On her side, the young woman was a prey to still greater uneasiness, for she was anxious to discover whether, in spite of her neglect of the chief, she had preserved the boundless power she had formerly exercised over that Indian nature, which civilization had softened rather than subdued; she feared lest the long forgetfulness in which she had left him had made her lose her prestige in his eyes, and that coolness and indifference might have succeeded to the warm friendship of early days.
When the repast was ended, a peon brought in the maté[1] the infusion of the Paraguay herb which, with the Chilians, takes the place of tea, and of which they are very fond. Two chased cups, placed upon a filagree salver, were presented to Doña Maria and the chief; they lit their maize pajillos, and smoked, whilst sipping their maté, reflectively. After a few minutes' silence, which was beginning to be embarrassing to both, Doña Maria, who perceived that Antinahuel was resolved to act on the defensive, determined to open the attack.
"My brother," she said, with a smile, "is surprised at my sudden arrival at his toldería."
"It is true; the Eglantine of the Woods has appeared unexpectedly amongst us, but she is not the less welcome on that account."
And he bowed.
"I am glad to observe that my brother is as gallant as ever."
"No; I love my sister, and I am happy to see her, after being so long deprived of her presence."
"I know your friendship for me, Penni; our childhood was passed together, but it is a long time since that time. You are now one of the caraskens, whilst I am only, as formerly, a poor woman."
"The Eglantine of the Woods is my sister, her least wishes shall always be sacred with me."
"Thanks, Penni! But let us drop this conversation, and talk of our early years, which, alas! so quickly glided away."