Upon the window his eyes were habitually kept, and he indulged in conjecture as to who was the occupant of the lighted room. At first he supposed it to be Lena; but as the time passed without the appointment being kept, he began to fancy it might be her father. He had no knowledge of the interior of the house; but if the lighted window belonged to the kitchen, it was like enough the old hunter was inside, sitting in a huge arm-chair, and smoking his pipe, a habit that Pierre knew him to indulge in days long past. Moreover, he might set very late up into the morning hours, as he had been often accustomed to do in those same days. The remembrance made Pierre uneasy, especially as the time stole past, and still no appearance of the expected one. He was beginning to despair of an interview that night, when the light upon which his eyes had been fixed appeared to have been put out, as the glass showed black under the moonbeams. "It was she, then," he muttered to himself. "She has been waiting till all were well asleep. She will come now." Forsaking the window, his gaze became fixed upon the porch, within whose shadow he expected her to appear. She did so, but not until another long interval had elapsed--a fresh trial of the lover's patience. Before it was exhausted, however, a form became outlined in the dark doorway--the door having been silently opened--and soon after the moon shone down upon the drapery of a woman's dress. The white kerchief upon her head would have enabled Pierre Robideau to recognise her. But that was not needed. The direction she took on stepping out of the porch, told him it was she whom he expected. She came on, but not as one who walks without fear. She kept along the fence, on its shadowy side, and close in to the rails. Now and then she stopped, looked behind, and listened. That she feared was evidently not abroad, but at home. Some serious cause had detained her beyond her time. Pierre watched her with eager eyes, with heart beating impatiently, until he felt hers beating against it? Once more they stood breast to breast, with arms entwining. Why was she so late? What had detained her? The questions were put with no thought of reproach, only fear as to the answer.