“Kurt, this is a terrible hour for both of us,” she said, “but, thank Heaven, you have confessed to me.  Now I will confess to you.”

“Confess?...  You?...  What nonsense!” he exclaimed.  But in his surprise he lifted his head from his hands to look at her.

“When we came in here my mind was made up to make you stay home.  Father begged me to do it, and I had my own selfish motive.  It was love.  Oh, I do love you, Kurt, more than you can dream of!...  I justified my resolve.  I told you that.  But I wanted you.  I wanted your love—­your presence.  I longed for a home with you as husband—­master—­father to my babies.  I dreamed of all.  It filled me with terror to think of you going to war.  You might be crippled—­mangled—­murdered....  Oh, my dear, I could not bear the thought!...  So I meant to overcome you.  I had it all planned.  I meant to love you—­to beg you—­to kiss you—­to make you stay—­”

“Lenore, what are you saying?” he cried, in shocked amaze.

She flung her arms round his neck.  “Oh, I could—­I could have kept you!” she answered, low voiced and triumphant.  “It fills me with joy....  Tell me I could have kept you—­tell me.”

“Yes.  I’ve no power to resist you.  But I might have hated—­”

“Hush!...  It’s all might have....  I’ve risen above myself.”

“Lenore, you distress me.  A little while ago you bewildered me with your sweetness and love....  Now—­you look like an angel or a goddess....  Oh, to have your face like this—­always with me!  Yet it distresses me—­so terrible in purpose.  What are you about to tell me?  I see something—­”

“Listen,” she broke in.  “I meant to make you weak.  I implore you now to be strong.  You must go to war!  But with all my heart and soul I beg you to go with a changed spirit....  You were about to do a terrible thing.  You hated the German in you and meant to kill it by violence.  You despised the German blood and you meant to spill it.  Like a wild man you would have rushed to fight, to stab and beat, to murder—­and you would have left your breast open for a bayonet-thrust....  Oh, I know it!...  Kurt, you are horribly wrong.  That is no way to go to war....  War is a terrible business, but men don’t wage it for motives such as yours.  We Americans all have different strains of blood—­English—­French—­German.  One is as good as another.  You are obsessed—­you are out of your head on this German question.  You must kill that idea—­kill it with one bayonet-thrust of sense....  You must go to war as my soldier—­with my ideal.  Your country has called you to help uphold its honor, its pledged word.  You must fight to conquer an enemy who threatens to destroy freedom....  You must be brave, faithful, merciful, clean—­an American soldier!...  You are only one of a million.  You have no personal need for war.  You are as good, as fine, as noble as any man—­my choice, sir, of all the men in the world!...  I am sending