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.  Dorn seemed strangely gay and unusually demonstrative; apparently he forgot the war-cloud in the joy of the hour.  That they were walking in the open seemed not to matter to him.

“Kurt, some one will see you,” Lenore remonstrated.

“You’re more beautiful than ever to-day,” he said, by way of answer, and tried to block her way.

Lenore dodged and ran.  She was fleet, and eluded him down the lane, across the cut field, to a huge square stack of baled alfalfa.  But he caught her just as she got behind its welcome covert.  Lenore was far less afraid of him than of laughing eyes.  Breathless, she backed up against the stack.

“You’re—­a—­cannibal!” she panted.  But she did not make much resistance.

“You’re—­a goddess!” he replied.

“Me!...  Of what?”

“Why, of ’Many Waters’!...  Goddess of wheat!...  The sweet, waving wheat, rich and golden—­the very spirit of life!”

“If anybody sees you—­mauling me—­this way—­I’ll not seem a goddess to him....  My hair is down—­my waist—­Oh, Kurt!”

Yet it did not very much matter how she looked or what happened.  Beyond all was the assurance of her dearness to him.  Suddenly she darted away from him again.  Her heart swelled, her spirit soared, her feet were buoyant and swift.  She ran into the uncut alfalfa.  It was thick and high, tangling round her feet.  Here her progress was retarded.  Dorn caught up with her.  His strong hands on her shoulders felt masterful, and the sweet terror they inspired made her struggle to get away.

“You shall—­not—­hold me!” she cried.

“But I will.  You must be taught—­not to run,” he said, and wrapped her tightly in his arms.

“Now surrender your kisses meekly!”

“I—­surrender!...  But, Kurt, someone will see...  Dear, we’ll go back—­or—­somewhere—­”

“Who can see us here but the birds?” he said, and the strong hands held her fast.  “You will kiss me—­enough—­right now—­even if the whole world—­looked on!” he said, ringingly.  “Lenore, my soul!...  Lenore, I love you!”

He would not be denied.  And if she had any desire to deny him it was lost in the moment.  She clasped his neck and gave him kiss for kiss.

But her surrender made him think of her.  She felt his effort to let her go.

Lenore’s heart felt too big for her breast.  It hurt.  She clung to his hand and they walked on across the field and across a brook, up the slope to one of Lenore’s favorite seats.  And there she wanted to rest.  She smoothed her hair and brushed her dress, aware of how he watched her, with his heart in his eyes.

Had there ever in all the years of the life of the earth been so perfect a day?  How dazzling the sun!  What heavenly blue the sky!  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.