So time went by, until one day Keawe went upon a visit as far as Kailua to certain of his friends.  There he was well feasted; and left as soon as he could the next morning, and rode hard, for he was impatient to behold his beautiful house; and, besides, the night then coming on was the night in which the dead of old days go abroad in the sides of Kona; and having already meddled with the devil, he was the more chary of meeting with the dead.  A little beyond Honaunau, looking far ahead, he was aware of a woman bathing in the edge of the sea; and she seemed a well-grown girl, but he thought no more of it.  Then he saw her white shift flutter as she put it on, and then her red holoku; and by the time he came abreast of her she was done with her toilet, and had come up from the sea, and stood by the track-side in her red holoku, and she was all freshened with the bath, and her eyes shone and were kind.  Now Keawe no sooner beheld her than he drew rein.

“I thought I knew everyone in this country,” said he.  “How comes it that I do not know you?”

“I am Kokua, daughter of Kiano,” said the girl, “and I have just returned from Oahu.  Who are you?”

“I will tell you who I am in a little,” said Keawe, 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 that loves you.  Now you know all, and if you wish to have seen the last of me, say so at once.”