"You will not be sorry," she said, tersely. Then she turned and led the way. The rain still came down in torrents, but, as Carolina was already wet through, she thoroughly enjoyed the novel sensation. She remembered how often, as a child, she had begged to be allowed to go out and get sopping wet--just once!--and had been denied. Suddenly the woman paused. "Do you know where we are?" she said. Carolina looked around, but could see no possible place of concealment. The ground was flat and somewhat rocky. The river made a sudden bend here, and in this clearing lay huge pieces of rock half-embedded in the soil. The timber had been cut, and now a second growth of scrubby trees had grown up, hedging the spot in a thicket of underbrush. "No," said Carolina. "I never was here before." "But you will come many times again," said the woman. "Look!" She knelt in the sand and scratched away with both hands at the base of a great rock, until she came to its edge. Then with one hand she pushed, and the great boulder was balanced so neatly on its fellow that it slid back, revealing a natural cave. The cool, underground air came in a wave to Carolina’s nostrils, laden with mystery. Only one moment she hesitated. "You are sure we can get out?" she said. "I am sure. From where I stand I can see through this underground passage the sail of a ship on the ocean. But this rock will not slip. Watch me." She was already in the cave, and she reached out, and, with apparently little effort, pulled the boulder into place, closing herself in. Carolina put her hand under the rock and felt its perfect balance give. She herself opened the cave again. "I will come," said Carolina. "Have you a light?" Never could she forget the hour which followed. She sat in this cavern, wrapped in an Indian blanket, watching her thin clothes dry before the fire the woman had kindled and listening to the following story: "I have watched you," said the Indian, "ever since you came, and when I found that you were the one to cause my daughter to take her rightful place in the La Grange family--you start. Flower is my own daughter. I am a half-breed Indian. My name is Onteora. Both my grandfather and his father were chiefs of the Cherokee tribe. I am a direct descendant of the great chief Attakullakulla, friendly to your people, who, in 1761, made peace between the Cherokees and the great war governor, Bull. My father married a white woman of good family, named Janet Christopher. I, too, married white blood. I was married by Father Hennessey, the Jesuit priest, to a Frenchman named Pierre Pellisier, who died in Charleston in 1889. I have the documents to prove all these things. Here, I will show them to you.