She kissed him and gently pushed him out of the room.  Then before the sound of his slow footfalls had quite passed out of hearing she lay prone upon her bed, her face buried in the pillow, her hands clutching the coverlet, utterly surrendered to a breaking storm of emotion.  Terrible indeed had come that presaged crisis of her life.  Love of her wild brother Jim, gone to atone forever for the errors of his youth; love of her father, confessing at last the sad fear that haunted him; love of Dorn, that stalwart clear-eyed lad who set his face so bravely toward a hopeless, tragic fate—­these were the burden of the flood of her passion, and all they involved, rushing her from girlhood into womanhood, calling to her with imperious desires, with deathless loyalty.

CHAPTER XVIII

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.  Watching there awhile, she saw a number of men, whispering and talking low, come from the road, pass under her window, and disappear down the path into the grove.  Then no more came.  Lenore feared at first these strange visitors might be prowling I.W.W. men.  She concluded, however, that they were neighbors and farm-hands, come for secret conference with her father.

Important events were pending, and her father had not taken her into his confidence!  It must be, then, something that he did not wish her to know.  Only a week ago, when the I.W.W. menace had begun to be serious, she had asked him how he intended to meet it, and particularly how he would take sure measures to protect himself.  Anderson had laughed down her fears, and Lenore, absorbed in her own tumult, had been easily satisfied.  But now, with her curiosity there returned a two-fold dread.

She put on a cloak and went down-stairs.  The hour was still early.  She heard the girls with her mother in the sitting-room.  As Lenore slipped out she encountered Jake.  He appeared to loom right out of the darkness and he startled her.

“Howdy, Miss Lenore!” he said.  “Where might you be goin’?”

“Jake, I’m curious about the men I heard passing by my window,” she replied.  Then she observed that Jake had a rifle under his arm, and she added, “What are you doing with that gun?”

“Wal, I’ve sort of gone back to packin’ a Winchester,” replied Jake.

Lenore missed his smile, ever ready for her.  Jake looked somber.

“You’re on guard!” she exclaimed.

“I reckon.  There’s four of us boys round the house.  You’re not goin’ off thet step, Miss Lenore.”

“Oh, ah-huh!” replied Lenore, imitating her father, and bantering Jake, more for the fun of it than from any intention of disobeying him.  “Who’s going to keep me from it?”