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Updated: June 1, 2025
Lenore's hands went out in mute eloquence. "He was all shot up. He can't live," hurried Anderson, hoarsely. "But he's alive he'll live to see you." "Oh! I knew, I knew!" whispered Lenore clasping her hands. "Oh, thank God!" "Lenore, steady now. You're gettin' shaky. Brace there, my girl!... Dorn's alive. I've brought him home. He's here." "Here!" screamed Lenore. "Yes.
It was Rose who read this letter aloud to her father, and outside of her swift, soft voice the absolute silence attested to the attention of the listeners. Lenore's heart shook as she distinguished a phrase here and there, for Jim's letter had been wonderful for her. He had gained weight! He was getting husky enough to lick his father! He was feeling great!
And all beneath so gold, so green! A lark caroled over Lenore's head and a quail whistled in the brush below. The brook babbled and gurgled and murmured along, happy under the open sky. And a soft breeze brought the low roar of the harvest fields and the scent of wheat and dust and straw.
At the noon meal only her mother and the girls were present. Word had come that the I.W.W. men were being driven from "Many Waters." Mrs. Anderson worried, and Lenore's sisters for once were quiet. All afternoon the house was lifeless. No one came or left. Lenore listened to every little sound. It relieved her that Dorn had remained in his room.
Even here, after so long, he vibrated again to the exquisite beauty of Lenore's constancy and love. Then Dr. Damrosch dead, the sonorous funeral in the Opera House ... That had been changed with the rest; the baignoires were gone, the tiers of boxes newly curved; gone the chandeliers and Turkey red carpet and gold threaded brocade that had seemed the final expression of luxury.
He had not supposed her aware of his having been Lenore's companion, and was not certain whether her sister had not after all confided in her, or if he himself had not been an unconscious victim.
"You have taken this long walk in the heat, and are going back! I don't like it, my dear; you look fagged. London has not agreed with you." Mrs. Poynsett rang her little hand-bell, and ordered in biscuits and wine, and would have ordered the carriage but for Lenore's urgent entreaties to the contrary, amounting to an admission that she wished her visit to be unnoticed at home.
Lenore's heart contracted. She did not know how she felt. Somehow it was momentous news. "New York! What for?" she asked. "He says it's about wheat. But he can't fool me. He told me not to mention it to you." The girl was keen. She wanted to prepare Lenore, yet did not mean to confide her own suppositions. Lenore checked a rush of curiosity. They went into the house.
Always heretofore, on nights that he lay sleepless, Dorn had thought of the two things dearest on earth to him Lenore Anderson and the golden wheat-hills of his home. This night he called up Lenore's image. It hung there in the blackness, a dim, pale phantom of her sweet face, her beautiful eyes, her sad lips, and then it vanished. Not at all could he call up a vision of his beloved wheat-fields.
Almost he convinced her then that nothing was amiss or different, and he would have done so if he had not been too clever, too natural. She rose to follow, catching Kathleen's whisper: "Don't let him put it over on you, now!" Anderson lighted a big cigar, as always after supper, but to Lenore's delicate sensitiveness he seemed to be too long about it.
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