’Don’t swear,’ said Langford, standing at the other end of the granite slab, and resting his hands on it. ’The money-spinner is a tickle (touchy) beast, and may take offence at a godless word. I see her, she has turned. You’ve scared her with your oaths, and now she is running towards me.’ ’She’s going to fetch some of your luck and bring it to my pocket; she’s on the turn again.’ ’No, she is not. She is making for me, not you.’ ’But she is on my stone. She has brought the luck to me.’ ’She may be on your stone now, but she is leaving it for my hand, as fast as her red legs can carry her.’ ’You’re luring her away from me, are you?’ cried Hillary, blazing as red as any money-spinner. ’Luring! She’s running her natural course as sure as a fox runs before the wind.’ ’Stand out of the sun! It is the ugly shade you cast that chills her. She goes where she may be warmest.’ ’Out of thine own mouth thou speakest thy condemnation,’ scoffed Langford. ’Of course she goes to the warmest corner, and which is warmest, my pocket or thine?—the full or the empty?’ ’The spinner is on my stone, and I will have her!’ cried Hillary. ’Your stone!—yes, yours because you got it and Chimsworthy away from me.’ ’The spinner is by your hand!’ roared Nanspian, and with an oath he threw himself across the stone and swept the surface with his hands. Langford uttered an exclamation of anger. ’You have crushed—you have killed her! There is an end of luck to you, you long-tailed Cornish ourang-outang!’ Hillary Nanspian staggered back. His face became dark with rage. He opened his lips, but was inarticulate for a moment; then he roared, ’You say that, do you, you ——, that let yourself be led and tongue-lashed by your housekeeper.’ ’Our friendship is at an end,’ said Langford, turning livid, and his dark bushy brows met across his forehead. ’Never shall you set foot in Langford now.’ ’Never! It will come to my Larry, and I’ll drink your burying ale there yet.’ ’Larry shall never have it.’ ’You can’t keep him out,’ exclaimed Hillary. ’Do not be so sure of that,’ said Taverner. ’I am sure. I have seen the parchments.’ ’I know them better than you,’ laughed Langford. Then he went to the stile to leave the field. ’I’ll have the law of you,’ shouted Hillary; ’you are trespassing on my land.’ ’I trespassing!’ mocked Langford; ’this is a stile leading to Swaddledown.’ ’There is no right of way here. This is a private stile leading only to the Look-out Stone. I will have the law of you, I swear.’ Thus it was that the friendship of twenty-two years was broken, and the brothers-in-law became declared and deadly enemies. The friendship was broken irremediably by an insect almost microscopic—a little scarlet spider no larger than a mustard-seed, invested by popular superstition with the power of spinning money in the pocket of him who secures it. *CHAPTER III* *WELLON’S CAIRN.*