"I have never been more interested," he said in a moment. "How delightfully you talk! What a pity you don't write!"
Magdaléna's heart shook her very throat, but she managed to answer, "And then you wouldn't buy the Mark Smith place?"
"Well, no, perhaps I wouldn't," he answered hurriedly, lest she might be moved to confidence. He had a lively vision of Magdaléna reading her manuscripts to him, or sending them to him for criticism. "But you must tell me a story every time we--I am so fortunate as to have you all to myself like this. I suppose we should be going back now."
Magdaléna took out her watch. The little air of pride in her new possession amused Trennahan, although he saw the pathos of it.
"Yes," she said; "it is nearly eight. We must go. Papa does not like us to be late for breakfast."
As they reached the edge of the woods, Magdaléna gave an exclamation of disgust; but Trennahan leaned forward with much interest. The two tarantulas, after tearing each other's fur and legs off, were locked in the death embrace, leaping and rolling.
"Get on your horse at once," said Magdaléna, sternly. "You are a cruel boy."
"But that is very interesting," said Trennahan; "I never saw it before."
"They are always doing it here. They pour water--" She turned to the boy, who was mounted, and close behind them, now that they were likely to come within the range of the old don's vision at any moment. "Dick," she said sternly, "how did you get those tarantulas up? Have you a whiskey flask about you?"
She spoke with all her father's harsh pride when addressing an inferior: Don Roberto regarded servants, in spite of the heavy wage they commanded, as he had the Indians of his early manhood. Trennahan watched her closely, remarking upon the variety a man might find in a woman if he chose to look for it.
The boy assured Magdaléna that the tarantulas had been above ground. She shrugged her shoulders and turned her back expressively upon him.
"You see those little round holes covered with white film?" she said to Trennahan. "They lead down to the tarantulas' houses,--real little houses, with doors on hinges. People pour water down, and the old tarantula comes up--back first, dragging his legs after him--to see what is the matter. Then they set two of them at each other with sticks, and they--the tarantulas--never stop fighting until they have torn each other to death: they have two curved sharp teeth."