"True," he said. "And, from what I know of your father's designs, I see that we cannot be too cautious. But, promise me, love; promise, before we part, that, no matter what may arise, nor how long it may be before I gain your father's consent, that you will still keep true to me. Will you promise this?" "Promise it! How could you doubt me? After six years--more I may say, for I loved you ever since I first knew you, ay, Pierre, when I was only a little bit of a bare-footed girl--after being true all that time, surely you will not doubt me now? Promise it! Anything, Pierre-- anything!" Firmer and faster became the folding of their arms, closer and closer came their lips, till meeting, they remained together in a long, rapturous kiss. STORY ONE, CHAPTER TWENTY ONE. THE TREE-CAVE. A long, rapturous kiss, and a kiss that came nigh betraying them. Fortunately, it had ended before anyone was near enough to bear witness to it, or blight its sweetness by rude interruption. The lovers were about taking leave of each other, their arms were once more free, and they were arranging the time and place for another interview, when the quick ear of the young man, attuned to take notice of suspicious sounds, was caught by one that appeared to be of this character. It was a rustling among the canes that bordered the creek, with now and then their culms crackling together as if something--man or animal--was making way through them. The sounds proceeded from a point at some distance; but, as the lovers stood listening, they could tell that, whatever made them, was drawing nearer. And soon they saw that they were not made by an animal, nor yet by a man, but by several men, who, under the clear light of the moon, could be seen approaching the spot. And it could be seen, too, that they were not coming on openly and boldly, like men bent on an honest errand, but skulking along the edge of the creek, here and there crouching under the cane, whose thin growth only partially concealed them. The noise they made was inadvertent. They were not making more than they could help, and, if there was any talk between them, it must have been in whispers, as no words were heard by the two standing under the tree. For them it was too late to retreat unobserved. They might have done so at first; but not now. The skulkers were too near, and any attempt to get away from the spot would expose the lovers under the full light of the moon. Their only chance to remain undiscovered was to keep within the shadow of the tree. Not long before, this, too, appeared doubtful; as they now saw that the dark forms advancing along the edge of the stream must pass close to where they stood--so close as to see them in spite of the obscurity. Who the cautious travellers were, or what their designs, neither had the slightest idea. But it mattered not what. Enough for the lovers to know that they were in danger of being surprised, and under circumstances to cause them chagrin.