“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.”