"Why, do you know anything of the tales and legends of our mountains?" asked Egbert coolly. "I really would not have supposed it."
"Only Maia is to be thanked for it. She has introduced me into the legends of her native hills, and I verily believe the little thing believes them to be solidly true. Maia sometimes is still a real child."
These last words sounded very scornful. The slender young lady who stood there, leaning against the wall of rock, in a stylish riding-habit of silver-gray, with hat and plumes to match, could not, by any means, be accused of being a child. Even here she was the lady of fashion and distinction, who was making it her pastime just to see for once how the sons of labor lived and delved. And yet she was ensnaringly beautiful, despite her pride and self-consciousness; radiant and certain of conquest she stood before the man who alone seemed to have neither eye nor ear for charms that had never elsewhere played her false. Perhaps it was this very insensibility which attracted the spoiled girl, who now continued in taunting tone:
"When I beheld that telling picture of which you formed the center, I could not help thinking of the old saying about the caper-spurge. That is the mysterious magic wand of the mountains, to which every bolt yields and every cavern opens. And then the buried treasures of the earth shine and beckon to the chosen one, who is to bring them to the light.
'He takes from night and darkness
Their treasures, hidden deep,
And he those jewels sparkling
And all that gold may keep.'
What think you--has not Maia had an apt scholar?"
She looked at him smilingly as she repeated the verse of that old song which told of the all-powerful enchanting rod, but the young engineer's manner did not soften, in spite of all her blandness. His face, embrowned by exposure to sun and wind, was a shade paler, perhaps, than usual, but his voice sounded cool and self-controlled, as he answered: