“All what, Pierre?”
“All that occurred between you and Alf Brandon.”
“And who told you?”
“No one. I’m going to make a confession if you’ll promise not to be angry with me.”
“Angry with you, Pierre?”
“Well, then, it was thus: after leaving you yesterday, I came back again, and took stand under cover of the trees, just over the creek there, at the bottom of the garden. Of course, I could see the house, and all in front of it. I got there just as your father was leaving to meet Mr Brandon by the gate, and I not only saw what passed between you two, but heard most of what was said. It was much as I could do to restrain myself from springing across the creek, and laying the fellow at your feet; but I kept back, thinking of the trouble I might get you into, to say nothing of myself, with your father. I own to all this meanness, Lena, without being able to let you know my motive for it. One reason for my returning, was to look again upon you.”
“Oh, Pierre,” said the girl, once more reciprocating the pressure of his embrace, “if I had only known you were there! But, no; perhaps it was better not. I might have done something that would have betrayed us both.”
“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.