we, dismounting from his
horse, "but not now. For I have a thought in my mind, and if you knew
who I was, you might have heard of me, and would not give me a true
answer. But tell me, first of all, one thing: Are you married?"

At this Kokua laughed out aloud. "It is you who ask questions," she
said. "Are you married yourself?"

"Indeed, Kokua, I am not," replied Keawe, "and never thought to be until
this hour. But here is the plain truth. I have met you here at the
roadside, and I saw your eyes, which are like the stars, and my heart
went to you as swift as a bird. And so now, if you want none of me, say
so, and I will go on to my own place; but if you think me no worse than
any other young man, say so, too, and I will turn aside to your father's
for the night, and to-morrow I will talk with the good man."

Kokua said never a word, but she looked at the sea and laughed.

"Kokua," said Keawe, "if you say nothing, I will take that for the good
answer; so let us be stepping to your father's door."

She went on ahead of him, still without speech; only sometimes she
glanced back and glanced away again, and she kept the strings of her hat
in her mouth.

Now, when they had come to the door, Kiano came out on his verandah, and
cried out and welcomed Keawe by name. At that the girl looked over, for
the fame of the great house had come to her ears; and, to be sure, it
was a great temptation. All that evening they were very merry together;
and the girl was as bold as brass under the eyes of her parents, and
made a mock of Keawe, for she had a quick wit. The next day he had a
word with Kiano, and found the girl alone.

"Kokua," said he, "you made a mock of me all the evening; and it is
still time to bid me go. I would not tell you who I was, because I have
so fine a house, and I feared you would think too much of that house and
too little of the man who loves you. Now you know all, and if you wish
to have seen the last of me, say so at once."

"No," said Kokua; but this time she did not laugh, nor did Keawe ask for
more.

This was the wooing of Keawe; things had gone quickly; but so an arrow
goes, and the ball of a rifle swifter still, and yet both may strike the
target. Things had gone fast, but they had gone far also, and the
thought of Keawe rang in the maiden's head; she heard his voice in the
breach of the surf upon the lava, and for this young man that she had
seen but twice she would have left father and mother an