duty to preserve a somewhat hurt, or rather careworn, expression on her face.
After Lenore's paroxysm of emotion had subsided and she lay quietly in the dark, she became aware of soft, hurried footfalls passing along the path below her window. At first she paid no particular heed to them, but at length the steady steps became so different in number, and so regular in passing every few moments, that she was interested to go to her window and look out.
The air was furnace-hot, oppressive, and exceedingly dry. Lenore's lips smarted so that she continually moistened them. On all sides stretched dreary parched wheat-fields. Anderson shook his head sadly. Jake said: "Ain't thet too bad? Not half growed, an' sure too late now." Near at hand Lenore saw the short immature dirty-whitish wheat, and she realized that it was ruined.
'No, no, no, for God's sake, don't tell her anything yet, Sanin articulated hurriedly, almost in alarm. 'Wait a little ... I will tell you, I will write to you ... and till then don't decide on anything ... wait! He pressed Gemma's hand, jumped up from the seat, and to Frau Lenore's great amazement, rushed past her, and raising his hat, muttered something unintelligible and vanished.
"Kathleen, you wouldn't have me be a slacker?" asked Dorn, gently. "No. But we let Jim go," was her argument. Dorn kissed her, then turned to Lenore. "Let's go out to the fields." It was not a long walk to the alfalfa, but by the time she got there Lenore's impending woe was as if it had never been.
Also, when he was most concerned with trouble he usually sought her. "Hello! All in the dark?" he said, as he came in. "May I turn on the light?" Lenore assented, though not quite readily. But Anderson did not turn on the light. He bumped into things on the way to where she was curled up in her window-seat, and he dropped wearily into Lenore's big arm-chair. "How are you, daddy?" she inquired.
"I hope so too," said Lady Tyrrell, looking archly into his face, which had not learnt such impenetrability as poor Lenore's. "No; but really?" he said, in anxiety that would not be rallied away. "This is the way," said Lady Tyrrell.
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