rom their dusty shelves; her own early enthusiasm revived. When
she had finished she passed on to the pathetic little histories of Elena
Duncan and Benicia Ortega. She had told over those stories many times to
herself; to-day they were little more than the recital of a well-studied
lesson. The intense earnestness of Trennahan's gaze magnetised her out
of self-consciousness. When she was concluding the third, his horse
shied suddenly at a snake, and while he quieted it she tumbled back to
the present. She sat with parted lips and thumping heart. Had she talked
as well as that? She, Magdalena Yorba, the dull, the silent, the
terrified? She felt a glad pride in herself, and a profound gratitude to
the wizard who had worked the spell.

"I have never been more interested," he said in a moment. "How
delightfully you talk! What a pity you don't write!"

Magdalena'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 Magdalena 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."

Magdalena 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, Magdalena 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 Magdalena, 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. T