Lenore bade him good-by and went to her room, where calmness deserted her for a while.  Upon recovering, she found that the time set for her father’s departure had passed.  Strangely, then the oppression that had weighed upon her so heavily eased and lifted.  The moment seemed one beyond her understanding.  She attributed her relief, however, to the fact that her father would soon end her suspense in regard to Kurt Dorn.

In the succeeding days Lenore regained her old strength and buoyancy, and something of a control over the despondency which at times had made life misery.

A golden day of sunlight and azure blue of sky ushered in the month of June.  “Many Waters” was a world of verdant green.  Lenore had all she could do to keep from flying to the slopes.  But as every day now brought nearer the possibility of word from her father, she stayed at home.  The next morning about nine o’clock, while she was at her father’s desk, the telephone-bell rang.  It did that many times every morning, but this ring seemed to electrify Lenore.  She answered the call hurriedly.

“Hello, Lenore, my girl!  How are you?” came rolling on the wire.

“Dad!  Dad!  Is it—­you?” cried Lenore, wildly.

“Sure is.  Just got here.  Are you an’ the girls O.K.?”

“We’re well—­fine.  Oh, dad ...”

“You needn’t send the car.  I’ll hire one.”

“Yes—­yes—­but, dad—­Oh, tell me ...”

“Wait!  I’ll be there in five minutes.”

She heard him slam up the receiver, and she leaned there, palpitating, with the queer, vacant sounds of the telephone filling her ear.

“Five minutes!” Lenore whispered.  In five more minutes she would know.  They seemed an eternity.  Suddenly a flood of emotion and thought threatened to overwhelm her.  Leaving the office, she hurried forth to find her sisters, and not until she had looked everywhere did she remember that they were visiting a girl friend.  After this her motions seemed ceaseless; she could not stand or sit still, and she was continually going to the porch to look down the shady lane.  At last a car appeared, coming fast.  Then she ran indoors quite aimlessly and out again.  But when she recognized her father all her outward fears and tremblings vanished.  The broad, brown flash of his face was reality.  He got out of the car lightly for so heavy a man, and, taking his valise, he dismissed the chauffeur.  His smile was one of gladness, and his greeting a hearty roar.

Lenore met him at the porch steps, seeing in him, feeling as she embraced him, that he radiated a strange triumph and finality.

“Say, girl, you look somethin’ like your old self,” he said, holding her by the shoulders.  “Fine!  But you’re a woman now....  Where are the kids?”

“They’re away,” replied Lenore.

“How you stare!” laughed Anderson, as with arm round her he led her in.  “Anythin’ queer about your dad’s handsome mug?”