RAMONA

By Helen Hunt Jackson

I

IT was sheep-shearing time in Southern California, but sheep-shearingwas late at the Senora Moreno's. The Fates had seemed to combine toput it off. In the first place, Felipe Moreno had been ill. He was theSenora's eldest son, and since his father's death had been at the headof his mother's house. Without him, nothing could be done on the ranch, the Senora thought. It had been always, "Ask Senor Felipe, " "Go to SenorFelipe, " "Senor Felipe will attend to it, " ever since Felipe had had thedawning of a beard on his handsome face. 

In truth, it was not Felipe, but the Senora, who really decided allquestions from greatest to least, and managed everything on the place, from the sheep-pastures to the artichoke-patch; but nobody except theSenora herself knew this. An exceedingly clever woman for her day andgeneration was Senora Gonzaga Moreno, --as for that matter, exceedinglyclever for any day and generation; but exceptionally clever for the dayand generation to which she belonged. Her life, the mere surface of it, if it had been written, would have made a romance, to grow hot andcold over: sixty years of the best of old Spain, and the wildest of NewSpain, Bay of Biscay, Gulf of Mexico, Pacific Ocean, --the waves of themall had tossed destinies for the Senora. The Holy Catholic Church hadhad its arms round her from first to last; and that was what had broughther safe through, she would have said, if she had ever said anythingabout herself, which she never did, --one of her many wisdoms. So quiet, so reserved, so gentle an exterior never was known to veil such animperious and passionate nature, brimful of storm, always passingthrough stress; never thwarted, except at peril of those who did it;adored and hated by turns, and each at the hottest. A tremendous force, wherever she appeared, was Senora Moreno; but no stranger would suspectit, to see her gliding about, in her scanty black gown, with her rosaryhanging at her side, her soft dark eyes cast down, and an expression ofmingled melancholy and devotion on her face. She looked simply like asad, spiritual-minded old lady, amiable and indolent, like her race, butsweeter and more thoughtful than their wont. Her voice heightened thismistaken impression. She was never heard to speak either loud or fast. There was at times even a curious hesitancy in her speech, which camenear being a stammer, or suggested the measured care with which peoplespeak who have been cured of stammering. It made her often appear as ifshe did not known her own mind; at which people sometimes took heart;when, if they had only known the truth, they would have known that thespeech hesitated solely because the Senora knew her mind so exactly thatshe was finding it hard to make the words convey it as she desired, orin a way to best attain her ends. 

About this very sheep-shearing there had been, between her and the headshepherd, Juan Canito, called Juan Can for short, and to distinguish himfrom Juan Jose, the upper herdsman of the cattle, some discussions whichwould have been hot and angry ones in any other hands than the Senora's. 

Juan Canito wanted the shearing to begin, even though Senor Felipe wereill in bed, and though that lazy shepherd Luigo had not yet got backwith the flock that had been driven up the coast for pasture. "There were plenty of sheep on the place to begin with, " he said onemorning, --"at least a thousand;" and by the time they were done, Luigowould surely be back with the rest; and as for Senor Felipe's being inbed, had not he, Juan Canito, stood at the packing-bag, and handled thewool, when Senor Felipe was a boy? Why could he not do it again? TheSenora did not realize how time was going; there would be no shearersto be hired presently, since the Senora was determined to have nonebut Indians. Of course, if she would employ Mexicans, as all the otherranches in the valley did, it would be different; but she was resolvedupon having Indians, --"God knows why, " he interpolated surlily, underhis breath. 

"I do not quite understand you, Juan, " interrupted Senora Moreno at theprecise instant the last syllable of this disrespectful ejaculation hadescaped Juan's lips; "speak a little louder. I fear I am growing deaf inmy old age. "

What gentle, suave, courteous tones! and the calm dark eyes rested onJuan Canito with a look to the fathoming of which he was as unequalas one of his own sheep would have been. He could not have told why heinstantly and involuntarily said, "Beg your pardon, Senora. "

"Oh, you need not ask my pardon, Juan, " the Senora replied withexquisite gentleness; "it is not you who are to blame, if I am deaf. Ihave fancied for a year I did not hear quite as well as I once did. But about the Indians, Juan; did not Senor Felipe tell you that hehad positively engaged the same band of shearers we had last autumn, Alessandro's band from Temecula? They will wait until we are ready forthem. Senor Felipe will send a messenger for them. He thinks them thebest shearers in the country. He will be well enough in a week or two, he thinks, and the poor sheep must bear their loads a few days longer. Are they looking well, do you think, Juan? Will the crop be a good one?General Moreno used to say that you could reckon up the wool-crop to apound, while it was on the sheep's backs. "

"Yes, Senora, " answered the mollified Juan; "the poor beasts lookwonderfully well considering the scant feed they have had all winter. We'll not come many pounds short of our last year's crop, if any. Though, to be sure, there is no telling in what case that--Luigo willbring his flock back. "

The Senora smiled, in spite of herself, at the pause and gulp with whichJuan had filled in the hiatus where he had longed to set a contemptuousepithet before Luigo's name. 

This was another of the instances where the Senora's will and JuanCanito's had clashed and he did not dream of it, having set it all downas usual to the score of young Senor Felipe. 

Encouraged by the Senora's smile, Juan proceeded: "Senor Felipe can seeno fault in Luigo, because they were boys together; but I can tell him, he will rue it, one of these mornings, when he finds a flock of sheepworse than dead on his hands, and no thanks to anybody but Luigo. WhileI can have him under my eye, here in the valley, it is all very well;but he is no more fit to take responsibility of a flock, than one ofthe very lambs themselves. He'll drive them off their feet one day, andstarve them the next; and I've known him to forget to give them water. When he's in his dreams, the Virgin only knows what he won't do. "

During this brief and almost unprecedented outburst of Juan's theSenora's countenance had been slowly growing stern. Juan had not seenit. His eyes had been turned away from her, looking down into theupturned eager face of his favorite collie, who was leaping andgambolling and barking at his feet. 

"Down, Capitan, down!" he said in a fond tone, gently repulsing him;"thou makest such a noise the Senora can hear nothing but thy voice. "

"I heard only too distinctly, Juan Canito, " said the Senora in a sweetbut icy tone. "It is not well for one servant to backbite another. It gives me great grief to hear such words; and I hope when FatherSalvierderra comes, next month, you will not forget to confess this sinof which you have been guilty in thus seeking to injure a fellow-being. If Senor Felipe listens to you, the poor boy Luigo will be cast outhomeless on the world some day; and what sort of a deed would that be, Juan Canito, for one Christian to do to another? I fear the Father willgive you penance, when he hears what you have said. "

"Senora, it is not to harm the lad, " Juan began, every fibre of hisfaithful frame thrilling with a sense of the injustice of her reproach. 

But the Senora had turned her back. Evidently she would hear no morefrom him then. He stood watching her as she walked away, at her usualslow pace, her head slightly bent forward, her rosary lifted in her lefthand, and the fingers of the right hand mechanically slipping the beads. 

"Prayers, always prayers!" thought Juan to himself, as his eyes followedher. "If they'll take one to heaven, the Senora'll go by the straightroad, that's sure! I'm sorry I vexed her. But what's a man to do, ifhe's the interest of the place at heart, I'd like to know. Is he tostand by, and see a lot of idle mooning louts run away with everything?Ah, but it was an ill day for the estate when the General died, --an illday! an ill day! And they may scold me as much as they please, and setme to confessing my sins to the Father; it's very well for them, they'vegot me to look after matters. Senor Felipe will do well enough when he'sa man, maybe; but a boy like him! Bah!" And the old man stamped hisfoot with a not wholly unreasonable irritation, at the false position inwhich he felt himself put. 

"Confess to Father Salvierderra, indeed!" he muttered aloud. "Ay, thatwill I. He's a man of sense, if he is a priest, "--at which slip of thetongue the pious Juan hastily crossed himself, --"and I'll ask him togive me some good advice as to how I'm to manage between this young boyat the head of everything, and a doting mother who thinks he has thewisdom of a dozen grown men. The Father knew the place in the oldentime. He knows it's no child's play to look after the estate even now, much smaller as it is! An ill day when the old General died, an illday indeed, the saints rest his soul!" Saying this, Juan shrugged hisshoulders, and whistling to Capitan, walked towards the sunny veranda ofthe south side of the kitchen wing of the house, where it had been fortwenty odd years his habit to sit on the long bench and smoke his pipeof a morning. Before he had got half-way across the court-yard, however, a thought struck him. He halted so suddenly that Capitan, with the quicksensitiveness of his breed, thought so sudden a change of purpose couldonly come from something in connection with sheep; and, true to hisinstinct of duty, pricked up his ears, poised himself for a full run, and looked up in his master's face waiting for explanation and signal. But Juan did not observe him. 

"Ha!" he said, "Father Salvierderra comes next month, does he? Let'ssee. To-day is the 25th. That's it. The sheep-shearing is not to comeoff till the Father gets here. Then each morning it will be mass in thechapel, and each night vespers; and the crowd will be here at leasttwo days longer to feed, for the time they will lose by that and bythe confessions. That's what Senor Felipe is up to. He's a pious lad. I recollect now, it was the same way two years ago. Well, well, it is agood thing for those poor Indian devils to get a bit of religion now andthen; and it's like old times to see the chapel full of them kneeling, and more than can get in at the door; I doubt not it warms the Senora'sheart to see them all there, as if they belonged to the house, asthey used to: and now I know when it's to be, I have only to make myarrangements accordingly. It is always in the first week of the monththe Father gets here. Yes; she said, 'Senor Felipe will be well enoughin a week or two, he thinks. ' Ha! ha! It will be nearer two; ten days orthereabouts. I'll begin the booths next week. A plague on that Luigo fornot being back here. He's the best hand I have to cut the willow boughsfor the roofs. He knows the difference between one year's growth andanother's; I'll say that much for him, spite of the silly dreaming headhe's got on his shoulders. "

Juan was so pleased with his clearing up in his mind as to SenorFelipe's purpose about the time of the sheep-shearing, that it put himin good humor for the day, --good humor with everybody, and himself mostof all. As he sat on the low bench, his head leaning back against thewhitewashed wall, his long legs stretched out nearly across the wholewidth of the veranda, his pipe firm wedged in the extreme left cornerof his mouth, his hands in his pockets, he was the picture of placidcontent. The troop of youngsters which still swarmed around the kitchenquarters of Senora Moreno's house, almost as numerous and inexplicableas in the grand old days of the General's time, ran back and forthacross Juan's legs, fell down between them, and picked themselves up byhelp of clutches at his leather trousers, all unreproved by Juan, thoughloudly scolded and warned by their respective mothers from the kitchen. 

"What's come to Juan Can to be so good-natured to-day?" saucily askedMargarita, the youngest and prettiest of the maids, popping her head outof a window, and twitching Juan's hair. He was so gray and wrinkledthat the maids all felt at ease with him. He seemed to them as old asMethuselah; but he was not really so old as they thought, nor they sosafe in their tricks. The old man had hot blood in his veins yet, as theunder-shepherds could testify. 

"The sight of your pretty face, Senorita Margarita, " answered Juanquickly, cocking his eye at her, rising to his feet, and making a mockbow towards the window. 

"He! he! Senorita, indeed!" chuckled Margarita's mother, old Marda thecook. "Senor Juan Canito is pleased to be merry at the doors of hisbetters;" and she flung a copper saucepan full of not over-clean waterso deftly past Juan's head, that not a drop touched him, and yet he hadthe appearance of having been ducked. At which bit of sleight-of-handthe whole court-yard, young and old, babies, cocks, hens, and turkeys, all set up a shout and a cackle, and dispersed to the four corners ofthe yard as if scattered by a volley of bird-shot. Hearing the racket, the rest of the maids came running, --Anita and Maria, the twins, womenforty years old, born on the place the year after General Moreno broughthome his handsome young bride; their two daughters, Rosa and Anita theLittle, as she was still called, though she outweighed her mother; oldJuanita, the oldest woman in the household, of whom even the Senora wassaid not to know the exact age or history; and she, poor thing, couldtell nothing, having been silly for ten years or more, good for nothingexcept to shell beans: that she did as fast and well as ever, and wasnever happy except she was at it. Luckily for her, beans are the onecrop never omitted or stinted on a Mexican estate; and for sake of oldJuanita they stored every year in the Moreno house, rooms full of beansin the pod (tons of them, one would think), enough to feed an army. Butthen, it was like a little army even now, the Senora's household; nobodyever knew exactly how many women were in the kitchen, or how many menin the fields. There were always women cousins, or brother's wives orwidows or daughters, who had come to stay, or men cousins, or sister'shusbands or sons, who were stopping on their way up or down the valley. When it came to the pay-roll, Senor Felipe knew to whom he paid wages;but who were fed and lodged under his roof, that was quite anotherthing. It could not enter into the head of a Mexican gentleman to makeeither count or account of that. It would be a disgraceful niggardlythought. 

To the Senora it seemed as if there were no longer any people about theplace. A beggarly handful, she would have said, hardly enough to do thework of the house, or of the estate, sadly as the latter had dwindled. In the General's day, it had been a free-handed boast of his that neverless than fifty persons, men, women and children, were fed within hisgates each day; how many more, he did not care, nor know. But that timehad indeed gone, gone forever; and though a stranger, seeing the suddenrush and muster at door and window, which followed on old Marda'sletting fly the water at Juan's head, would have thought, "Good heavens, do all those women, children, and babies belong in that one house!" theSenora's sole thought, as she at that moment went past the gate, was, "Poor things! how few there are left of them! I am afraid old Marda hasto work too hard. I must spare Margarita more from the house to helpher. " And she sighed deeply, and unconsciously held her rosary nearer toher heart, as she went into the house and entered her son's bedroom. Thepicture she saw there was one to thrill any mother's heart; and as itmet her eye, she paused on the threshold for a second, --only a second, however; and nothing could have astonished Felipe Moreno so much as tohave been told that at the very moment when his mother's calm voice wassaying to him, "Good morning, my son, I hope you have slept well, andare better, " there was welling up in her heart a passionate ejaculation, "O my glorious son! The saints have sent me in him the face of hisfather! He is fit for a kingdom!"

The truth is, Felipe Moreno was not fit for a kingdom at all. If he hadbeen, he would not have been so ruled by his mother without ever findingit out. But so far as mere physical beauty goes, there never was aking born, whose face, stature, and bearing would set off a crown or athrone, or any of the things of which the outside of royalty is made up, better than would Felipe Moreno's. And it was true, as the Senora said, whether the saints had anything to do with it or not, that he had theface of his father. So strong a likeness is seldom seen. When Felipeonce, on the occasion of a grand celebration and procession, put on thegold-wrought velvet mantle, gayly embroidered short breeches fastened atthe knee with red ribbons, and gold-and-silver-trimmed sombrero, whichhis father had worn twenty-five years before, the Senora fainted at herfirst look at him, --fainted and fell; and when she opened her eyes, andsaw the same splendid, gayly arrayed, dark-bearded man, bending over herin distress, with words of endearment and alarm, she fainted again. 

"Mother, mother mia, " cried Felipe, "I will not wear them if it makesyou feel like this! Let me take them off. I will not go to their cursedparade;" and he sprang to his feet, and began with trembling fingers tounbuckle the sword-belt. 

"No, no, Felipe, " faintly cried the Senora, from the ground. "It is mywish that you wear them;" and staggering to her feet, with a burst oftears, she rebuckled the old sword-belt, which her fingers had so manytimes--never unkissed--buckled, in the days when her husband had badeher farewell and gone forth to the uncertain fates of war. "Wearthem!" she cried, with gathering fire in her tones, and her eyes dryof tears, --"wear them, and let the American hounds see what a Mexicanofficer and gentleman looked like before they had set their base, usurping feet on our necks!" And she followed him to the gate, and stooderect, bravely waving her handkerchief as he galloped off, till he wasout of sight. Then with a changed face and a bent head she crept slowlyto her room, locked herself in, fell on her knees before the Madonna atthe head of her bed, and spent the greater part of the day praying thatshe might be forgiven, and that all heretics might be discomfited. Fromwhich part of these supplications she derived most comfort is easy toimagine. 

Juan Canito had been right in his sudden surmise that it was for FatherSalvierderra's coming that the sheep-shearing was being delayed, and notin consequence of Senor Felipe's illness, or by the non-appearance ofLuigo and his flock of sheep. Juan would have chuckled to himself stillmore at his perspicacity, had he overheard the conversation going onbetween the Senora and her son, at the very time when he, half asleepon the veranda, was, as he would have called it, putting two and twotogether and convincing himself that old Juan was as smart as they were, and not to be kept in the dark by all their reticence and equivocation. 

"Juan Can is growing very impatient about the sheep-shearing, " saidthe Senora. "I suppose you are still of the same mind about it, Felipe, --that it is better to wait till Father Salvierderra comes? Asthe only chance those Indians have of seeing him is here, it would seema Christian duty to so arrange it, if it be possible; but Juan is veryrestive. He is getting old, and chafes a little, I fancy, under yourcontrol. He cannot forget that you were a boy on his knee. Now I, for mypart, am like to forget that you were ever anything but a man for me tolean on. "

Felipe turned his handsome face toward his mother with a beaming smileof filial affection and gratified manly vanity. "Indeed, my mother, ifI can be sufficient for you to lean on, I will ask nothing more of thesaints;" and he took his mother's thin and wasted little hands, both atonce, in his own strong right hand, and carried them to his lips as alover might have done. "You will spoil me, mother, " he said, "you makeme so proud. "

"No, Felipe, it is I who am proud, " promptly replied the mother; "and Ido not call it being proud, only grateful to God for having given mea son wise enough to take his father's place, and guide and protect methrough the few remaining years I have to live. I shall die content, seeing you at the head of the estate, and living as a Mexican gentlemanshould; that is, so far as now remains possible in this unfortunatecountry. But about the sheep-shearing, Felipe. Do you wish to have itbegun before the Father is here? Of course, Alessandro is all readywith his band. It is but two days' journey for a messenger to bringhim. Father Salvierderra cannot be here before the 10th of the month. Heleaves Santa Barbara on the 1st, and he will walk all the way, --a goodsix days' journey, for he is old now and feeble; then he must stopin Ventura for a Sunday, and a day at the Ortega's ranch, and at theLopez's, --there, there is a christening. Yes, the 10th is the veryearliest that he can be here, --near two weeks from now. So far as yourgetting up is concerned, it might perhaps be next week. You will benearly well by that time. "

"Yes, indeed, " laughed Felipe, stretching himself out in the bed andgiving a kick to the bedclothes that made the high bedposts and thefringed canopy roof shake and creak; "I am well now, if it were not forthis cursed weakness when I stand on my feet. I believe it would do megood to get out of doors. "

In truth, Felipe had been hankering for the sheep-shearing himself. Itwas a brisk, busy, holiday sort of time to him, hard as he worked in it;and two weeks looked long to wait. 

"It is always thus after a fever, " said his mother. "The weakness lastsmany weeks. I am not sure that you will be strong enough even in twoweeks to do the packing; but, as Juan Can said this morning, he stoodat the packing-bag when you were a boy, and there was no need of waitingfor you for that!"

"He said that, did he!" exclaimed Felipe, wrathfully. "The old man isgetting insolent. I'll tell him that nobody will pack the sacks butmyself, while I am master here; and I will have the sheep-shearing whenI please, and not before. "

"I suppose it would not be wise to say that it is not to take place tillthe Father comes, would it?" asked the Senora, hesitatingly, as if thething were evenly balanced in her mind. "The Father has not that holdon the younger men he used to have, and I have thought that even inJuan himself I have detected a remissness. The spirit of unbelief isspreading in the country since the Americans are running up and downeverywhere seeking money, like dogs with their noses to the ground! Itmight vex Juan if he knew that you were waiting only for the Father. What do you think?"

"I think it is enough for him to know that the sheep-shearing waits formy pleasure, " answered Felipe, still wrathful, "and that is the end ofit. " And so it was; and, moreover, precisely the end which Senora Morenohad had in her own mind from the beginning; but not even Juan Canitohimself suspected its being solely her purpose, and not her son's. Asfor Felipe, if any person had suggested to him that it was his mother, and not he, who had decided that the sheep-shearing would be betterdeferred until the arrival of Father Salvierderra from Santa Barbara, and that nothing should be said on the ranch about this being the realreason of the postponing, Felipe would have stared in astonishment, andhave thought that person either crazy or a fool. 

To attain one's ends in this way is the consummate triumph of art. Neverto appear as a factor in the situation; to be able to wield other men, as instruments, with the same direct and implicit response to will thatone gets from a hand or a foot, --this is to triumph, indeed: to be asnearly controller and conqueror of Fates as fate permits. There havebeen men prominent in the world's affairs at one time and another, whohave sought and studied such a power and have acquired it to agreat degree. By it they have manipulated legislators, ambassadors, sovereigns; and have grasped, held, and played with the destiniesof empires. But it is to be questioned whether even in these notableinstances there has ever been such marvellous completeness of successas is sometimes seen in the case of a woman in whom the power is aninstinct and not an attainment; a passion rather than a purpose. Between the two results, between the two processes, there is just thatdifference which is always to be seen between the stroke of talent andthe stroke of genius. 

Senora Moreno's was the stroke of genius. 

II

THE Senora Moreno's house was one of the best specimens to be foundin California of the representative house of the half barbaric, halfelegant, wholly generous and free-handed life led there by Mexican menand women of degree in the early part of this century, under the rule ofthe Spanish and Mexican viceroys, when the laws of the Indies were stillthe law of the land, and its old name, "New Spain, " was an ever-presentlink and stimulus to the warmest memories and deepest patriotisms of itspeople. 

It was a picturesque life, with more of sentiment and gayety in it, morealso that was truly dramatic, more romance, than will ever be seenagain on those sunny shores. The aroma of it all lingers there still;industries and inventions have not yet slain it; it will last out itscentury, --in fact, it can never be quite lost, so long as there is leftstanding one such house as the Senora Moreno's. 

When the house was built, General Moreno owned all the land within aradius of forty miles, --forty miles westward, down the valley to thesea; forty miles eastward, into the San Fernando Mountains; and goodforty miles more or less along the coast. The boundaries were not verystrictly defined; there was no occasion, in those happy days, to reckonland by inches. It might be asked, perhaps, just how General Morenoowned all this land, and the question might not be easy to answer. Itwas not and could not be answered to the satisfaction of the UnitedStates Land Commission, which, after the surrender of California, undertook to sift and adjust Mexican land titles; and that was theway it had come about that the Senora Moreno now called herself a poorwoman. Tract after tract, her lands had been taken away from her; itlooked for a time as if nothing would be left. Every one of the claimsbased on deeds of gift from Governor Pio Fico, her husband's mostintimate friend, was disallowed. They all went by the board in onebatch, and took away from the Senora in a day the greater part ofher best pasture-lands. They were lands which had belonged to theBonaventura Mission, and lay along the coast at the mouth of the valleydown which the little stream which ran past her house went to the sea;and it had been a great pride and delight to the Senora, when she wasyoung, to ride that forty miles by her husband's side, all the way ontheir own lands, straight from their house to their own strip of shore. No wonder she believed the Americans thieves, and spoke of them alwaysas hounds. The people of the United States have never in the leastrealized that the taking possession of California was not only aconquering of Mexico, but a conquering of California as well; that thereal bitterness of the surrender was not so much to the empire whichgave up the country, as to the country itself which was given up. Provinces passed back and forth in that way, helpless in the hands ofgreat powers, have all the ignominy and humiliation of defeat, with noneof the dignities or compensations of the transaction. 

Mexico saved much by her treaty, spite of having to acknowledge herselfbeaten; but California lost all. Words cannot tell the sting of sucha transfer. It is a marvel that a Mexican remained in the country;probably none did, except those who were absolutely forced to it. 

Luckily for the Senora Moreno, her title to the lands midway in thevalley was better than to those lying to the east and the west, whichhad once belonged to the missions of San Fernando and Bonaventura;and after all the claims, counter-claims, petitions, appeals, andadjudications were ended, she still was left in undisputed possession ofwhat would have been thought by any new-comer into the country to be ahandsome estate, but which seemed to the despoiled and indignant Senoraa pitiful fragment of one. Moreover, she declared that she should neverfeel secure of a foot of even this. Any day, she said, the United StatesGovernment might send out a new Land Commission to examine the decreesof the first, and revoke such as they saw fit. Once a thief, always athief. Nobody need feel himself safe under American rule. There wasno knowing what might happen any day; and year by year the lines ofsadness, resentment, anxiety, and antagonism deepened on the Senora'sfast aging face. 

It gave her unspeakable satisfaction, when the Commissioners, laying outa road down the valley, ran it at the back of her house instead ofpast the front. "It is well, " she said. "Let their travel be where itbelongs, behind our kitchens; and no one have sight of the front doorsof our houses, except friends who have come to visit us. " Her enjoymentof this never flagged. Whenever she saw, passing the place, wagonsor carriages belonging to the hated Americans, it gave her a distinctthrill of pleasure to think that the house turned its back on them. Shewould like always to be able to do the same herself; but whatever she, by policy or in business, might be forced to do, the old house, at anyrate, would always keep the attitude of contempt, --its face turned away. 

One other pleasure she provided herself with, soon after this road wasopened, --a pleasure in which religious devotion and race antagonism wereso closely blended that it would have puzzled the subtlest of priests todecide whether her act were a sin or a virtue. She caused to be setup, upon every one of the soft rounded hills which made the beautifulrolling sides of that part of the valley, a large wooden cross; not ahill in sight of her house left without the sacred emblem of her faith. "That the heretics may know, when they go by, that they are on theestate of a good Catholic, " she said, "and that the faithful may bereminded to pray. There have been miracles of conversion wrought on themost hardened by a sudden sight of the Blessed Cross. "

There they stood, summer and winter, rain and shine, the silent, solemn, outstretched arms, and became landmarks to many a guideless travellerwho had been told that his way would be by the first turn to the leftor the right, after passing the last one of the Senora Moreno's crosses, which he couldn't miss seeing. And who shall say that it did notoften happen that the crosses bore a sudden message to some idleheart journeying by, and thus justified the pious half of the Senora'simpulse? Certain it is, that many a good Catholic halted and crossedhimself when he first beheld them, in the lonely places, standing out insudden relief against the blue sky; and if he said a swift short prayerat the sight, was he not so much the better?

The house, was of adobe, low, with a wide veranda on the three sides ofthe inner court, and a still broader one across the entire front, whichlooked to the south. These verandas, especially those on the innercourt, were supplementary rooms to the house. The greater part of thefamily life went on in them. Nobody stayed inside the walls, except whenit was necessary. All the kitchen work, except the actual cooking, wasdone here, in front of the kitchen doors and windows. Babies slept, were washed, sat in the dirt, and played, on the veranda. The women saidtheir prayers, took their naps, and wove their lace there. Old Juanitashelled her beans there, and threw the pods down on the tile floor, till towards night they were sometimes piled up high around her, likecorn-husks at a husking. The herdsmen and shepherds smoked there, lounged there, trained their dogs there; there the young made love, andthe old dozed; the benches, which ran the entire length of the walls, were worn into hollows, and shone like satin; the tiled floors also werebroken and sunk in places, making little wells, which filled up in timesof hard rains, and were then an invaluable addition to the children'sresources for amusement, and also to the comfort of the dogs, cats, andfowls, who picked about among them, taking sips from each. 

The arched veranda along the front was a delightsome place. It musthave been eighty feet long, at least, for the doors of five large roomsopened on it. The two westernmost rooms had been added on, and made foursteps higher than the others; which gave to that end of the veranda thelook of a balcony, or loggia. Here the Senora kept her flowers; greatred water-jars, hand-made by the Indians of San Luis Obispo Mission, stood in close rows against the walls, and in them were always growingfine geraniums, carnations, and yellow-flowered musk. The Senora'spassion for musk she had inherited from her mother. It was so strongthat she sometimes wondered at it; and one day, as she sat with FatherSalvierderra in the veranda, she picked a handful of the blossoms, andgiving them to him, said, "I do not know why it is, but it seems to meif I were dead I could be brought to life by the smell of musk. "

"It is in your blood, Senora, " the old monk replied. "When I was last inyour father's house in Seville, your mother sent for me to her room, and under her window was a stone balcony full of growing musk, which sofilled the room with its odor that I was like to faint. But she saidit cured her of diseases, and without it she fell ill. You were a babythen. "

"Yes, " cried the Senora, "but I recollect that balcony. I recollectbeing lifted up to a window, and looking down into a bed of bloomingyellow flowers; but I did not know what they were. How strange!"

"No. Not strange, daughter, " replied Father Salvierderra. "It would havebeen stranger if you had not acquired the taste, thus drawing it in withthe mother's milk. It would behoove mothers to remember this far morethan they do. "

Besides the geraniums and carnations and musk in the red jars, therewere many sorts of climbing vines, --some coming from the ground, andtwining around the pillars of the veranda; some growing in great bowls, swung by cords from the roof of the veranda, or set on shelves againstthe walls. These bowls were of gray stone, hollowed and polished, shining smooth inside and out. They also had been made by the Indians, nobody knew how many ages ago, scooped and polished by the patientcreatures, with only stones for tools. 

Among these vines, singing from morning till night, hung theSenora's canaries and finches, half a dozen of each, all of differentgenerations, raised by the Senora. She was never without a youngbird-family on hand; and all the way from Bonaventura to Monterey, itwas thought a piece of good luck to come into possession of a canary orfinch of Senora Moreno's 'raising. 

Between the veranda and the river meadows, out on which it looked, allwas garden, orange grove, and almond orchard; the orange grove alwaysgreen, never without snowy bloom or golden fruit; the garden neverwithout flowers, summer or winter; and the almond orchard, in earlyspring, a fluttering canopy of pink and white petals, which, seen fromthe hills on the opposite side of the river, looked as if rosy sunriseclouds had fallen, and become tangled in the tree-tops. On either handstretched away other orchards, --peach, apricot, pear, apple pomegranate;and beyond these, vineyards. Nothing was to be seen but verdure orbloom or fruit, at whatever time of year you sat on the Senora's southveranda. 

A wide straight walk shaded by a trellis so knotted and twisted withgrapevines that little was to be seen of the trellis wood-work, ledstraight down from the veranda steps, through the middle of the garden, to a little brook at the foot of it. Across this brook, in the shadeof a dozen gnarled old willow-trees, were set the broad flat stonewashboards on which was done all the family washing. No long dawdling, and no running away from work on the part of the maids, thus close tothe eye of the Senora at the upper end of the garden; and if they hadknown how picturesque they looked there, kneeling on the grass, liftingthe dripping linen out of the water, rubbing it back and forth on thestones, sousing it, wringing it, splashing the clear water in eachother's faces, they would have been content to stay at the washing dayin and day out, for there was always somebody to look on from above. Hardly a day passed that the Senora had not visitors. She was stilla person of note; her house the natural resting-place for all whojourneyed through the valley; and whoever came, spent all of his time, when not eating, sleeping, or walking over the place, sitting with theSenora on the sunny veranda. Few days in winter were cold enough, andin summer the day must be hot indeed to drive the Senora and her friendsindoors. There stood on the veranda three carved oaken chairs, and acarved bench, also of oak, which had been brought to the Senora for safekeeping by the faithful old sacristan of San Luis Rey, at the time ofthe occupation of that Mission by the United States troops, soon afterthe conquest of California. Aghast at the sacrilegious acts of thesoldiers, who were quartered in the very church itself, and amusedthemselves by making targets of the eyes and noses of the saints'statues, the sacristan, stealthily, day by day and night after night, bore out of the church all that he dared to remove, burying somearticles in cottonwood copses, hiding others in his own poor littlehovel, until he had wagon-loads of sacred treasures. Then, still morestealthily, he carried them, a few at a time, concealed in the bottom ofa cart, under a load of hay or of brush, to the house of the Senora, whofelt herself deeply honored by his confidence, and received everythingas a sacred trust, to be given back into the hands of the Church again, whenever the Missions should be restored, of which at that time allCatholics had good hope. And so it had come about that no bedroom in theSenora's house was without a picture or a statue of a saint or of theMadonna; and some had two; and in the little chapel in the garden thealtar was surrounded by a really imposing row of holy and apostolicfigures, which had looked down on the splendid ceremonies of the SanLuis Rey Mission, in Father Peyri's time, no more benignly than theynow did on the humbler worship of the Senora's family in its diminishedestate. That one had lost an eye, another an arm, that the oncebrilliant colors of the drapery were now faded and shabby, only enhancedthe tender reverence with which the Senora knelt before them, her eyesfilling with indignant tears at thought of the heretic hands whichhad wrought such defilement. Even the crumbling wreaths which had beenplaced on some of the statues' heads at the time of the last ceremonialat which they had figured in the Mission, had been brought away withthem by the devout sacristan, and the Senora had replaced each one, holding it only a degree less sacred than the statue itself. 

This chapel was dearer to the Senora than her house. It had been builtby the General in the second year of their married life. In it her fourchildren had been christened, and from it all but one, her handsomeFelipe, had been buried while they were yet infants. In the General'stime, while the estate was at its best, and hundreds of Indians livingwithin its borders, there was many a Sunday when the scene to bewitnessed there was like the scenes at the Missions, --the chapel full ofkneeling men and women; those who could not find room inside kneelingon the garden walks outside; Father Salvierderra, in gorgeousvestments, coming, at close of the services, slowly down the aisle, theclose-packed rows of worshippers parting to right and left to let himthrough, all looking up eagerly for his blessing, women giving himofferings of fruit or flowers, and holding up their babies that he mightlay his hands on their heads. No one but Father Salvierderra had everofficiated in the Moreno chapel, or heard the confession of a Moreno. Hewas a Franciscan, one of the few now left in the country; so revered andbeloved by all who had come under his influence, that they would waitlong months without the offices of the Church, rather than confesstheir sins or confide their perplexities to any one else. From thisdeep-seated attachment on the part of the Indians and the older Mexicanfamilies in the country to the Franciscan Order, there had grown up, not unnaturally, some jealousy of them in the minds of the later-comesecular priests, and the position of the few monks left was not wholly apleasant one. It had even been rumored that they were to be forbiddento continue longer their practice of going up and down the country, ministering everywhere; were to be compelled to restrict their laborsto their own colleges at Santa Barbara and Santa Inez. When somethingto this effect was one day said in the Senora Moreno's presence, twoscarlet spots sprang on her cheeks, and before she bethought herself, she exclaimed, "That day, I burn down my chapel!"

Luckily, nobody but Felipe heard the rash threat, and his exclamation ofunbounded astonishment recalled the Senora to herself. 

"I spoke rashly, my son, " she said. "The Church is to be obeyed always;but the Franciscan Fathers are responsible to no one but the Superior oftheir own order; and there is no one in this land who has the authorityto forbid their journeying and ministering to whoever desires theiroffices. As for these Catalan priests who are coming in here, I cannotabide them. No Catalan but has bad blood in his veins!"

There was every reason in the world why the Senora should be thus warmlyattached to the Franciscan Order. From her earliest recollections thegray gown and cowl had been familiar to her eyes, and had representedthe things which she was taught to hold most sacred and dear. FatherSalvierderra himself had come from Mexico to Monterey in the same shipwhich had brought her father to be the commandante of the Santa BarbaraPresidio; and her best-beloved uncle, her father's eldest brother, wasat that time the Superior of the Santa Barbara Mission. The sentimentand romance of her youth were almost equally divided between thegayeties, excitements, adornments of the life at the Presidio, and theceremonies and devotions of the life at the Mission. She was famed asthe most beautiful girl in the country. Men of the army, men of thenavy, and men of the Church, alike adored her. Her name was a toastfrom Monterey to San Diego. When at last she was wooed and won by FelipeMoreno, one of the most distinguished of the Mexican Generals, herwedding ceremonies were the most splendid ever seen in the country. The right tower of the Mission church at Santa Barbara had been justcompleted, and it was arranged that the consecration of this towershould take place at the time of her wedding, and that her wedding feastshould be spread in the long outside corridor of the Mission building. The whole country, far and near, was bid. The feast lasted three days;open tables to everybody; singing, dancing, eating, drinking, and makingmerry. At that time there were long streets of Indian houses stretchingeastward from the Mission; before each of these houses was built a boothof green boughs. The Indians, as well as the Fathers from all the otherMissions, were invited to come. The Indians came in bands, singing songsand bringing gifts. As they appeared, the Santa Barbara Indians wentout to meet them, also singing, bearing gifts, and strewing seeds onthe ground, in token of welcome. The young Senora and her bridegroom, splendidly clothed, were seen of all, and greeted, whenever theyappeared, by showers of seeds and grains and blossoms. On the thirdday, still in their wedding attire, and bearing lighted candles in theirhands, they walked with the monks in a procession, round and round thenew tower, the monks chanting, and sprinkling incense and holy wateron its walls, the ceremony seeming to all devout beholders to give ablessed consecration to the union of the young pair as well as to thenewly completed tower. After this they journeyed in state, accompaniedby several of the General's aids and officers, and by two FranciscanFathers, up to Monterey, stopping on their way at all the Missions, andbeing warmly welcomed and entertained at each. 

General Moreno was much beloved by both army and Church. In many of thefrequent clashings between the military and the ecclesiastical powershe, being as devout and enthusiastic a Catholic as he was zealous andenthusiastic a soldier, had had the good fortune to be of materialassistance to each party. The Indians also knew his name well, havingheard it many times mentioned with public thanksgivings in the Missionchurches, after some signal service he had rendered to the Fatherseither in Mexico or Monterey. And now, by taking as his bride thedaughter of a distinguished officer, and the niece of the Santa BarbaraSuperior, he had linked himself anew to the two dominant powers andinterests of the country. 

When they reached San Luis Obispo, the whole Indian population turnedout to meet them, the Padre walking at the head. As they approached theMission doors the Indians swarmed closer and closer and still closer, took the General's horse by the head, and finally almost by actual forcecompelled him to allow himself to be lifted into a blanket, held highup by twenty strong men; and thus he was borne up the steps, acrossthe corridor, and into the Padre's room. It was a position ludicrouslyundignified in itself, but the General submitted to it good-naturedly. 

"Oh, let them do it, if they like, " he cried, laughingly, to PadreMartinez, who was endeavoring to quiet the Indians and hold them back. "Let them do it. It pleases the poor creatures. "

On the morning of their departure, the good Padre, having exhausted allhis resources for entertaining his distinguished guests, caused tobe driven past the corridors, for their inspection, all the poultrybelonging to the Mission. The procession took an hour to pass. Formusic, there was the squeaking, cackling, hissing, gobbling, crowing, quacking of the fowls, combined with the screaming, scolding, andwhip-cracking of the excited Indian marshals of the lines. First camethe turkeys, then the roosters, then the white hens, then the black, andthen the yellow, next the ducks, and at the tail of the spectaclelong files of geese, some strutting, some half flying and hissing inresentment and terror at the unwonted coercions to which they weresubjected. The Indians had been hard at work all night capturing, sorting, assorting, and guarding the rank and file of their novelpageant. It would be safe to say that a droller sight never was seen, and never will be, on the Pacific coast or any other. Before it was donewith, the General and his bride had nearly died with laughter; and theGeneral could never allude to it without laughing almost as heartilyagain. 

At Monterey they were more magnificently feted; at the Presidio, at theMission, on board Spanish, Mexican, and Russian ships lying in harbor, balls, dances, bull-fights, dinners, all that the country knew offestivity, was lavished on the beautiful and winning young bride. Thebelles of the coast, from San Diego up, had all gathered at Monterey forthese gayeties, but not one of them could be for a moment compared toher. This was the beginning of the Senora's life as a married woman. She was then just twenty. A close observer would have seen even then, underneath the joyous smile, the laughing eye, the merry voice, a lookthoughtful, tender, earnest, at times enthusiastic. This look was thereflection of those qualities in her, then hardly aroused, which madeher, as years developed her character and stormy fates thickened aroundher life, the unflinching comrade of her soldier husband, the passionateadherent of the Church. Through wars, insurrections, revolutions, downfalls, Spanish, Mexican, civil, ecclesiastical, her standpoint, her poise, remained the same. She simply grew more and more proudly, passionately, a Spaniard and a Moreno; more and more stanchly andfierily a Catholic, and a lover of the Franciscans. 

During the height of the despoiling and plundering of the Missions, under the Secularization Act, she was for a few years almost besideherself. More than once she journeyed alone, when the journey was byno means without danger, to Monterey, to stir up the Prefect ofthe Missions to more energetic action, to implore the governmentalauthorities to interfere, and protect the Church's property. Itwas largely in consequence of her eloquent entreaties that GovernorMicheltorena issued his bootless order, restoring to the Church all theMissions south of San Luis Obispo. But this order cost Micheltorena hispolitical head, and General Moreno was severely wounded in one of theskirmishes of the insurrection which drove Micheltorena out of thecountry. 

In silence and bitter humiliation the Senora nursed her husband backto health again, and resolved to meddle no more in the affairs of herunhappy country and still more unhappy Church. As year by year shesaw the ruin of the Missions steadily going on, their vast propertiesmelting away, like dew before the sun, in the hands of dishonestadministrators and politicians, the Church powerless to contend with theunprincipled greed in high places, her beloved Franciscan Fathers drivenfrom the country or dying of starvation at their posts, she submittedherself to what, she was forced to admit, seemed to be the inscrutablewill of God for the discipline and humiliation of the Church. In a sortof bewildered resignation she waited to see what further sufferingswere to come, to fill up the measure of the punishment which, for somemysterious purpose, the faithful must endure. But when close uponall this discomfiture and humiliation of her Church followed thediscomfiture and humiliation of her country in war, and the near andevident danger of an English-speaking people's possessing the land, all the smothered fire of the Senora's nature broke out afresh. Withunfaltering hands she buckled on her husband's sword, and with dry eyessaw him go forth to fight. She had but one regret, that she was not themother of sons to fight also. 

"Would thou wert a man, Felipe, " she exclaimed again and again in tonesthe child never forgot. "Would thou wert a man, that thou might go alsoto fight these foreigners!"

Any race under the sun would have been to the Senora less hateful thanthe American. She had scorned them in her girlhood, when they cametrading to post after post. She scorned them still. The idea of beingforced to wage a war with pedlers was to her too monstrous to bebelieved. In the outset she had no doubt that the Mexicans would win inthe contest. 

"What!" she cried, "shall we who won independence from Spain, be beatenby these traders? It is impossible!"

When her husband was brought home to her dead, killed in the last fightthe Mexican forces made, she said icily, "He would have chosen to dierather than to have been forced to see his country in the hands ofthe enemy. " And she was almost frightened at herself to see how thisthought, as it dwelt in her mind, slew the grief in her heart. She hadbelieved she could not live if her husband were to be taken away fromher; but she found herself often glad that he was dead, --glad that hewas spared the sight and the knowledge of the things which happened;and even the yearning tenderness with which her imagination picturedhim among the saints, was often turned into a fierce wondering whetherindignation did not fill his soul, even in heaven, at the way thingswere going in the land for whose sake he had died. 

Out of such throes as these had been born the second nature which madeSenora Moreno the silent, reserved, stern, implacable woman they knew, who knew her first when she was sixty. Of the gay, tender, sentimentalgirl, who danced and laughed with the officers, and prayed and confessedwith the Fathers, forty years before, there was small trace left now, in the low-voiced, white-haired, aged woman, silent, unsmiling, placid-faced, who manoeuvred with her son and her head shepherd alike, to bring it about that a handful of Indians might once more confesstheir sins to a Franciscan monk in the Moreno chapel. 

III

JUAN CANITO and Senor Felipe were not the only members of the Senora'sfamily who were impatient for the sheep-shearing. There was also Ramona. Ramona was, to the world at large, a far more important person than theSenora herself. The Senora was of the past; Ramona was of the present. For one eye that could see the significant, at times solemn, beauty ofthe Senora's pale and shadowed countenance, there were a hundred thatflashed with eager pleasure at the barest glimpse of Ramona's face; theshepherds, the herdsmen, the maids, the babies, the dogs, the poultry, all loved the sight of Ramona; all loved her, except the Senora. TheSenora loved her not; never had loved her, never could love her; andyet she had stood in the place of mother to the girl ever since herchildhood, and never once during the whole sixteen years of her life hadshown her any unkindness in act. She had promised to be a mother to her;and with all the inalienable stanchness of her nature she fulfilled theletter of her promise. More than the bond lay in the bond; but that wasnot the Senora's fault. 

The story of Ramona the Senora never told. To most of the Senora'sacquaintances now, Ramona was a mystery. They did not know--and no oneever asked a prying question of the Senora Moreno--who Ramona's parentswere, whether they were living or dead, or why Ramona, her name notbeing Moreno, lived always in the Senora's house as a daughter, tendedand attended equally with the adored Felipe. A few gray-haired men andwomen here and there in the country could have told the strange storyof Ramona; but its beginning was more than a half-century back, and muchhad happened since then. They seldom thought of the child. They knew shewas in the Senora Moreno's keeping, and that was enough. The affairs ofthe generation just going out were not the business of the young peoplecoming in. They would have tragedies enough of their own presently; whatwas the use of passing down the old ones? Yet the story was not one tobe forgotten; and now and then it was told in the twilight of a summerevening, or in the shadows of vines on a lingering afternoon, and allyoung men and maidens thrilled who heard it. 

It was an elder sister of the Senora's, --a sister old enough to be wooedand won while the Senora was yet at play, --who had been promised inmarriage to a young Scotchman named Angus Phail. She was a beautifulwoman; and Angus Phail, from the day that he first saw her standing inthe Presidio gate, became so madly her lover, that he was like a manbereft of his senses. This was the only excuse ever to be made forRamona Gonzaga's deed. It could never be denied, by her bitterestaccusers, that, at the first, and indeed for many months, she told Angusshe did not love him, and could not marry him; and that it was onlyafter his stormy and ceaseless entreaties, that she did finally promiseto become his wife. Then, almost immediately, she went away to Monterey, and Angus set sail for San Blas. He was the owner of the richest lineof ships which traded along the coast at that time; the richest stuffs, carvings, woods, pearls, and jewels, which came into the country, camein his ships. The arrival of one of them was always an event; andAngus himself, having been well-born in Scotland, and being wonderfullywell-mannered for a seafaring man, was made welcome in all the besthouses, wherever his ships went into harbor, from Monterey to San Diego. 

The Senorita Ramona Gonzaga sailed for Monterey the same day and hourher lover sailed for San Blas. They stood on the decks waving signals toeach other as one sailed away to the south, the other to the north. It was remembered afterward by those who were in the ship with theSenorita, that she ceased to wave her signals, and had turned her faceaway, long before her lover's ship was out of sight. But the men of the"San Jose" said that Angus Phail stood immovable, gazing northward, till nightfall shut from his sight even the horizon line at which theMonterey ship had long before disappeared from view. 

This was to be his last voyage. He went on this only because his honorwas pledged to do so. Also, he comforted himself by thinking that hewould bring back for his bride, and for the home he meant to give her, treasures of all sorts, which none could select so well as he. Throughthe long weeks of the voyage he sat on deck, gazing dreamily at thewaves, and letting his imagination feed on pictures of jewels, satins, velvets, laces, which would best deck his wife's form and face. Whenhe could not longer bear the vivid fancies' heat in his blood, he wouldpace the deck, swifter and swifter, till his steps were like thoseof one flying in fear; at such times the men heard him muttering andwhispering to himself, "Ramona! Ramona!" Mad with love from the firstto the last was Angus Phail; and there were many who believed that if hehad ever seen the hour when he called Ramona Gonzaga his own, his reasonwould have fled forever at that moment, and he would have killed eitherher or himself, as men thus mad have been known to do. But that hournever came. When, eight months later, the "San Jose" sailed into theSanta Barbara harbor, and Angus Phail leaped breathless on shore, thesecond man he met, no friend of his, looking him maliciously inthe face, said. "So, ho! You're just too late for the wedding! Yoursweetheart, the handsome Gonzaga girl, was married here, yesterday, to afine young officer of the Monterey Presidio!"

Angus reeled, struck the man a blow full in the face, and fell on theground, foaming at the mouth. He was lifted and carried into a house, and, speedily recovering, burst with the strength of a giant from thehands of those who were holding him, sprang out of the door, and ranbareheaded up the road toward the Presidio. At the gate he was stoppedby the guard, who knew him. 

"Is it true?" gasped Angus. 

"Yes, Senor, " replied the man, who said afterward that his knees shookunder him with terror at the look on the Scotchman's face. He feared hewould strike him dead for his reply. But, instead, Angus burst intoa maudlin laugh, and, turning away, went staggering down the street, singing and laughing. 

The next that was known of him was in a low drinking-place, where he wasseen lying on the floor, dead drunk; and from that day he sank lower andlower, till one of the commonest sights to be seen in Santa Barbara wasAngus Phail reeling about, tipsy, coarse, loud, profane, dangerous. 

"See what the Senorita escaped!" said the thoughtless. "She was quiteright not to have married such a drunken wretch. "

In the rare intervals when he was partially sober, he sold all hepossessed, --ship after ship sold for a song, and the proceeds squanderedin drinking or worse. He never had a sight of his lost bride. He did notseek it; and she, terrified, took every precaution to avoid it, and soonreturned with her husband to Monterey. 

Finally Angus disappeared, and after a time the news came up from LosAngeles that he was there, had gone out to the San Gabriel Mission, and was living with the Indians. Some years later came the still moresurprising news that he had married a squaw, --a squaw with severalIndian children, --had been legally married by the priest in the SanGabriel Mission Church. And that was the last that the faithless RamonaGonzaga ever heard of her lover, until twenty-five years after hermarriage, when one day he suddenly appeared in her presence. How hehad gained admittance to the house was never known; but there he stoodbefore her, bearing in his arms a beautiful babe, asleep. Drawinghimself up to the utmost of his six feet of height, and looking at hersternly, with eyes blue like steel, he said: "Senora Ortegna, you oncedid me a great wrong. You sinned, and the Lord has punished you. He hasdenied you children. I also have done a wrong; I have sinned, and theLord has punished me. He has given me a child. I ask once more at yourhands a boon. Will you take this child of mine, and bring it up as achild of yours, or of mine, ought to be brought up?"

The tears were rolling down the Senora Ortegna's cheeks. The Lordhad indeed punished her in more ways than Angus Phail knew. Herchildlessness, bitter as that had been, was the least of them. Speechless, she rose, and stretched out her arms for the child. Heplaced it in them. Still the child slept on, undisturbed. 

"I do not know if I will be permitted, " she said falteringly; "myhusband--"

"Father Salvierderra will command it. I have seen him, " replied Angus. 

The Senora's face brightened. "If that be so, I hope it can be as youwish, " she said. Then a strange embarrassment came upon her, and lookingdown upon the infant, she said inquiringly, "But the child's mother?"

Angus's face turned swarthy red. Perhaps, face to face with this gentleand still lovely woman he had once so loved, he first realized to thefull how wickedly he had thrown away his life. With a quick wave ofhis hand, which spoke volumes, he said: "That is nothing. She has otherchildren, of her own blood. This is mine, my only one, my daughter. Iwish her to be yours; otherwise, she will be taken by the Church. "

With each second that she felt the little warm body's tender weight inher arms, Ramona Ortegna's heart had more and more yearned towards theinfant. At these words she bent her face down and kissed its cheek. "Oh, no! not to the Church! I will love it as my own, " she said. 

Angus Phail's face quivered. Feelings long dead within him stirred intheir graves. He gazed at the sad and altered face, once so beautiful, so dear. "I should hardly have known you, Senora!" burst from himinvoluntarily. 

She smiled piteously, with no resentment. "That is not strange. I hardlyknow myself, " she whispered. "Life has dealt very hardly with me. I should not have known you either--Angus. " She pronounced his namehesitatingly, half appealingly. At the sound of the familiar syllables, so long unheard, the man's heart broke down. He buried his face in hishands, and sobbed out: "O Ramona, forgive me! I brought the child here, not wholly in love; partly in vengeance. But I am melted now. Are yousure you wish to keep her? I will take her away if you are not. "

"Never, so long as I live, Angus, " replied Senora Ortegna. "Already Ifeel that she is a mercy from the Lord. If my husband sees no offence inher presence, she will be a joy in my life. Has she been christened?"

Angus cast his eyes down. A sudden fear smote him. "Before I had thoughtof bringing her to you, " he stammered, "at first I had only the thoughtof giving her to the Church. I had had her christened by"--the wordsrefused to leave his lips--"the name--Can you not guess, Senora, whatname she bears?"

The Senora knew. "My own?" she said. 

Angus bowed his head. "The only woman's name that my lips ever spokewith love, " he said, reassured, "was the name my daughter should bear. "

"It is well, " replied the Senora. Then a great silence fell betweenthem. Each studied the other's face, tenderly, bewilderedly. Then by asimultaneous impulse they drew nearer. Angus stretched out both his armswith a gesture of infinite love and despair, bent down and kissed thehands which lovingly held his sleeping child. 

"God bless you, Ramona! Farewell! You will never see me more, " he cried, and was gone. 

In a moment more he reappeared on the threshold of the door, but only tosay in a low tone, "There is no need to be alarmed if the child does notwake for some hours yet. She has had a safe sleeping-potion given her. It will not harm her. "

One more long lingering look into each other's faces, and the twolovers, so strangely parted, still more strangely met, had parted again, forever. The quarter of a century which had lain between them had beenbridged in both their hearts as if it were but a day. In the heartof the man it was the old passionate adoring love reawakening;a resurrection of the buried dead, to full life, with lineamentsunchanged. In the woman it was not that; there was no buried love tocome to such resurrection in her heart, for she had never loved AngusPhail. But, long unloved, ill-treated, heartbroken, she woke at thatmoment to the realization of what manner of love it had been which shehad thrown away in her youth; her whole being yearned for it now, andAngus was avenged. 

When Francis Ortegna, late that night, reeled, half-tipsy, intohis wife's room, he was suddenly sobered by the sight which met hiseyes, --his wife kneeling by the side of the cradle, in which lay, smiling in its sleep, a beautiful infant. 

"What in the devil's name, " he began; then recollecting, he muttered:"Oh, the Indian brat! I see! I wish you joy, Senora Ortegna, of yourfirst child!" and with a mock bow, and cruel sneer, he staggered by, giving the cradle an angry thrust with his foot as he passed. 

The brutal taunt did not much wound the Senora. The time had long sincepassed when unkind words from her husband could give her keen pain. Butit was a warning not lost upon her new-born mother instinct, and fromthat day the little Ramona was carefully kept and tended in apartmentswhere there was no danger of her being seen by the man to whom the sightof her baby face was only a signal for anger and indecency. 

Hitherto Ramona Ortegna had, so far as was possible, carefully concealedfrom her family the unhappiness of her married life. Ortegna'scharacter was indeed well known; his neglect of his wife, his shamefuldissipations of all sorts, were notorious in every port in the country. But from the wife herself no one had even heard so much as a syllable ofcomplaint. She was a Gonzaga, and she knew how to suffer in silence, Butnow she saw a reason for taking her sister into her confidence. It wasplain to her that she had not many years to live; and what then wouldbecome of the child? Left to the tender mercies of Ortegna, it was onlytoo certain what would become of her. Long sad hours of perplexity thelonely woman passed, with the little laughing babe in her arms, vainlyendeavoring to forecast her future. The near chance of her own death hadnot occurred to her mind when she accepted the trust. 

Before the little Ramona was a year old, Angus Phail died. An Indianmessenger from San Gabriel brought the news to Senora Ortegna. Hebrought her also a box and a letter, given to him by Angus the daybefore his death. The box contained jewels of value, of fashions aquarter of a century old. They were the jewels which Angus had boughtfor his bride. These alone remained of all his fortune. Even in thelowest depths of his degradation, a certain sentiment had restrained himfrom parting with them. The letter contained only these words: "I sendyou all I have to leave my daughter. I meant to bring them myself thisyear. I wished to kiss your hands and hers once more. But I am dying. Farewell. "

After these jewels were in her possession, Senora Ortegna rested nottill she had persuaded Senora Moreno to journey to Monterey, and hadput the box into her keeping as a sacred trust. She also won from her asolemn promise that at her own death she would adopt the littleRamona. This promise came hard from Senora Moreno. Except for FatherSalvierderra's influence, she had not given it. She did not wish anydealings with such alien and mongrel blood, "If the child were pureIndian, I would like it better, " she said. "I like not these crosses. Itis the worst, and not the best of each, that remains. "

But the promise once given, Senora Ortegna was content. Well she knewthat her sister would not lie, nor evade a trust. The little Ramona'sfuture was assured. During the last years of the unhappy woman's lifethe child was her only comfort. Ortegna's conduct had become so openlyand defiantly infamous, that he even flaunted his illegitimate relationsin his wife's presence; subjecting her to gross insults, spite of herhelpless invalidism. This last outrage was too much for the Gonzagablood to endure; the Senora never afterward left her apartment, or spoketo her husband. Once more she sent for her sister to come; this time, tosee her die. Every valuable she possessed, jewels, laces, brocades, anddamasks, she gave into her sister's charge, to save them from fallinginto the hands of the base creature that she knew only too well wouldstand in her place as soon as the funeral services had been said overher dead body. 

Stealthily, as if she had been a thief, the sorrowing Senora Morenoconveyed her sister's wardrobe, article by article, out of the house, tobe sent to her own home. It was the wardrobe of a princess. The Ortegnaslavished money always on the women whose hearts they broke; and neverceased to demand of them that they should sit superbly arrayed in theirlonely wretchedness. 

One hour after the funeral, with a scant and icy ceremony of farewellto her dead sister's husband, Senora Moreno, leading the littlefour-year-old Ramona by the hand, left the house, and early the nextmorning set sail for home. 

When Ortegna discovered that his wife's jewels and valuables of allkinds were gone, he fell into a great rage, and sent a messenger off, post-haste, with an insulting letter to the Senora Moreno, demandingtheir return. For answer, he got a copy of his wife's memoranda ofinstructions to her sister, giving all the said valuables to her intrust for Ramona; also a letter from Father Salvierderra, upon readingwhich he sank into a fit of despondency that lasted a day or two, andgave his infamous associates considerable alarm, lest they had losttheir comrade. But he soon shook off the influence, whatever it was, andsettled back into his old gait on the same old high-road to the devil. Father Salvierderra could alarm him, but not save him. 

And this was the mystery of Ramona. No wonder the Senora Moreno nevertold the story. No wonder, perhaps, that she never loved the child. Itwas a sad legacy, indissolubly linked with memories which had in themnothing but bitterness, shame, and sorrow from first to last. 

How much of all this the young Ramona knew or suspected, was locked inher own breast. Her Indian blood had as much proud reserve in it as wasever infused into the haughtiest Gonzaga's veins. While she was yet alittle child, she had one day said to the Senora Moreno, "Senora, whydid my mother give me to the Senora Ortegna?"

Taken unawares, the Senora replied hastily: "Your mother had nothingwhatever to do with it. It was your father. "

"Was my mother dead?" continued the child. 

Too late the Senora saw her mistake. "I do not know, " she replied; whichwas literally true, but had the spirit of a lie in it. "I never saw yourmother. "

"Did the Senora Ortegna ever see her?" persisted Ramona. 

"No, never, " answered the Senora, coldly, the old wounds burning at theinnocent child's unconscious touch. 

Ramona felt the chill, and was silent for a time, her face sad, and hereyes tearful. At last she said, "I wish I knew if my mother was dead. "

"Why?" asked the Senora. 

"Because if she is not dead I would ask her why she did not want me tostay with her. "

The gentle piteousness of this reply smote the Senora's conscience. Taking the child in her arms, she said, "Who has been talking to you ofthese things, Ramona?"

"Juan Can, " she replied. 

"What did he say?" asked the Senora, with a look in her eye which bodedno good to Juan Canito. 

"It was not to me he said it, it was to Luigo; but I heard him, "answered Ramona, speaking slowly, as if collecting her variousreminiscences on the subject. "Twice I heard him. He said that my motherwas no good, and that my father was bad too. " And the tears rolled downthe child's cheeks. 

The Senora's sense of justice stood her well in place of tenderness, now. Caressing the little orphan as she had never before done, she said, with an earnestness which sank deep into the child's mind, "Ramona mustnot believe any such thing as that. Juan Can is a bad man to say it. He never saw either your father or your mother, and so he could knownothing about them. I knew your father very well. He was not a bad man. He was my friend, and the friend of the Senora Ortegna; and that was thereason he gave you to the Senora Ortegna, because she had no child ofher own. And I think your mother had a good many. "

"Oh!" said Ramona, relieved, for the moment, at this new view of thesituation, --that the gift had been not as a charity to her, but to theSenora Ortegna. "Did the Senora Ortegna want a little daughter verymuch?"

"Yes, very much indeed, " said the Senora, heartily and with fervor. "Shehad grieved many years because she had no child. "

Silence again for a brief space, during which the little lonely heart, grappling with its vague instinct of loss and wrong, made wide thrustsinto the perplexities hedging it about, and presently electrified theSenora by saying in a half-whisper, "Why did not my father bring me toyou first? Did he know you did not want any daughter?"

The Senora was dumb for a second; then recovering herself, she said:"Your father was the Senora Ortegna's friend more than he was mine. Iwas only a child, then. "

"Of course you did not need any daughter when you had Felipe, " continuedRamona, pursuing her original line of inquiry and reflection withoutnoticing the Senora's reply. "A son is more than a daughter; but mostpeople have both, " eying the Senora keenly, to see what response thiswould bring. 

But the Senora was weary and uncomfortable with the talk. At the verymention of Felipe, a swift flash of consciousness of her inabilityto love Ramona had swept through her mind. "Ramona, " she said firmly, "while you are a little girl, you cannot understand any of these things. When you are a woman, I will tell you all that I know myself about yourfather and your mother. It is very little. Your father died when youwere only two years old. All that you have to do is to be a good child, and say your prayers, and when Father Salvierderra comes he will bepleased with you. And he will not be pleased if you ask troublesomequestions. Don't ever speak to me again about this. When the proper timecomes I will tell you myself. "

This was when Ramona was ten. She was now nineteen. She had never againasked the Senora a question bearing on the forbidden subject. She hadbeen a good child and said her prayers, and Father Salvierderra had beenalways pleased with her, growing more and more deeply attached to heryear by year. But the proper time had not yet come for the Senora totell her anything more about her father and mother. There were fewmornings on which the girl did not think, "Perhaps it may be to-daythat she will tell me. " But she would not ask. Every word of thatconversation was as vivid in her mind as it had been the day itoccurred; and it would hardly be an exaggeration to say that duringevery day of the whole nine years had deepened in her heart theconviction which had prompted the child's question, "Did he know thatyou did not want any daughter?"

A nature less gentle than Ramona's would have been embittered, or atleast hardened, by this consciousness. But Ramona's was not. She neverput it in words to herself. She accepted it, as those born deformed seemsometimes to accept the pain and isolation caused by their deformity, with an unquestioning acceptance, which is as far above resignation, asresignation is above rebellious repining. 

No one would have known, from Ramona's face, manner, or habitualconduct, that she had ever experienced a sorrow or had a care. Her facewas sunny, she had a joyous voice, and never was seen to pass a humanbeing without a cheerful greeting, to highest and lowest the same. Herindustry was tireless. She had had two years at school, in the Conventof the Sacred Heart at Los Angeles, where the Senora had placed herat much personal sacrifice, during one of the hardest times the Morenoestate had ever seen. Here she had won the affection of all the Sisters, who spoke of her habitually as the "blessed child. " They had taught herall the dainty arts of lace-weaving, embroidery, and simple fashionsof painting and drawing, which they knew; not overmuch learning out ofbooks, but enough to make her a passionate lover of verse and romance. For serious study or for deep thought she had no vocation. She was asimple, joyous, gentle, clinging, faithful nature, like a clear brookrippling along in the sun, --a nature as unlike as possible to theSenora's, with its mysterious depths and stormy, hidden currents. 

Of these Ramona was dimly conscious, and at times had a tender, sorrowful pity for the Senora, which she dared not show, and could onlyexpress by renewed industry, and tireless endeavor to fulfil every dutypossible in the house. This gentle faithfulness was not wholly lost onSenora Moreno, though its source she never suspected; and it won no newrecognition from her for Ramona, no increase of love. 

But there was one on whom not an act, not a look, not a smile of allthis graciousness was thrown away. That one was Felipe. Daily more andmore he wondered at his mother's lack of affection for Ramona. Nobodyknew so well as he how far short she stopped of loving her. Felipe knewwhat it meant, how it felt, to be loved by the Senora Moreno. But Felipehad learned while he was a boy that one sure way to displease his motherwas to appear to be aware that she did not treat Ramona as she treatedhim. And long before he had become a man he had acquired the habit ofkeeping to himself most of the things he thought and felt about hislittle playmate sister, --a dangerous habit, out of which were slowlyripening bitter fruits for the Senora's gathering in later years. 

IV

IT was longer even than the Senora had thought it would be, beforeFather Salvierderra arrived. The old man had grown feeble during theyear that she had not seen him, and it was a very short day's journeythat he could make now without too great fatigue. It was not only hisbody that had failed. He had lost heart; and the miles which would havebeen nothing to him, had he walked in the companionship of hopeful andhappy thoughts, stretched out wearily as he brooded over sad memoriesand still sadder anticipations, --the downfall of the Missions, the lossof their vast estates, and the growing power of the ungodly in the land. The final decision of the United States Government in regard to theMission-lands had been a terrible blow to him. He had devoutly believedthat ultimate restoration of these great estates to the Church wasinevitable. In the long vigils which he always kept when at home at theFranciscan Monastery in Santa Barbara, kneeling on the stone pavementin the church, and praying ceaselessly from midnight till dawn, he hadoften had visions vouchsafed him of a new dispensation, in which theMission establishments should be reinstated in all their old splendorand prosperity, and their Indian converts again numbered by tens ofthousands. 

Long after every one knew that this was impossible, he would narratethese visions with the faith of an old Bible seer, and declare that theymust come true, and that it was a sin to despond. But as year after yearhe journeyed up and down the country, seeing, at Mission after Mission, the buildings crumbling into ruin, the lands all taken, sold, resold, and settled by greedy speculators; the Indian converts disappearing, driven back to their original wildernesses, the last traces of the noblework of his order being rapidly swept away, his courage faltered, hisfaith died out. Changes in the manners and customs of his order itself, also, were giving him deep pain. He was a Franciscan of the same type asFrancis of Assisi. To wear a shoe in place of a sandal, to take money ina purse for a journey, above all to lay aside the gray gown and cowl forany sort of secular garment, seemed to him wicked. To own comfortableclothes while there were others suffering for want of them--andthere were always such--seemed to him a sin for which one might notundeservedly be smitten with sudden and terrible punishment. In vain theBrothers again and again supplied him with a warm cloak; he gave it awayto the first beggar he met: and as for food, the refectory would havebeen left bare, and the whole brotherhood starving, if the supplies hadnot been carefully hidden and locked, so that Father Salvierderra couldnot give them all away. He was fast becoming that most tragic yet oftensublime sight, a man who has survived, not only his own time, butthe ideas and ideals of it. Earth holds no sharper loneliness: thebitterness of exile, the anguish of friendlessness at their utmost, are in it; and yet it is so much greater than they, that even they seemsmall part of it. 

It was with thoughts such as these that Father Salvierderra drew nearthe home of the Senora Moreno late in the afternoon of one of thosemidsummer days of which Southern California has so many in spring. Thealmonds had bloomed and the blossoms fallen; the apricots also, and thepeaches and pears; on all the orchards of these fruits had come a filmytint of green, so light it was hardly more than a shadow on the gray. The willows were vivid light green, and the orange groves dark andglossy like laurel. The billowy hills on either side the valley werecovered with verdure and bloom, --myriads of low blossoming plants, soclose to the earth that their tints lapped and overlapped on each other, and on the green of the grass, as feathers in fine plumage overlap eachother and blend into a changeful color. 

The countless curves, hollows, and crests of the coast-hills in SouthernCalifornia heighten these chameleon effects of the spring verdure; theyare like nothing in nature except the glitter of a brilliant lizard inthe sun or the iridescent sheen of a peacock's neck. 

Father Salvierderra paused many times to gaze at the beautiful picture. Flowers were always dear to the Franciscans. Saint Francis himselfpermitted all decorations which could be made of flowers. He classedthem with his brothers and sisters, the sun, moon, and stars, --allmembers of the sacred choir praising God. 

It was melancholy to see how, after each one of these pauses, each freshdrinking in of the beauty of the landscape and the balmy air, the oldman resumed his slow pace, with a long sigh and his eyes cast down. The fairer this beautiful land, the sadder to know it lost to theChurch, --alien hands reaping its fulness, establishing new customs, new laws. All the way down the coast from Santa Barbara he had seen, at every stopping-place, new tokens of the settling up of thecountry, --farms opening, towns growing; the Americans pouring in, atall points, to reap the advantages of their new possessions. It wasthis which had made his journey heavy-hearted, and made him feel, inapproaching the Senora Moreno's, as if he were coming to one of the lastsure strongholds of the Catholic faith left in the country. 

When he was within two miles of the house, he struck off from thehighway into a narrow path that he recollected led by a short-cutthrough the hills, and saved nearly a third of the distance. It wasmore than a year since he had trod this path, and as he found it growingfainter and fainter, and more and more overgrown with the wild mustard, he said to himself, "I think no one can have passed through here thisyear. "

As he proceeded he found the mustard thicker and thicker. The wildmustard in Southern California is like that spoken of in the NewTestament, in the branches of which the birds of the air may rest. Coming up out of the earth, so slender a stem that dozens can findstarting-point in an inch, it darts up, a slender straight shoot, five, ten, twenty feet, with hundreds of fine feathery branches lockingand interlocking with all the other hundreds around it, till it is aninextricable network like lace. Then it bursts into yellow bloom stillfiner, more feathery and lacelike. The stems are so infinitesimallysmall, and of so dark a green, that at a short distance they do notshow, and the cloud of blossom seems floating in the air; at times itlooks like golden dust. With a clear blue sky behind it, as it is oftenseen, it looks like a golden snow-storm. The plant is a tyrant and anuisance, --the terror of the farmer; it takes riotous possession of awhole field in a season; once in, never out; for one plant this year, amillion the next; but it is impossible to wish that the land were freedfrom it. Its gold is as distinct a value to the eye as the nugget goldis in the pocket. 

Father Salvierderra soon found himself in a veritable thicket of thesedelicate branches, high above his head, and so interlaced that he couldmake headway only by slowly and patiently disentangling them, as onewould disentangle a skein of silk. It was a fantastic sort of dilemma, and not unpleasing. Except that the Father was in haste to reach hisjourney's end, he would have enjoyed threading his way throughthe golden meshes. Suddenly he heard faint notes of singing. Hepaused, --listened. It was the voice of a woman. It was slowly drawingnearer, apparently from the direction in which he was going. Atintervals it ceased abruptly, then began again; as if by a sudden butbrief interruption, like that made by question and answer. Then, peeringahead through the mustard blossoms, he saw them waving and bending, andheard sounds as if they were being broken. Evidently some one enteringon the path from the opposite end had been caught in the fragrantthicket as he was. The notes grew clearer, though still low and sweetas the twilight notes of the thrush; the mustard branches waved more andmore violently; light steps were now to be heard. Father Salvierderrastood still as one in a dream, his eyes straining forward into thegolden mist of blossoms. In a moment more came, distinct and clear tohis ear, the beautiful words of the second stanza of Saint Francis'sinimitable lyric, "The Canticle of the Sun:"

"Praise be to thee, O Lord, for all thy creatures, and especially forour brother the Sun, --who illuminates the day, and by his beauty andsplendor shadows forth unto us thine. "

"Ramona!" exclaimed the Father, his thin cheeks flushing with pleasure. "The blessed child!" And as he spoke, her face came into sight, set ina swaying frame of the blossoms, as she parted them lightly to right andleft with her hands, and half crept, half danced through the loop-holeopenings thus made. Father Salvierderra was past eighty, but his bloodwas not too old to move quicker at the sight of this picture. A man mustbe dead not to thrill at it. Ramona's beauty was of the sort to be bestenhanced by the waving gold which now framed her face. She had justenough of olive tint in her complexion to underlie and enrich her skinwithout making it swarthy. Her hair was like her Indian mother's, heavyand black, but her eyes were like her father's, steel-blue. Only thosewho came very near to Ramona knew, however, that her eyes were blue, forthe heavy black eyebrows and long black lashes so shaded and shadowedthem that they looked black as night. At the same instant that FatherSalvierderra first caught sight of her face, Ramona also saw him, andcrying out joyfully, "Ah, Father, I knew you would come by this path, and something told me you were near!" she sprang forward, and sank onher knees before him, bowing her head for his blessing. In silence helaid his hands on her brow. It would not have been easy for him to speakto her at that first moment. She had looked to the devout old monk, asshe sprang through the cloud of golden flowers, the sun falling onher bared head, her cheeks flushed, her eyes shining, more like anapparition of an angel or saint, than like the flesh-and-blood maidenwhom he had carried in his arms when she was a babe. 

"We have been waiting, waiting, oh, so long for you, Father!" she said, rising. "We began to fear that you might be ill. The shearers have beensent for, and will be here tonight, and that was the reason I felt sosure you would come. I knew the Virgin would bring you in time for massin the chapel on the first morning. "

The monk smiled half sadly. "Would there were more with such faith asyours, daughter, " he said. "Are all well on the place?"

"Yes, Father, all well, " she answered. "Felipe has been ill with afever; but he is out now, these ten days, and fretting for--for yourcoming. "

Ramona had like to have said the literal truth, --"fretting for thesheep-shearing, " but recollected herself in time. 

"And the Senora?" said the Father. 

"She is well, " answered Ramona, gently, but with a slight change oftone, --so slight as to be almost imperceptible; but an acute observerwould have always detected it in the girl's tone whenever she spoke ofthe Senora Moreno. "And you, --are you well yourself, Father?" she askedaffectionately, noting with her quick, loving eye how feebly the oldman walked, and that he carried what she had never before seen in hishand, --a stout staff to steady his steps. "You must be very tired withthe long journey on foot. "

"Ay, Ramona, I am tired, " he replied. "Old age is conquering me. It willnot be many times more that I shall see this place. "

"Oh, do not say that, Father, " cried Ramona; "you can ride, when ittires you too much to walk. The Senora said, only the other day, thatshe wished you would let her give you a horse; that it was not right foryou to take these long journeys on foot. You know we have hundreds ofhorses. It is nothing, one horse, " she added, seeing the Father slowlyshake his head. 

"No;" he said, "it is not that. I could not refuse anything at the handsof the Senora. But it was the rule of our order to go on foot. Wemust deny the flesh. Look at our beloved master in this land, FatherJunipero, when he was past eighty, walking from San Diego to Monterey, and all the while a running ulcer in one of his legs, for which most menwould have taken to a bed, to be healed. It is a sinful fashion thatis coming in, for monks to take their ease doing God's work. I can nolonger walk swiftly, but I must walk all the more diligently. "

While they were talking, they had been slowly moving forward, Ramonaslightly in advance, gracefully bending the mustard branches, andholding them down till the Father had followed in her steps. As theycame out from the thicket, she exclaimed, laughing, "There is Felipe, inthe willows. I told him I was coming to meet you, and he laughed at me. Now he will see I was right. "

Astonished enough, Felipe, hearing voices, looked up, and saw Ramona andthe Father approaching. Throwing down the knife with which he had beencutting the willows, he hastened to meet them, and dropped on his knees, as Ramona had done, for the monk's blessing. As he knelt there, the windblowing his hair loosely off his brow, his large brown eyes lifted ingentle reverence to the Father's face, and his face full of affectionatewelcome, Ramona thought to herself, as she had thought hundreds of timessince she became a woman, "How beautiful Felipe is! No wonder the Senoraloves him so much! If I had been beautiful like that she would haveliked me better. " Never was a little child more unconscious of her ownbeauty than Ramona still was. All the admiration which was expressedto her in word and look she took for simple kindness and good-will. Her face, as she herself saw it in her glass, did not please her. Shecompared her straight, massive black eyebrows with Felipe's, arched anddelicately pencilled, and found her own ugly. The expression of gentlerepose which her countenance wore, seemed to her an expression ofstupidity. "Felipe looks so bright!" she thought, as she noted hismobile changing face, never for two successive seconds the same. "Thereis nobody like Felipe. " And when his brown eyes were fixed on her, asthey so often were, in a long lingering gaze, she looked steadily backinto their velvet depths with an abstracted sort of intensity whichprofoundly puzzled Felipe. It was this look, more than any other onething, which had for two years held Felipe's tongue in leash, as itwere, and made it impossible for him to say to Ramona any of the lovingthings of which his heart had been full ever since he could remember. The boy had spoken them unhesitatingly, unconsciously; but the man foundhimself suddenly afraid. "What is it she thinks when she looks into myeyes so?" he wondered. If he had known that the thing she was usuallythinking was simply, "How much handsomer brown eyes are than blue!I wish my eyes were the color of Felipe's!" he would have perceived, perhaps, what would have saved him sorrow, if he had known it, that agirl who looked at a man thus, would be hard to win to look at him as alover. But being a lover, he could not see this. He saw only enough toperplex and deter him. 

As they drew near the house, Ramona saw Margarita standing at the gateof the garden. She was holding something white in her hands, lookingdown at it, and crying piteously. As she perceived Ramona, she made aneager leap forward, and then shrank back again, making dumb signalsof distress to her. Her whole attitude was one of misery and entreaty. Margarita was, of all the maids, most beloved by Ramona. Though theywere nearly of the same age, it had been Margarita who first had chargeof Ramona; the nurse and her charge had played together, grown uptogether, become women together, and were now, although Margarita neverpresumed on the relation, or forgot to address Ramona as Senorita, morelike friends than like mistress and maid. 

"Pardon me, Father, " said Ramona. "I see that Margarita there is introuble. I will leave Felipe to go with you to the house. I will be withyou again in a few moments. " And kissing his hand, she flew rather thanran across the field to the foot of the garden. 

Before she reached the spot, Margarita had dropped on the ground andburied her face in her hands. A mass of crumpled and stained linen layat her feet. 

"What is it? What has happened, Margarita mia?" cried Ramona, in theaffectionate Spanish phrase. For answer, Margarita removed one wet handfrom her eyes, and pointed with a gesture of despair to the crumpledlinen. Sobs choked her voice, and she buried her face again in herhands. 

Ramona stooped, and lifted one corner of the linen. An involuntary cryof dismay broke from her, at which Margarita's sobs redoubled, andshe gasped out, "Yes, Senorita, it is totally ruined! It can never bemended, and it will be needed for the mass to-morrow morning. When I sawthe Father coming by your side, I prayed to the Virgin to let me die. The Senora will never forgive me. "

It was indeed a sorry sight. The white linen altar-cloth, the clothwhich the Senora Moreno had with her own hands made into one solid frontof beautiful lace of the Mexican fashion, by drawing out part of thethreads and sewing the remainder into intricate patterns, thecloth which had always been on the altar, when mass was said, sinceMargarita's and Ramona's earliest recollections, --there it lay, torn, stained, as if it had been dragged through muddy brambles. In silence, aghast, Ramona opened it out and held it up. "How did it happen, Margarita?" she whispered, glancing in terror up towards the house. 

"Oh, that is the worst of it, Senorita!" sobbed the girl. "That is theworst of it! If it were not for that, I would not be so afraid. If ithad happened any other way, the Senora might have forgiven me; but shenever will. I would rather die than tell her;" and she shook from headto foot. 

"Stop crying, Margarita!" said Ramona, firmly, "and tell me all aboutit. It isn't so bad as it looks. I think I can mend it. "

"Oh, the saints bless you!" cried Margarita, looking up for the firsttime. "Do you really think you can mend it, Senorita? If you will mendthat lace, I'll go on my knees for you all the rest of my life!"

Ramona laughed in spite of herself. "You'll serve me better by keepingon your feet, " she said merrily; at which Margarita laughed too, throughher tears. They were both young. 

"Oh, but Senorita, " Margarita began again in a tone of anguish, hertears flowing afresh, "there is not time! It must be washed and ironedto-night, for the mass to-morrow morning, and I have to help at thesupper. Anita and Rosa are both ill in bed, you know, and Maria has goneaway for a week. The Senora said if the Father came to-night I must helpmother, and must wait on table. It cannot be done. I was just goingto iron it now, and I found it--so--It was in the artichoke-patch, andCapitan, the beast, had been tossing it among the sharp pricks of theold last year's seeds. "

"In the artichoke-patch!" ejaculated Ramona. "How under heavens did itget there?"

"Oh, that was what I meant, Senorita, when I said she never wouldforgive me. She has forbidden me many times to hang anything to dry onthe fence there; and if I had only washed it when she first told me, twodays ago, all would have been well. But I forgot it till this afternoon, and there was no sun in the court to dry it, and you know how the sunlies on the artichoke-patch, and I put a strong cloth over the fence, so that the wood should not pierce the lace, and I did not leave it morethan half an hour, just while I said a few words to Luigo, and therewas no wind; and I believe the saints must have fetched it down to theground to punish me for my disobedience. "

Ramona had been all this time carefully smoothing out the torn places, "It is not so bad as it looks, " she said; "if it were not for the hurry, there would be no trouble in mending it. But I will do it the best Ican, so that it will not show, for to-morrow, and then, after the Fatheris gone, I can repair it at leisure, and make it just as good as new. I think I can mend it and wash it before dark, " and she glanced at thesun. "Oh, yes, there are good three hours of daylight yet. I can do it. You put the irons on the fire, to have them hot, to iron it as soonas it is partly dried. You will see it will not show that anything hashappened to it. "

"Will the Senora know?" asked poor Margarita, calmed and reassured, butstill in mortal terror. 

Ramona turned her steady glance full on Margarita's face. "You would notbe any happier if she were deceived, do you think?" she said gravely. 

"O Senorita, after it is mended? If it really does not show?" pleadedthe girl. 

"I will tell her myself, and not till after it is mended, " said Ramona;but she did not smile. 

"Ah, Senorita, " said Margarita, deprecatingly, "you do not know what itis to have the Senora displeased with one. "

"Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with one's self, " retortedRamona, as she walked swiftly away to her room with the linen rolled upunder her arm. Luckily for Margarita's cause, she met no one on the way. The Senora had welcomed Father Salvierderra at the foot of the verandasteps, and had immediately closeted herself with him. She had much tosay to him, --much about which she wished his help and counsel, and muchwhich she wished to learn from him as to affairs in the Church and inthe country generally. 

Felipe had gone off at once to find Juan Canito, to see if everythingwere ready for the sheep-shearing to begin on the next day, if theshearers arrived in time; and there was very good chance of their comingin by sundown this day, Felipe thought, for he had privately instructedhis messenger to make all possible haste, and to impress on the Indiansthe urgent need of their losing no time on the road. 

It had been a great concession on the Senora's part to allow themessenger to be sent off before she had positive intelligence as to theFather's movements. But as day after day passed and no news came, evenshe perceived that it would not do to put off the sheep-shearing muchlonger, or, as Juan Canito said, "forever. " The Father might have fallenill; and if that were so, it might very easily be weeks before theyheard of it, so scanty were the means of communication between theremote places on his route of visitation. The messenger had thereforebeen sent to summon the Temecula shearers, and Senora had resignedherself to the inevitable; piously praying, however, morning and night, and at odd moments in the day, that the Father might arrive before theIndians did. When she saw him coming up the garden-walk, leaning onthe arm of her Felipe, on the afternoon of the very day which was theearliest possible day for the Indians to arrive, it was not strange thatshe felt, mingled with the joy of her greeting to her long-loved friendand confessor, a triumphant exultation that the saints had heard herprayers. 

In the kitchen all was bustle and stir. The coming of any guest into thehouse was a signal for unwonted activities there, --even the coming ofFather Salvierderra, who never knew whether the soup had force-meatballs in it or not, old Marda said; and that was to her the last extremeof indifference to good things of the flesh. "But if he will not eat, he can see, " she said; and her pride for herself and for the house wasenlisted in setting forth as goodly an array of viands as her larderafforded, She grew suddenly fastidious over the size and color of thecabbages to go into the beef-pot, and threw away one whole saucepan fullof rice, because Margarita had put only one onion in instead of two. 

"Have I not told you again and again that for the Father it is alwaystwo onions?" she exclaimed. "It is the dish he most favors of all; andit is a pity too, old as he is. It makes him no blood. It is good beefhe should take now. "

The dining-room was on the opposite side of the courtyard from thekitchen, and there was a perpetual procession of small messengers goingback and forth between the rooms. It was the highest ambition of eachchild to be allowed to fetch and carry dishes in the preparation ofthe meals at all times; but when by so doing they could perchance get aglimpse through the dining-room door, open on the veranda, of strangersand guests, their restless rivalry became unmanageable. Poor Margarita, between her own private anxieties and her multiplied duties of helpingin the kitchen, and setting the table, restraining and overseeing herarmy of infant volunteers, was nearly distraught; not so distraught, however, but that she remembered and found time to seize a lightedcandle in the kitchen, run and set it before the statue of Saint Francisof Paula in her bedroom, hurriedly whispering a prayer that the lacemight be made whole like new. Several times before the afternoon hadwaned she snatched a moment to fling herself down at the statue's feetand pray her foolish little prayer over again. We think we are quitesure that it is a foolish little prayer, when people pray to have tornlace made whole. But it would be hard to show the odds between askingthat, and asking that it may rain, or that the sick may get well. As thegrand old Russian says, what men usually ask for, when they pray to God, is, that two and two may not make four. All the same he is to be pitiedwho prays not. It was only the thought of that candle at Saint Francis'sfeet, which enabled Margarita to struggle through this anxious andunhappy afternoon and evening. 

At last supper was ready, --a great dish of spiced beef and cabbage inthe centre of the table; a tureen of thick soup, with force-meat ballsand red peppers in it; two red earthen platters heaped, one with theboiled rice and onions, the other with the delicious frijoles (beans)so dear to all Mexican hearts; cut-glass dishes filled with hot stewedpears, or preserved quinces, or grape jelly; plates of frosted cakes ofvarious sorts; and a steaming silver teakettle, from which went up anaroma of tea such as had never been bought or sold in all California, the Senora's one extravagance and passion. 

"Where is Ramona?" asked the Senora, surprised and displeased, as sheentered the dining-room, "Margarita, go tell the Senorita that we arewaiting for her. "

Margarita started tremblingly, with flushed face, towards the door. Whatwould happen now! "O Saint Francis, " she inwardly prayed, "help us thisonce!"

"Stay, " said Felipe. "Do not call Senorita Ramona. " Then, turning to hismother, "Ramona cannot come. She is not in the house. She has a duty toperform for to-morrow, " he said; and he looked meaningly at his mother, adding, "we will not wait for her. "

Much bewildered, the Senora took her seat at the head of the table in amechanical way, and began, "But--" Felipe, seeing that questions were tofollow, interrupted her: "I have just spoken with her. It is impossiblefor her to come;" and turning to Father Salvierderra, he at once engagedhim in conversation, and left the baffled Senora to bear her unsatisfiedcuriosity as best she could. 

Margarita looked at Felipe with an expression of profound gratitude, which he did not observe, and would not in the least have understood;for Ramona had not confided to him any details of the disaster. Seeinghim under her window, she had called cautiously to him, and said: "DearFelipe, do you think you can save me from having to come to supper? Adreadful accident has happened to the altar-cloth, and I must mend itand wash it, and there is barely time before dark. Don't let them callme; I shall be down at the brook, and they will not find me, and yourmother will be displeased. "

This wise precaution of Ramona's was the salvation of everything, so faras the altar-cloth was concerned. The rents had proved far less seriousthan she had feared; the daylight held out till the last of them wasskilfully mended; and just as the red beams of the sinking sun camestreaming through the willow-trees at the foot of the garden, Ramona, darting down the garden, had reached the brook, and kneeling on thegrass, had dipped the linen into the water. 

Her hurried working over the lace, and her anxiety, had made her cheeksscarlet. As she ran down the garden, her comb had loosened and her hairfallen to her waist. Stopping only to pick up the comb and thrust it inher pocket, she had sped on, as it would soon be too dark for her to seethe stains on the linen, and it was going to be no small trouble to getthem out without fraying the lace. 

Her hair in disorder, her sleeves pinned loosely on her shoulders, herwhole face aglow with the earnestness of her task, she bent low overthe stones, rinsing the altar-cloth up and down in the water, anxiouslyscanning it, then plunging it in again. 

The sunset beams played around her hair like a halo; the whole place wasaglow with red light, and her face was kindled into transcendent beauty. A sound arrested her attention. She looked up. Forms, dusky blackagainst the fiery western sky, were coming down the valley. It was theband of Indian shearers. They turned to the left, and went towards thesheep sheds and booths. But there was one of them that Ramona did notsee. He had been standing for some minutes concealed behind a largewillow-tree a few rods from the place where Ramona was kneeling. It wasAlessandro, son of Pablo Assis, captain of the shearing band. Walkingslowly along in advance of his men, he had felt a light, as from amirror held in the sun, smite his eyes. It was the red sunbeam on theglittering water where Ramona knelt. In the same second he saw Ramona. 

He halted, as wild creatures of the forest halt at a sound; gazed;walked abruptly away from his men, who kept on, not noticing hisdisappearance. Cautiously he moved a few steps nearer, into the shelterof a gnarled old willow, from behind which he could gaze unperceived onthe beautiful vision, --for so it seemed to him. 

As he gazed, his senses seemed leaving him, and unconsciously he spokealoud; "Christ! What shall I do!"

V

THE room in which Father Salvierderra always slept when at the SenoraMoreno's house was the southeast corner room. It had a window to thesouth and one to the east. When the first glow of dawn came in the sky, this eastern window was lit up as by a fire. The Father was always onwatch for it, having usually been at prayer for hours. As the first rayreached the window, he would throw the casement wide open, and standingthere with bared head, strike up the melody of the sunrise hymn sung inall devout Mexican families. It was a beautiful custom, not yet whollyabandoned. At the first dawn of light, the oldest member of the familyarose, and began singing some hymn familiar to the household. It was theduty of each person hearing it to immediately rise, or at least sit upin bed, and join in the singing. In a few moments the whole family wouldbe singing, and the joyous sounds pouring out from the house likethe music of the birds in the fields at dawn. The hymns were usuallyinvocations to the Virgin, or to the saint of the day, and the melodieswere sweet and simple. 

On this morning there was another watcher for the dawn besides FatherSalvierderra. It was Alessandro, who had been restlessly wandering aboutsince midnight, and had finally seated himself under the willow-trees bythe brook, at the spot where he had seen Ramona the evening before. Herecollected this custom of the sunrise hymn when he and his band wereat the Senora's the last year, and he had chanced then to learn that theFather slept in the southeast room. From the spot where he sat, he couldsee the south window of this room. He could also see the low easternhorizon, at which a faint luminous line already showed. The sky was likeamber; a few stars still shone faintly in the zenith. There was nota sound. It was one of those rare moments in which one can withoutdifficulty realize the noiseless spinning of the earth through space. Alessandro knew nothing of this; he could not have been made to believethat the earth was moving. He thought the sun was coming up apace, and the earth was standing still, --a belief just as grand, just asthrilling, so far as all that goes, as the other: men worshipped the sunlong before they found out that it stood still. Not the most reverentastronomer, with the mathematics of the heavens at his tongue's end, could have had more delight in the wondrous phenomenon of the dawn, thandid this simple-minded, unlearned man. 

His eyes wandered from the horizon line of slowly increasing light, tothe windows of the house, yet dark and still. "Which window is hers?Will she open it when the song begins?" he thought. "Is it on this sideof the house? Who can she be? She was not here last year. Saw the saintsever so beautiful a creature!"

At last came the full red ray across the meadow. Alessandro sprang tohis feet. In the next second Father Salvierderra flung up his southwindow, and leaning out, his cowl thrown off, his thin gray locksstreaming back, began in a feeble but not unmelodious voice to sing, --

 "O beautiful Queen, Princess of Heaven. "

Before he had finished the second line, a half-dozen voices had joinedin, --the Senora, from her room at the west end of the veranda, beyondthe flowers; Felipe, from the adjoining room; Ramona, from hers, thenext; and Margarita and other of the maids already astir in the wings ofthe house. As the volume of melody swelled, the canaries waked, and thefinches and the linnets in the veranda roof. The tiles of this roof werelaid on bundles of tule reeds, in which the linnets delighted to buildtheir nests. The roof was alive with them, --scores and scores, nayhundreds, tame as chickens; their tiny shrill twitter was like thetuning of myriads of violins. 

 "Singers at dawn From the heavens above People all regions; Gladly we too sing, "

continued the hymn, the birds corroborating the stanza. Then men'svoices joined in, --Juan and Luigo, and a dozen more, walking slowly upfrom the sheepfolds. The hymn was a favorite one, known to all. 

 "Come, O sinners, Come, and we will sing Tender hymns To our refuge, "

was the chorus, repeated after each of the five verses of the hymn. 

Alessandro also knew the hymn well. His father, Chief Pablo, had beenthe leader of the choir at the San Luis Rey Mission in the last years ofits splendor, and had brought away with him much of the old choir music. Some of the books had been written by his own hand, on parchment. He notonly sang well, but was a good player on the violin. There was not atany of the Missions so fine a band of performers on stringed instrumentsas at San Luis Rey. Father Peyri was passionately fond of music, andspared no pains in training all the neophytes under his charge whoshowed any special talent in that direction. Chief Pablo, after thebreaking up of the Mission, had settled at Temecula, with a small bandof his Indians, and endeavored, so far as was in his power, to keepup the old religious services. The music in the little chapel of theTemecula Indians was a surprise to all who heard it. 

Alessandro had inherited his father's love and talent for music, andknew all the old Mission music by heart. This hymn to the

 "Beautiful Queen, Princess of Heaven, "

was one of his special favorites; and as he heard verse after verserising, he could not forbear striking in. 

At the first notes of this rich new voice, Ramona's voice ceased insurprise; and, throwing up her window, she leaned out, eagerly lookingin all directions to see who it could be. Alessandro saw her, and sangno more. 

"What could it have been? Did I dream it?" thought Ramona, drew in herhead, and began to sing again. 

With the next stanza of the chorus, the same rich barytone notes. Theyseemed to float in under all the rest, and bear them along, as a greatwave bears a boat. Ramona had never heard such a voice. Felipe hada good tenor, and she liked to sing with him, or to hear him; butthis--this was from another world, this sound. Ramona felt every note ofit penetrating her consciousness with a subtle thrill almost like pain. When the hymn ended, she listened eagerly, hoping Father Salvierderrawould strike up a second hymn, as he often did; but he did not thismorning; there was too much to be done; everybody was in a hurry tobe at work: windows shut, doors opened; the sounds of voices from alldirections, ordering, questioning, answering, began to be heard. The sunrose and let a flood of work-a-day light on the whole place. 

Margarita ran and unlocked the chapel door, putting up a heartfeltthanksgiving to Saint Francis and the Senorita, as she saw the snowyaltar-cloth in its place, looking, from that distance at least, as goodas new. 

The Indians and the shepherds, and laborers of all sorts, were comingtowards the chapel. The Senora, with her best black silk handkerchiefbound tight around her forehead, the ends hanging down each side of herface, making her look like an Assyrian priestess, was descending theveranda steps, Felipe at her side; and Father Salvierderra had alreadyentered the chapel before Ramona appeared, or Alessandro stirred fromhis vantage-post of observation at the willows. 

When Ramona came out from the door she bore in her hands a high silverurn filled with ferns. She had been for many days gathering and hoardingthese. They were hard to find, growing only in one place in a rockycanon, several miles away. 

As she stepped from the veranda to the ground, Alessandro walked slowlyup the garden-walk, facing her. She met his eyes, and, without knowingwhy, thought, "That must be the Indian who sang. " As she turned to theright and entered the chapel, Alessandro followed her hurriedly, andknelt on the stones close to the chapel door. He would be near when shecame out. As he looked in at the door, he saw her glide up the aisle, place the ferns on the reading-desk, and then kneel down by Felipe infront of the altar. Felipe turned towards her, smiling slightly, with alook as of secret intelligence. 

"Ah, Senor Felipe has married. She is his wife, " thought Alessandro, anda strange pain seized him. He did not analyze it; hardly knew what itmeant. He was only twenty-one. He had not thought much about women. Hewas a distant, cold boy, his own people of the Temecula village said. It had come, they believed, of learning to read, which was always bad. Chief Pablo had not done his son any good by trying to make him likewhite men. If the Fathers could have stayed, and the life at the Missionhave gone on, why, Alessandro could have had work to do for the Fathers, as his father had before him. Pablo had been Father Peyri's right-handman at the Mission; had kept all the accounts about the cattle; paid thewages; handled thousands of dollars of gold every month. But that was"in the time of the king;" it was very different now. The Americanswould not let an Indian do anything but plough and sow and herd cattle. A man need not read and write, to do that. 

Even Pablo sometimes doubted whether he had done wisely in teachingAlessandro all he knew himself. Pablo was, for one of his race, wise andfar-seeing. He perceived the danger threatening his people on all sides. Father Peyri, before he left the country, had said to him: "Pablo, yourpeople will be driven like sheep to the slaughter, unless you keep themtogether. Knit firm bonds between them; band them into pueblos; makethem work; and above all, keep peace with the whites. It is your onlychance. "

Most strenuously Pablo had striven to obey Father Peyri's directions. Hehad set his people the example of constant industry, working steadily inhis fields and caring well for his herds. He had built a chapel in hislittle village, and kept up forms of religious service there. Wheneverthere were troubles with the whites, or rumors of them, he went fromhouse to house, urging, persuading, commanding his people to keep thepeace. At one time when there was an insurrection of some of the Indiantribes farther south, and for a few days it looked as if there wouldbe a general Indian war, he removed the greater part of his band, men, women, and children driving their flocks and herds with them, toLos Angeles, and camped there for several days, that they might beidentified with the whites in case hostilities became serious. 

But his labors did not receive the reward that they deserved. With everyday that the intercourse between his people and the whites increased, he saw the whites gaining, his people surely losing ground, and hisanxieties deepened. The Mexican owner of the Temecula valley, a friendof Father Peyri's, and a good friend also of Pablo's, had returnedto Mexico in disgust with the state of affairs in California, and wasreported to be lying at the point of death. This man's promise to Pablo, that he and his people should always live in the valley undisturbed, was all the title Pablo had to the village lands. In the days when thepromise was given, it was all that was necessary. The lines marking offthe Indians' lands were surveyed, and put on the map of the estate. NoMexican proprietor ever broke faith with an Indian family or village, thus placed on his lands. 

But Pablo had heard rumors, which greatly disquieted him, that suchpledges and surveyed lines as these were corning to be held as of novalue, not binding on purchasers of grants. He was intelligent enoughto see that if this were so, he and his people were ruined. All theseperplexities and fears he confided to Alessandro; long anxious hours thefather and son spent together, walking back and forth in the village, orsitting in front of their little adobe house, discussing what could bedone. There was always the same ending to the discussion, --a long sigh, and, "We must wait, we can do nothing. "

No wonder Alessandro seemed, to the more ignorant and thoughtless youngmen and women of his village, a cold and distant lad. He was made oldbefore his time. He was carrying in his heart burdens of which theyknew nothing. So long as the wheat fields came up well, and there wasno drought, and the horses and sheep had good pasture, in plenty, on thehills, the Temecula people could be merry, go day by day to their easywork, play games at sunset, and sleep sound all night. But Alessandroand his father looked beyond. And this was the one great reason whyAlessandro had not yet thought about women, in way of love; this, and also the fact that even the little education he had received wassufficient to raise a slight barrier, of which he was unconsciouslyaware, between him and the maidens of the village. If a quick, warmfancy for any one of them ever stirred in his veins, he found himselfsoon, he knew not how, cured of it. For a dance, or a game, or afriendly chat, for the trips into the mountains after acorns, or to themarshes for grasses and reeds, he was their good comrade, and they werehis; but never had the desire to take one of them for his wife, enteredinto Alessandro's mind. The vista of the future, for him, was filledfull by thoughts which left no room for love's dreaming; one purpose andone fear filled it, --the purpose to be his father's worthy successor, for Pablo was old now, and very feeble; the fear, that exile and ruinwere in store for them all. 

It was of these things he had been thinking as be walked alone, inadvance of his men, on the previous night, when he first saw Ramonakneeling at the brook. Between that moment and the present, it seemedto Alessandro that some strange miracle must have happened to him. Thepurposes and the fears had alike gone. A face replaced them; a vaguewonder, pain, joy, he knew not what, filled him so to overflowing thathe was bewildered. If he had been what the world calls a civilized man, he would have known instantly and would have been capable of weighing, analyzing, and reflecting on his sensations at leisure. But he was nota civilized man; he had to bring to bear on his present situation onlysimple, primitive, uneducated instincts and impulses. If Ramona had beena maiden of his own people or race, he would have drawn near to her asquickly as iron to the magnet. But now, if he had gone so far as to eventhink of her in such a way, she would have been, to his view, as farremoved from him as was the morning star beneath whose radiance he hadthat morning watched, hoping for sight of her at her window. He did not, however, go so far as to thus think of her. Even that would havebeen impossible. He only knelt on the stones outside the chapel door, mechanically repeating the prayers with the rest, waiting for her toreappear. He had no doubt, now, that she was Senor Felipe's wife; allthe same he wished to kneel there till she came out, that he might seeher face again. His vista of purpose, fear, hope, had narrowed now downto that, --just one more sight of her. Ever so civilized, he could hardlyhave worshipped a woman better. The mass seemed to him endlessly long. Until near the last, he forgot to sing; then, in the closing of thefinal hymn, he suddenly remembered, and the clear deep-toned voicepealed out, as before, like the undertone of a great sea-wave, sweepingalong. 

Ramona heard the first note, and felt again the same thrill. She was asmuch a musician born as Alessandro himself. As she rose from her knees, she whispered to Felipe: "Felipe, do find out which one of the Indiansit is has that superb voice. I never heard anything like it. "

"Oh, that is Alessandro, " replied Felipe, "old Pablo's son. He is asplendid fellow. Don't you recollect his singing two years ago?"

"I was not here, " replied Ramona; "you forget. "

"Ah, yes, so you were away; I had forgotten, " said Felipe. "Well, hewas here. They made him captain of the shearing-band, though he was onlytwenty, and he managed the men splendidly. They saved nearly all theirmoney to carry home, and I never knew them do such a thing before. Father Salvierderra was here, which might have had something to do withit; but I think it was quite as much Alessandro. He plays the violinbeautifully. I hope he has brought it along. He plays the old San LuisRey music. His father was band-master there. "

Ramona's eyes kindled with pleasure. "Does your mother like it, to havehim play?" she asked. 

Felipe nodded. "We'll have him up on the veranda tonight, " he said. 

While this whispered colloquy was going on, the chapel had emptied, the Indians and Mexicans all hurrying out to set about the day's work. Alessandro lingered at the doorway as long as he dared, till he wassharply called by Juan Canito, looking back: "What are you gaping atthere, you Alessandro! Hurry, now, and get your men to work. Afterwaiting till near midsummer for this shearing, we'll make as quick workof it as we can. Have you got your best shearers here?"

"Ay, that I have, " answered Alessandro; "not a man of them but can shearhis hundred in a day, There is not such a band as ours in all San DiegoCounty; and we don't turn out the sheep all bleeding, either; you'll seescarce a scratch on their sides. "

"Humph. " retorted Juan Can. "'Tis a poor shearer, indeed, that drawsblood to speak of. I've sheared many a thousand sheep in my day, andnever a red stain on the shears. But the Mexicans have always been famedfor good shearers. "

Juan's invidious emphasis on the word "Mexicans" did not escapeAlessandro. "And we Indians also, " he answered, good-naturedly, betraying no annoyance; "but as for these Americans, I saw one at workthe other day, that man Lomax, who settled near Temecula, and upon myfaith, Juan Can, I thought it was a slaughter-pen, and not a shearing. The poor beasts limped off with the blood running. "

Juan did not see his way clear at the moment to any fitting rejoinder tothis easy assumption, on Alessandro's part, of the equal superiorityof Indians and Mexicans in the sheep-shearing art; so, much vexed, withanother "Humph!" he walked away; walked away so fast, that he lost thesight of a smile on Alessandro's face, which would have vexed him stillfurther. 

At the sheep-shearing sheds and pens all was stir and bustle. Theshearing shed was a huge caricature of a summerhouse, --a long, narrowstructure, sixty feet long by twenty or thirty wide, all roof andpillars; no walls; the supports, slender rough posts, as far apartas was safe, for the upholding of the roof, which was of rough planksloosely laid from beam to beam. On three sides of this were thesheep-pens filled with sheep and lambs. 

A few rods away stood the booths in which the shearers' food was to becooked and the shearers fed. These were mere temporary affairs, roofedonly by willow boughs with the leaves left on. Near these, the Indianshad already arranged their camp; a hut or two of green boughs hadbeen built, but for the most part they would sleep rolled up in theirblankets, on the ground. There was a brisk wind, and the gay coloredwings of the windmill blew furiously round and round, pumping out intothe tank below a stream of water so swift and strong, that as the mencrowded around, wetting and sharpening their knives, they got wellspattered, and had much merriment, pushing and elbowing each other intothe spray. 

A high four-posted frame stood close to the shed; in this, swung fromthe four corners, hung one of the great sacking bags in which thefleeces were to be packed. A big pile of bags lay on the ground at thefoot of the posts. Juan Can eyed them with a chuckle. "We'll fill morethan those before night, Senor Felipe, " he said. He was in his element, Juan Can, at shearing times. Then came his reward for the somewhatmonotonous and stupid year's work. The world held no better feast forhis eyes than the sight of a long row of big bales of fleece, tied, stamped with the Moreno brand, ready to be drawn away to the mills. "Now, there is something substantial, " he thought; "no chance of woolgoing amiss in market!"

If a year's crop were good, Juan's happiness was assured for the nextsix months. If it proved poor, he turned devout immediately, andspent the next six months calling on the saints for better luck, andredoubling his exertions with the sheep. 

On one of the posts of the shed short projecting slats were nailed, likehalf-rounds of a ladder. Lightly as a rope-walker Felipe ran up these, to the roof, and took his stand there, ready to take the fleeces andpack them in the bag as fast as they should be tossed up from below. Luigo, with a big leathern wallet fastened in front of him, filled withfive-cent pieces, took his stand in the centre of the shed. The thirtyshearers, running into the nearest pen, dragged each his sheep intothe shed, in a twinkling of an eye had the creature between his knees, helpless, immovable, and the sharp sound of the shears set in. Thesheep-shearing had begun. No rest now. Not a second's silence from thebleating, baa-ing, opening and shutting, clicking, sharpening of shears, flying of fleeces through the air to the roof, pressing and stampingthem down in the bales; not a second's intermission, except the hour ofrest at noon, from sunrise till sunset, till the whole eight thousandof the Senora Moreno's sheep were shorn. It was a dramatic spectacle. Assoon as a sheep was shorn, the shearer ran with the fleece in hishand to Luigo, threw it down on a table, received his five-cent piece, dropped it in his pocket, ran to the pen, dragged out another sheep, andin less than five minutes was back again with a second fleece. The shornsheep, released, bounded off into another pen, where, light in the headno doubt from being three to five pounds lighter on their legs, theytrotted round bewilderedly for a moment, then flung up their heels andcapered for joy. 

It was warm work. The dust from the fleeces and the trampling feetfilled the air. As the sun rose higher in the sky the sweat poured offthe men's faces; and Felipe, standing without shelter on the roof, foundout very soon that he had by no means yet got back his full strengthsince the fever. Long before noon, except for sheer pride, and forthe recollection of Juan Canito's speech, he would have come down andyielded his place to the old man. But he was resolved not to give up, and he worked on, though his face was purple and his head throbbing. After the bag of fleeces is half full, the packer stands in it, jumpingwith his full weight on the wool, as he throws in the fleeces, tocompress them as much as possible. When Felipe began to do this, hefound that he had indeed overrated his strength. As the first cloud ofthe sickening dust came up, enveloping his head, choking his breath, he turned suddenly dizzy, and calling faintly, "Juan, I am ill, " sankhelpless down in the wool. He had fainted. At Juan Canito's scream ofdismay, a great hubbub and outcry arose; all saw instantly what hadhappened. Felipe's head was hanging limp over the edge of the bag, Juanin vain endeavoring to get sufficient foothold by his side to lift him. One after another the men rushed up the ladder, until they were allstanding, a helpless, excited crowd, on the roof, one proposing onething, one another. Only Luigo had had the presence of mind to run tothe house for help. The Senora was away from home. She had gone withFather Salvierderra to a friend's house, a half-day's journey off. But Ramona was there. Snatching all she could think of in way ofrestoratives, she came flying back with Luigo, followed by every servantof the establishment, all talking, groaning, gesticulating, suggesting, wringing their hands, --as disheartening a Babel as ever made bad mattersworse. 

Reaching the shed, Ramona looked up to the roof bewildered. "Where ishe?" she cried. The next instant she saw his head, held in Juan Canito'sarms, just above the edge of the wool-bag. She groaned, "Oh, how will heever be lifted out!"

"I will lift him, Senora, " cried Alessandro, coming to the front, "I amvery strong. Do not be afraid; I will bring him safe down. " And swinginghimself down the ladder, he ran swiftly to the camp, and returned, bringing in his hands blankets. Springing quickly to the roof again, he knotted the blankets firmly together, and tying them at the middlearound his waist, threw the ends to his men, telling them to hold himfirm. He spoke in the Indian tongue as he was hurriedly doing this, and Ramona did not at first understand his plan. But when she sawthe Indians move a little back from the edge of the roof, holding theblankets firm grasped, while Alessandro stepped out on one of the narrowcross-beams from which the bag swung, she saw what he meant to do. Sheheld her breath. Felipe was a slender man; Alessandro was much heavier, and many inches taller. Still, could any man carry such a burden safelyon that narrow beam! Ramona looked away, and shut her eyes, throughthe silence which followed. It was only a few moments; but it seemed aneternity before a glad murmur of voices told her that it was done, andlooking up, she saw Felipe lying on the roof, unconscious, his facewhite, his eyes shut. At this sight, all the servants broke out afresh, weeping and wailing, "He is dead! He is dead!"

Ramona stood motionless, her eyes fixed on Felipe's face. She, too, believed him dead; but her thought was of the Senora. 

"He is not dead, " cried Juan Canito, who had thrust his hand underFelipe's shirt. "He is not dead. It is only a faint. "

At this the first tears rolled down Ramona's face. She looked piteouslyat the ladder up and down which she had seen Alessandro run as if itwere an easy indoor staircase. "If I could only get up there!" she said, looking from one to another. "I think I can;" and she put one foot onthe lower round. 

"Holy Virgin!" cried Juan Can, seeing her movement. "Senorita! Senorita!do not attempt it. It is not too easy for a man. You will break yourneck. He is fast coming to his senses. "

Alessandro caught the words. Spite of all the confusion and terror ofthe scene, his heart heard the word, "Senorita. " Ramona was not thewife of Felipe, or of any man. Yet Alessandro recollected that he hadaddressed her as Senora, and she did not seem surprised. Coming to thefront of the group he said, bending forward, "Senorita!" There musthave been something in the tone which made Ramona start. The simple wordcould not have done it. "Senorita, " said Alessandro, "it will be nothingto bring Senor Felipe down the ladder. He is, in my arms, no morethan one of the lambs yonder. I will bring him down as soon as he isrecovered. He is better here till then. He will very soon be himselfagain. It was only the heat. " Seeing that the expression of anxiousdistress did not grow less on Ramona's face, he continued, in a tonestill more earnest, "Will not the Senorita trust me to bring him safedown?"

Ramona smiled faintly through her tears. "Yes, " she said, "I will trustyou. You are Alessandro, are you not?"

"Yes, Senorita, " he answered, greatly surprised, "I am Alessandro. "

VI

A BAD beginning did not make a good ending of the Senora Moreno'ssheep-shearing this year. One as superstitiously prejudiced againstRoman Catholic rule as she was in favor of it, would have found, in theway things fell out, ample reason for a belief that the Senora wasbeing punished for having let all the affairs of her place come to astandstill, to await the coming of an old monk. But the pious Senora, looking at the other side of the shield, was filled with gratitudethat, since all this ill luck was to befall her, she had the good FatherSalvierderra at her side to give her comfort and counsel. 

It was not yet quite noon of the first day, when Felipe fainted and fellin the wool; and it was only a little past noon of the third, whenJuan Canito, who, not without some secret exultation, had taken SenorFelipe's place at the packing, fell from the cross-beam to the ground, and broke his right leg, --a bad break near the knee; and Juan Canito'sbones were much too old for fresh knitting. He would never again be ableto do more than hobble about on crutches, dragging along the uselessleg. It was a cruel blow to the old man. He could not be resigned toit. He lost faith in his saints, and privately indulged in blasphemousberatings and reproaches of them, which would have filled the Senorawith terror, had she known that such blasphemies were being committedunder her roof. 

"As many times as I have crossed that plank, in my day!" cried Juan;"only the fiends themselves could have made me trip; and there was thatwhole box of candles I paid for with my own money last month, and burnedto Saint Francis in the chapel for this very sheep-shearing! He may sitin the dark, for all me, to the end of time! He is no saint at all! Whatare they for, if not to keep us from harm when we pray to them? I'llpray no more. I believe the Americans are right, who laugh at us. " Frommorning till night, and nearly from night till morning, for the legached so he slept little, poor Juan groaned and grumbled and swore, andswore and grumbled and groaned. Taking care of him was enough, Margaritasaid, to wear out the patience of the Madonna herself. There was nopleasing him, whatever you did, and his tongue was never still a minute. For her part, she believed that it must be as he said, that the fiendshad pushed him off the plank, and that the saints had had their reasonsfor leaving him to his fate. A coldness and suspicion gradually grew upin the minds of all the servants towards him. His own reckless language, combined with Margarita's reports, gave the superstitious fair groundfor believing that something had gone mysteriously wrong, and that theDevil was in a fair way to get his soul, which was very hard for the oldman, in addition to all the rest he had to bear. The only alleviation hehad for his torments, was in having his fellow-servants, men and women, drop in, sit by his pallet, and chat with him, telling him all that wasgoing on; and when by degrees they dropped off, coming more and moreseldom, and one by one leaving off coming altogether, it was the onedrop that overflowed his cup of misery; and he turned his face to thewall, left off grumbling, and spoke only when he must. 

This phase frightened Margarita even more than the first. Now, shethought, surely the dumb terror and remorse of one who belongs to theDevil had seized him, and her hands trembled as she went through theneedful ministrations for him each day. Three months, at least, thedoctor, who had come from Ventura to set the leg, had said he must liestill in bed and be thus tended. "Three months!" sighed Margarita. "If Ibe not dead or gone crazy myself before the end of that be come!"

The Senora was too busy with Felipe to pay attention or to give thoughtto Juan. Felipe's fainting had been the symptom and beginning of afierce relapse of the fever, and he was lying in his bed, tossing andraving in delirium, always about the wool. 

"Throw them faster, faster! That's a good fleece; five pounds more; around ton in those bales. Juan! Alessandro! Captain!--Jesus, how thissun burns my head!"

Several times he had called "Alessandro" so earnestly, that FatherSalvierderra advised bringing Alessandro into the room, to see if by anychance there might have been something in his mind that he wished to sayto him. But when Alessandro stood by the bedside, Felipe gazed athim vacantly, as he did at all the others, still repeating, however, "Alessandro! Alessandro!"

"I think perhaps he wants Alessandro to play on his violin, " sobbed outRamona. "He was telling me how beautifully Alessandro played, and saidhe would have him up on the veranda in the evening to play to us. "

"We might try it, " said Father Salvierderra. "Have you your violin here, Alessandro?"

"Alas, no, Father, " replied Alessandro, "I did not bring it. "

"Perhaps it would do him good it you were to sing, then, " said Ramona. "He was speaking of your voice also. "

"Oh, try, try. " said the Senorita, turning to Alessandro. "Singsomething low and soft. "

Alessandro walked from the bed to the open window, and after thinkingfor a moment, began a slow strain from one of the masses. 

At the first note, Felipe became suddenly quiet, evidently listening. Anexpression of pleasure spread over his feverish face. He turned his headto one side, put his hand under his cheek and closed his eyes. The threewatching him looked at each other in astonishment. 

"It is a miracle, " said Father Salvierderra. "He will sleep. "

"It was what he wanted!" whispered Ramona. 

The Senora spoke not, but buried her face in the bedclothes for asecond; then lifting it, she gazed at Alessandro as if she were prayingto a saint. He, too, saw the change in Felipe, and sang lower and lower, till the notes sounded as if they came from afar; lower and lower, slower; finally they ceased, as if they died away lost in distance. Asthey ceased, Felipe opened his eyes. 

"Oh, go on, go on!" the Senora implored in a whisper shrill withanxiety. "Do not stop!"

Alessandro repeated the strain, slow, solemn; his voice trembled; theair in the room seemed stifling, spite of the open window; he feltsomething like terror, as he saw Felipe evidently sinking to sleep byreason of the notes of his voice. There had been nothing in Alessandro'shealthy outdoor experience to enable him to understand such aphenomenon. Felipe breathed more and more slowly, softly, regularly;soon he was in a deep sleep. The singing stopped; Felipe did not stir. 

"Can I go?" whispered Alessandro. 

"No, no. " replied the Senora, impatiently. "He may wake any minute. "

Alessandro looked troubled, but bowed his head submissively, andremained standing by the window. Father Salvierderra was kneeling onone side of the bed, the Senora at the other, Ramona at the foot, --allpraying; the silence was so great that the slight sounds of the rosarybeads slipping against each other seemed loud. In a niche in the wall, at the head of the bed, stood a statue of the Madonna, on the other sidea picture of Santa Barbara. Candles were burning before each. The longwicks smouldered and died down, sputtering, then flared up again asthe ends fell into the melted wax. The Senora's eyes were fixed on theMadonna. The Father's were closed. Ramona gazed at Felipe with tearsstreaming down her face as she mechanically told her beads. 

"She is his betrothed, no doubt, " thought Alessandro. "The saints willnot let him die;" and Alessandro also prayed. But the oppression of thescene was too much for him. Laying his hand on the low window-sill, hevaulted over it, saying to Ramona, who turned her head at the sound, "I will not go away, Senorita, I will be close under the window, if heawakes. "

Once in the open air, he drew a long breath, and gazed bewilderedlyabout him, like one just recovering consciousness after a faint. Thenhe threw himself on the ground under the window, and lay looking up intothe sky. Capitan came up, and with a low whine stretched himself out atfull length by his side. The dog knew as well as any other one of thehouse that danger and anguish were there. 

One hour passed, two, three; still no sound from Felipe's room. Alessandro rose, and looked in at the window. The Father and the Senorahad not changed their attitudes; their lips were yet moving in prayer. But Ramona had yielded to her fatigue; slipped from her knees into asitting posture, with her head leaning against the post of the bedstead, and fallen asleep. Her face was swollen and discolored by weeping, andheavy circles under her eyes told how tired she was. For three days andnights she had scarcely rested, so constant were the demands on her. Between Felipe's illness and Juan Can's, there was not a moment withoutsomething to be done, or some perplexing question to be settled, andabove all, and through all, the terrible sorrow. Ramona was broken downwith grief at the thought of Felipe's death. She had never known tillshe saw him lying there delirious, and as she in her inexperiencethought, dying, how her whole life was entwined with his. But now, atthe very thought of what it would be to live without him, her heartsickened. "When he is buried, I will ask Father Salvierderra to takeme away. I never can live here alone, " she said to herself, never for amoment perceiving that the word "alone" was a strange one to have comeinto her mind in the connection. The thought of the Senora did not enterinto her imaginations of the future which so smote her with terror. Inthe Senora's presence, Ramona always felt herself alone. 

Alessandro stood at the window, his arms folded, leaning on the sill, his eyes fixed on Ramona's face and form. To any other than a lover'seyes she had not looked beautiful now; but to Alessandro she looked morebeautiful than the picture of Santa Barbara on the wall beyond. With alover's instinct he knew the thoughts which had written such lineson her face in the last three days. "It will kill her if he dies, "he thought, "if these three days have made her look like that. " AndAlessandro threw himself on the ground again, his face down. He did notknow whether it were an hour or a day that he had lain there, when heheard Father Salvierderra's voice speaking his name. He sprang up, tosee the old monk standing in the window, tears running down his cheeks. "God be praised, " he said, "the Senor Felipe will get well. A sweat hasbroken out on his skin; he still sleeps, but when he wakes he will be inhis right mind. The strength of the fever is broken. But, Alessandro, weknow not how to spare you. Can you not let the men go without you, andremain here? The Senora would like to have you remain in Juan Can'splace till he is about. She will give you the same wages he had. Wouldit not be a good thing for you, Alessandro? You cannot be sure ofearning so much as that for the next three months, can you?"

While the Father was speaking, a tumult had been going on inAlessandro's breast. He did not know by name any of the impulses whichwere warring there, tearing him in twain, as it were, by their pullingin opposite directions; one saying "Stay!" and the other saying "Go!"He would not have known what any one meant, who had said to him, "Itis danger to stay; it is safety to fly. " All the same, he felt as if hecould do neither. 

"There is another shearing yet, Father, " he began, "at the Ortega'sranch. I had promised to go to them as soon as I had finished here, andthey have been wroth enough with us for the delay already. It will notdo to break the promise, Father. "

Father Salvierderra's face fell. "No, my son, certainly not, " he said;"but could no one else take your place with the band?"

Hearing these words, Ramona came to the window, and leaning out, whispered, "Are you talking about Alessandro's staying? Let me comeand talk to him. He must not go. " And running swiftly through the hall, across the veranda, and down the steps, she stood by Alessandro's sidein a moment. Looking up in his face pleadingly, she said: "We can't letyou go, Alessandro. The Senor will pay wages to some other to go in yourplace with the shearers. We want you to stay here in Juan Can's placetill he is well. Don't say you can't stay! Felipe may need you to singagain, and what would we do then? Can't you stay?"

"Yes, I can stay, Senorita, " answered Alessandro, gravely. "I will stayso long as you need me. "

"Oh, thank you, Alessandro!" Ramona cried. "You are good, to stay. TheSenora will see that it is no loss to you;" and she flew back to thehouse. 

"It is not for the wages, Senorita, " Alessandro began; but Ramonawas gone. She did not hear him, and he turned away with a sense ofhumiliation. "I don't want the Senorita to think that it was the moneykept me, " he said, turning to Father Salvierderra. "I would not leavethe band for money; it is to help, because they are in trouble, Father. "

"Yes, yes, son. I understand that, " replied the monk, who had knownAlessandro since he was a little fellow playing in the corridors of SanLuis Rey, the pet of all the Brothers there. "That is quite right ofyou, and the Senora will not be insensible of it. It is not for suchthings that money can pay. They are indeed in great trouble now, andonly the two women in the house; and I must soon be going on my wayNorth again. "

"Is it sure that Senor Felipe will get well?" asked Alessandro. 

"I think so, " replied Father Salvierderra. "These relapses are alwaysworse than the first attack; but I have never known one to die, afterhe had the natural sweat to break from the skin, and got good sleep. Idoubt not he will be in his bed, though, for many days, and there willbe much to be seen to. It was an ill luck to have Juan Can laid up, too, just at this time. I must go and see him; I hear he is in mostrebellious frame of mind, and blasphemes impiously. "

"That does he!" said Alessandro. "He swears the saints gave him over tothe fiends to push him off the plank, and he'll have none of them fromthis out! I told him to beware, or they might bring him to worse thingsyet if he did not mend his speech of them. "

Sighing deeply as they walked along, the monk said: "It is but a signof the times. Blasphemers are on the highway. The people are beingcorrupted. Keeps your father the worship in the chapel still, and does apriest come often to the village?"

"Only twice a year, " replied Alessandro; "and sometimes for a funeral, if there is money enough to pay for the mass. But my father has thechapel open, and each Sunday we sing what we know of the mass; and thepeople are often there praying. "

"Ay, ay! Ever for money!" groaned Father Salvierderra, not heeding thelatter part of the sentence. "Ever for money! It is a shame. But that itwere sure to be held as a trespass, I would go myself to Temecula oncein three months; but I may not. The priests do not love our order. "

"Oh, if you could, Father, " exclaimed Alessandro, "it would make myfather very glad! He speaks often to me of the difference he seesbetween the words of the Church now and in the days of the Mission. Heis very sad, Father, and in great fear about our village. They say theAmericans, when they buy the Mexicans' lands, drive the Indians away asif they were dogs; they say we have no right to our lands. Do you thinkthat can be so, Father, when we have always lived on them, and theowners promised them to us forever?"

Father Salvierderra was silent a long time before replying, andAlessandro watched his face anxiously. He seemed to be hesitating forwords to convey his meaning. At last he said: "Got your father anynotice, at any time since the Americans took the country, --notice toappear before a court, or anything about a title to the land?"

"No, Father, " replied Alessandro. 

"There has to be some such paper, as I understand their laws, " continuedthe monk; "some notice, before any steps can be taken to remove Indiansfrom an estate. It must be done according to the law, in the courts. Ifyou have had no such notice, you are not in danger. "

"But, Father, " persisted Alessandro, "how could there be a law to takeaway from us the land which the Senor Valdez gave us forever?"

"Gave he to you any paper, any writing to show it?"

"No, no paper; but it is marked in red lines on the map. It was markedoff by Jose Ramirez, of Los Angeles, when they marked all the boundariesof Senor Valdez's estate. They had many instruments of brass and wood tomeasure with, and a long chain, very heavy, which I helped them carry. I myself saw it marked on the map. They all slept in my father'shouse, --Senor Valdez, and Ramirez, and the man who made the measures. Hehired one of our men to carry his instruments, and I went to help, for Iwished to see how it was done; but I could understand nothing, and Josetold me a man must study many years to learn the way of it. It seemed tome our way, by the stones, was much better. But I know it is all markedon the map, for it was with a red line; and my father understood it, andJose Ramirez and Senor Valdez both pointed to it with their finger, andthey said, 'All this here is your land, Pablo, always. ' I do not thinkmy father need fear, do you?"

"I hope not, " replied Father Salvierderra, cautiously; "but since theway that all the lands of the Missions have been taken away, I havesmall faith in the honesty of the Americans. I think they will take allthat they can. The Church has suffered terrible loss at their hands. "

"That is what my father says, " replied Alessandro. "He says, 'Look atSan Luis Rey! Nothing but the garden and orchard left, of all their vastlands where they used to pasture thirty thousand sheep. If the Churchand the Fathers could not keep their lands, what can we Indians do?'That is what my father says. "

"True, true!" said the monk, as he turned into the door of the roomwhere Juan Can lay on his narrow bed, longing yet fearing to see FatherSalvierderra's face coming in. "We are all alike helpless in theirhands, Alessandro. They possess the country, and can make what laws theyplease. We can only say, 'God's will be done, '" and he crossed himselfdevoutly, repeating the words twice. 

Alessandro did the same, and with a truly devout spirit, for he was fullof veneration for the Fathers and their teachings; but as he walked ontowards the shearing-shed he thought: "Then, again, how can it be God'swill that wrong be done? It cannot be God's will that one man shouldsteal from another all he has. That would make God no better than athief, it looks to me. But how can it happen, if it is not God's will?"

It does not need that one be educated, to see the logic in this formula. Generations of the oppressed and despoiled, before Alessandro, hadgrappled with the problem in one shape or another. 

At the shearing-shed, Alessandro found his men in confusion andill-humor. The shearing had been over and done by ten in the morning, and why were they not on their way to the Ortega's? Waiting all day, --itwas now near sunset, --with nothing to do, and still worse with notmuch of anything to eat, had made them all cross; and no wonder. Theeconomical Juan Can, finding that the work would be done by ten, andsupposing they would be off before noon, had ordered only two sheepkilled for them the day before, and the mutton was all gone, and oldMarda, getting her cue from Juan, had cooked no more frijoles than thefamily needed themselves; so the poor shearers had indeed had a sorryday of it, in no wise alleviated either by the reports brought from timeto time that their captain was lying on the ground, face down, underSenor Felipe's window, and must not be spoken to. 

It was not a propitious moment for Alessandro to make the announcementof his purpose to leave the band; but he made a clean breast of it infew words, and diplomatically diverted all resentment from himself bysetting them immediately to voting for a new captain to take his placefor the remainder of the season. 

"Very well!" they said hotly; "captain for this year, captain for next, too!" It wasn't so easy to step out and in again of the captaincy of theshearers!

"All right, " said Alessandro; "please yourselves! It is all the sameto me. But here I am going to stay for the present. Father Salvierderrawishes it. "

"Oh, if the Father wishes it, that is different. " "Ah, that altersthe case!" "Alessandro is right!" came up in confused murmur from theappeased crowd. They were all good Catholics, every one of the Temeculamen, and would never think of going against the Father's orders. Butwhen they understood that Alessandro's intention was to remain untilJuan Canito's leg should be well enough for him to go about again, freshgrumblings began. That would not do. It would be all summer. Alessandromust be at home for the Saint Juan's Day fete, in midsummer, --no doinganything without Alessandro then. What was he thinking of? Not of themidsummer fete, that was certain, when he promised to stay as long asthe Senorita Ramona should need him. Alessandro had remembered nothingexcept the Senorita's voice, while she was speaking to him. If he hadhad a hundred engagements for the summer, he would have forgottenthem all. Now that he was reminded of the midsummer fete, it must beconfessed he was for a moment dismayed at the recollection; for that wasa time, when, as he well knew, his father could not do without his help. There were sometimes a thousand Indians at this fete, and disorderlywhites took advantage of the occasion to sell whisky and encourage allsorts of license and disturbance. Yes, Alessandro's clear path of dutylay at Temecula when that fete came off. That was certain. 

"I will manage to be at home then, " he said. "If I am not through hereby that time, I will at least come for the fete. That you may dependon. "

The voting for the new captain did not take long. There was, in fact, but one man in the band fit for the office. That was Fernando, the onlyold man in the band; all the rest were young men under thirty, or boys. Fernando had been captain for several years, but had himself begged, two years ago, that the band would elect Alessandro in his place. He wasgetting old, and he did not like to have to sit up and walk about thefirst half of every night, to see that the shearers were not gamblingaway all their money at cards; he preferred to roll himself up in hisblanket at sunset and sleep till dawn the next morning. But just forthese few remaining weeks he had no objection to taking the officeagain. And Alessandro was right, entirely right, in remaining; theyought all to see that, Fernando said; and his word had great weight withthe men. 

The Senora Moreno, he reminded them, had always been a good friendof theirs, and had said that so long as she had sheep to shear, theTemecula shearers should do it; and it would be very ungrateful now ifthey did not do all they could to help her in her need. 

The blankets were rolled up, the saddles collected, the ponies caughtand driven up to the shed, when Ramona and Margarita were seen coming atfull speed from the house. 

"Alessandro! Alessandro!" cried Ramona, out of breath, "I have only justnow heard that the men have had no dinner to-day. I am ashamed; but youknow it would not have happened except for the sickness in the house. Everybody thought they were going away this morning. Now they must havea good supper before they go. It is already cooking. Tell them to wait. "

Those of the men who understood the Spanish language, in which Ramonaspoke, translated it to those who did not, and there was a cordialoutburst of thanks to the Senorita from all lips. All were only tooready to wait for the supper. Their haste to begin on the Ortegasheep-shearing had suddenly faded from their minds. Only Alessandrohesitated. 

"It is a good six hours' ride to Ortega's, " he said to the men. "You'llbe late in, if you do not start now. "

"Supper will be ready in an hour, " said Ramona. "Please let them stay;one hour can't make any difference. "

Alessandro smiled. "It will take nearer two, Senorita, before they areoff, " he said; "but it shall be as you wish, and many thanks to you, Senorita, for thinking of it. "

"Oh, I did not think of it myself, " said Ramona. "It was Margarita, here, who came and told me. She knew we would be ashamed to have theshearers go away hungry. I am afraid they are very hungry indeed, " sheadded ruefully. "It must be dreadful to go a whole day without anythingto eat; they had their breakfast soon after sunrise, did they not?"

"Yes, Senorita, " answered Alessandro, "but that is not long; one can dowithout food very well for one day. I often do. "

"Often. " exclaimed Ramona; "but why should you do that?" Then suddenlybethinking herself, she said in her heart, "Oh, what a thoughtlessquestion! Can it be they are so poor as that?" And to save Alessandrofrom replying, she set off on a run for the house, saying, "Come, come, Margarita, we must go and help at the supper. "

"Will the Senorita let me help, too, " asked Alessandro, wondering at hisown boldness, --"if there is anything I can do?"

"Oh, no, " she cried, "there is not. Yes, there is, too. You can helpcarry the things down to the booth; for we are short of hands now, withJuan Can in bed, and Luigo gone to Ventura for the doctor. You and someof your men might carry all the supper over. I'll call you when we areready. "

The men sat down in a group and waited contentedly, smoking, chatting, and laughing. Alessandro walked up and down between the kitchen andthe shed. He could hear the sounds of rattling dishes, jingling spoons, frying, pouring water. Savory smells began to be wafted out. Evidentlyold Marda meant to atone for the shortcoming of the noon. Juan Can, inhis bed, also heard and smelled what was going on. "May the fiends getme, " he growled, "if that wasteful old hussy isn't getting up a feastfor those beasts of Indians! There's mutton and onions, and peppersstewing, and potatoes, I'll be bound, and God knows what else, forbeggars that are only too thankful to get a handful of roasted wheat ora bowl of acorn porridge at home. Well, they'll have to say theywere well feasted at the Moreno's, --that's one comfort. I wonder ifMargarita'll think I am worthy of tasting that stew! San Jose! but itsmells well! Margarita! Margarita!" he called at top of his lungs; butMargarita did not hear. She was absorbed in her duties in the kitchen;and having already taken Juan at sundown a bowl of the good broth whichthe doctor had said was the only sort of food he must eat for two weeks, she had dismissed him from her mind for the night. Moreover, Margaritawas absent-minded to-night. She was more than half in love with thehandsome Alessandro, who, when he had been on the ranch the yearbefore, had danced with her, and said many a light pleasant word to her, evenings, as a young man may; and what ailed him now, that he seemed, when he saw her, as if she were no more than a transparent shade, through which he stared at the sky behind her, she did not know. SenorFelipe's illness, she thought, and the general misery and confusion, had perhaps put everything else out of his head; but now he was goingto stay, and it would be good fun having him there, if only Senor Felipegot well, which he seemed likely to do. And as Margarita flew about, here, there, and everywhere, she cast frequent glances at the tallstraight figure pacing up and down in the dusk outside. 

Alessandro did not see her. He did not see anything. He was looking offat the sunset, and listening. Ramona had said, "I will call you when weare ready. " But she did not do as she said. She told Margarita to call. 

"Run, Margarita, " she said. "All is ready now; see if Alessandro is insight. Call him to come and take the things. "

So it was Margarita's voice, and not Ramona's, that called "Alessandro!Alessandro! the supper is ready. "

But it was Ramona who, when Alessandro reached the doorway, stood thereholding in her arms a huge smoking platter of the stew which had soroused poor Juan Can's longings; and it was Ramona who said, as she gaveit into Alessandro's hands, "Take care, Alessandro, it is very full. Thegravy will run over if you are not careful. You are not used to waitingon table;" and as she said it, she smiled full into Alessandro'seyes, --a little flitting, gentle, friendly smile, which went near tomaking him drop the platter, mutton, gravy, and all, then and there, ather feet. 

The men ate fast and greedily, and it was not, after all, much more thanan hour, when, full fed and happy, they were mounting their horses toset off. At the last moment Alessandro drew one of them aside. "Jose, "he said, "whose horse is the faster, yours or Antonio's?"

"Mine, " promptly replied Jose. "Mine, by a great deal. I will runAntonio any day he likes. "

Alessandro knew this as well before asking as after. But Alessandro waslearning a great many things in these days, among other things a littlediplomacy. He wanted a man to ride at the swiftest to Temecula and back. He knew that Jose's pony could go like the wind. He also knew that therewas a perpetual feud of rivalry between him and Antonio, in matter ofthe fleetness of their respective ponies. So, having chosen Jose forhis messenger, he went thus to work to make sure that he would urge hishorse to its utmost speed. 

Whispering in Jose's ear a few words, he said, "Will you go? I will payyou for the time, all you could earn at the shearing. "

"I will go, " said Jose, elated. "You will see me back tomorrow bysundown. "

"Not earlier?" asked Alessandro. "I thought by noon. "

"Well, by noon be it, then, " said Jose. "The horse can do it. "

"Have great care!" said Alessandro. 

"That will I, " replied Jose; and giving his horse's sides a sharp punchwith his knees, set off at full gallop westward. 

"I have sent Jose with a message to Temecula, " said Alessandro, walkingup to Fernando. "He will be back here tomorrow noon, and join you at theOrtega's the next morning. "

"Back here by noon to-morrow!" exclaimed Fernando. "Not unless he killshis horse!"

"That was what he said, " replied Alessandro, nonchalantly. 

"Easy enough, too!" cried Antonio, riding up on his little dun mare. "I'd go in less time than that, on this mare. Jose's is no match forher, and never was. Why did you not send me, Alessandro?"

"Is your horse really faster than Jose's?" said Alessandro. "Then I wishI had sent you. I'll send you next time. "

VII

IT was strange to see how quickly and naturally Alessandro fitted intohis place in the household. How tangles straightened out, and roughplaces became smooth, as he quietly took matters in hand. Luckily, oldJuan Can had always liked him, and felt a great sense of relief at thenews of his staying on. Not a wholly unselfish relief, perhaps, forsince his accident Juan had not been without fears that he might losehis place altogether; there was a Mexican he knew, who had longbeen scheming to get the situation, and had once openly boasted ata fandango, where he was dancing with Anita, that as soon as thatsuperannuated old fool, Juan Canito, was out of the way, he meant tobe the Senora Moreno's head shepherd himself. To have seen this man inauthority on the place, would have driven Juan out of his mind. 

But the gentle Alessandro, only an Indian, --and of course the Senorawould never think of putting an Indian permanently in so responsible aposition on the estate, --it was exactly as Juan would have wished; andhe fraternized with Alessandro heartily from the outset; kept him inhis room by the hour, giving him hundreds of long-winded directions andexplanations about things which, if only he had known it, Alessandrounderstood far better than he did. 

Alessandro's father had managed the Mission flocks and herds at San LuisRey for twenty years; few were as skilful as he; he himself owned nearlyas many sheep as the Senora Moreno; but this Juan did not know. Neitherdid he realize that Alessandro, as Chief Pablo's son, had a positionof his own not without dignity and authority. To Juan, an Indian wasan Indian, and that was the end of it. The gentle courteousness ofAlessandro's manner, his quiet behavior, were all set down in Juan'smind to the score of the boy's native amiability and sweetness. If Juanhad been told that the Senor Felipe himself had not been more carefullytrained in all precepts of kindliness, honorable dealing, and politeusage, by the Senora, his mother, than had Alessandro by his father, hewould have opened his eyes wide. The standards of the two parentswere different, to be sure; but the advantage could not be shown to beentirely on the Senora's side. There were many things that Felipe knew, of which Alessandro was profoundly ignorant; but there were othersin which Alessandro could have taught Felipe; and when it came to thethings of the soul, and of honor, Alessandro's plane was the higherof the two. Felipe was a fair-minded, honorable man, as men go; butcircumstances and opportunity would have a hold on him they could neverget on Alessandro. Alessandro would not lie; Felipe might. Alessandrowas by nature full of veneration and the religious instinct; Felipe hadbeen trained into being a good Catholic. But they were both singularlypure-minded, open-hearted, generous-souled young men, and destined, bythe strange chance which had thus brought them into familiar relations, to become strongly attached to each other. After the day on whichthe madness of Felipe's fever had been so miraculously soothed andcontrolled by Alessandro's singing, he was never again wildly delirious. When he waked in the night from that first long sleep, he was, as FatherSalvierderra had predicted, in his right mind; knew every one, and askedrational questions. But the over-heated and excited brain did notfor some time wholly resume normal action. At intervals he wandered, especially when just arousing from sleep; and, strangely enough, itwas always for Alessandro that he called at these times, and it seemedalways to be music that he craved. He recollected Alessandro's havingsung to him that first night. "I was not so crazy as you all thought, "he said. "I knew a great many of the things I said, but I couldn't helpsaying them; and I heard Ramona ask Alessandro to sing; and when hebegan, I remember I thought the Virgin had reached down and put her handon my head and cooled it. "

On the second evening, the first after the shearers had left, Alessandro, seeing Ramona in the veranda, went to the foot of the steps, and said, "Senorita, would Senor Felipe like to have me play on theviolin to him tonight?"

"Why, whose violin have you got?" exclaimed Ramona, astonished. 

"My own, Senorita. "

"Your own! I thought you said you did not bring it. "

"Yes, Senorita, that is true; but I sent for it last night, and it ishere. "

"Sent to Temecula and back already!" cried Ramona. 

"Yes, Senorita. Our ponies are swift and strong. They can go a hundredmiles in a day, and not suffer. It was Jose brought it, and he is at theOrtega's by this time. "

Ramona's eyes glistened. "I wish I could have thanked him, " she said. "You should have let me know. He ought to have been paid for going. "

"I paid him, Senorita; he went for me, " said Alessandro, with a shade ofwounded pride in the tone, which Ramona should have perceived, but didnot, and went on hurting the lover's heart still more. 

"But it was for us that you sent for it, Alessandro; the Senora wouldrather pay the messenger herself. "

"It is paid, Senorita. It is nothing. If the Senor Felipe wishes to hearthe violin, I will play;" and Alessandro walked slowly away. 

Ramona gazed after him. For the first time, she looked at him with nothought of his being an Indian, --a thought there had surely been no needof her having, since his skin was not a shade darker than Felipe's;but so strong was the race feeling, that never till that moment had sheforgotten it. 

"What a superb head, and what a walk!" she thought. Then, looking moreobservantly, she said: "He walks as if he were offended. He did notlike my offering to pay for the messenger. He wanted to do it for dearFelipe. I will tell Felipe, and we will give him some present when hegoes away. "

"Isn't he splendid, Senorita?" came in a light laughing tone fromMargarita's lips close to her ear, in the fond freedom of theirrelation. "Isn't he splendid? And oh, Senorita, you can't think how hedances! Last year I danced with him every night; he has wings on hisfeet, for all he is so tall and big. "

There was a coquettish consciousness in the girl's tone, that wassuddenly, for some unexplained reason, exceedingly displeasing toRamona. Drawing herself away, she spoke to Margarita in a tone she hadnever before in her life used. "It is not fitting to speak like thatabout young men. The Senora would be displeased if she heard you, " shesaid, and walked swiftly away leaving poor Margarita as astounded as ifshe had got a box on the ear. 

She looked after Ramona's retreating figure, then after Alessandro's. She had heard them talking together just before she came up. Thoroughlybewildered and puzzled, she stood motionless for several seconds, reflecting; then, shaking her head, she ran away, trying to dismiss theharsh speech from her mind. "Alessandro must have vexed the Senorita, "she thought, "to make her speak like that to me. " But the incident wasnot so easily dismissed from Margarita's thoughts. Many times in theday it recurred to her, still a bewilderment and a puzzle, as far fromsolution as ever. It was a tiny seed, whose name she did not dream of;but it was dropped in soil where it would grow some day, --forcing-housesoil, and a bitter seed; and when it blossomed, Ramona would have anenemy. 

All unconscious, equally of Margarita's heart and her own, Ramonaproceeded to Felipe's room. Felipe was sleeping, the Senora sitting byhis side, as she had sat for days and nights, --her dark face lookingthinner and more drawn each day; her hair looking even whiter, if thatcould be; and her voice growing hollow from faintness and sorrow. 

"Dear Senora, " whispered Ramona, "do go out for a few moments while hesleeps, and let me watch, --just on the walk in front of the veranda. Thesun is still lying there, bright and warm. You will be ill if you do nothave air. "

The Senora shook her head. "My place is here, " she answered, speaking ina dry, hard tone. Sympathy was hateful to the Senora Moreno; she wishedneither to give it nor take it. "I shall not leave him. I do not needthe air. "

Ramona had a cloth-of-gold rose in her hand. The veranda eaves were nowshaded with them, hanging down like a thick fringe of golden tassels. Itwas the rose Felipe loved best. Stooping, she laid it on the bed, nearFelipe's head. "He will like to see it when he wakes, " she said. 

The Senora seized it, and flung it far out in the room. "Take it away!Flowers are poison when one is ill, " she said coldly. "Have I never toldyou that?"

"No, Senora, " replied Ramona, meekly; and she glanced involuntarily atthe saucer of musk which the Senora kept on the table close to Felipe'spillow. 

"The musk is different, " said the Senora, seeing the glance. "Musk is amedicine; it revives. "

Ramona knew, but she would have never dared to say, that Felipe hatedmusk. Many times he had said to her how he hated the odor; but hismother was so fond of it, that it must always be that the veranda andthe house would be full of it. Ramona hated it too. At times it made herfaint, with a deadly faintness. But neither she nor Felipe would haveconfessed as much to the Senora; and if they had, she would have thoughtit all a fancy. 

"Shall I stay?" asked Ramona, gently. 

"As you please, " replied the Senora. The simple presence of Ramona irkedher now with a feeling she did not pretend to analyze, and wouldhave been terrified at if she had. She would not have dared to sayto herself, in plain words: "Why is that girl well and strong, and myFelipe lying here like to die! If Felipe dies, I cannot bear the sightof her. What is she, to be preserved of the saints!"

But that, or something like it, was what she felt whenever Ramonaentered the room; still more, whenever she assisted in ministering toFelipe. If it had been possible, the Senora would have had no hands buther own do aught for her boy. Even tears from Ramona sometimes irritatedher. "What does she know about loving Felipe! He is nothing to her!"thought the Senora, strangely mistaken, strangely blind, strangelyforgetting how feeble is the tie of blood in the veins by the side oflove in the heart. 

If into this fiery soul of the Senora's could have been dropped onesecond's knowledge of the relative positions she and Ramona alreadyoccupied in Felipe's heart, she would, on the spot, have either diedherself or have slain Ramona, one or the other. But no such knowledgewas possible; no such idea could have found entrance into the Senora'smind. A revelation from Heaven of it could hardly have reached even herears. So impenetrable are the veils which, fortunately for us all, areforever held by viewless hands between us and the nearest and closest ofour daily companions. 

At twilight of this day Felipe was restless and feverish again. He haddozed at intervals all day long, but had had no refreshing sleep. 

"Send for Alessandro, " he said. "Let him come and sing to me. "

"He has his violin now; he can play, if you would like that better, "said Ramona; and she related what Alessandro had told her of themessenger's having ridden to Temecula and back in a night and half aday, to bring it. 

"I wanted to pay the man, " she said; "I knew of course your mother wouldwish to reward him. But I fancy Alessandro was offended. He answered meshortly that it was paid, and it was nothing. "

"You couldn't have offended him more, " said Felipe. "What a pity! He isas proud as Lucifer himself, that Alessandro. You know his father hasalways been the head of their band; in fact, he has authority overseveral bands; General, they call it now, since they got the title fromthe Americans; they used to call it Chief. , and until Father Peyri leftSan Luis Rey, Pablo was in charge of all the sheep, and general stewardand paymaster. Father Peyri trusted him with everything; I've heard hewould leave boxes full of uncounted gold in Pablo's charge to pay offthe Indians. Pablo reads and writes, and is very well off; he has asmany sheep as we have, I fancy!"

"What!" exclaimed Ramona, astonished. "They all look as if they werepoor. "

"Oh, well, so they are, " replied Felipe, "compared with us; but onereason is, they share everything with each other. Old Pablo feeds andsupports half his village, they say. So long as he has anything, he willnever see one of his Indians hungry. "

"How generous!" warmly exclaimed Ramona; "I think they are better thanwe are, Felipe!"

"I think so, too, " said Felipe. "That's what I have always said. TheIndians are the most generous people in the world. Of course they havelearned it partly from us; but they were very much so when the Fathersfirst came here. You ask Father Salvierderra some day. He has readall Father Junipero's and Father Crespi's diaries, and he says it iswonderful how the wild savages gave food to every one who came. "

"Felipe, you are talking too much, " said the Senora's voice, in thedoorway; and as she spoke she looked reproachfully at Ramona. If shehad said in words, "See how unfit you are to be trusted with Felipe. Nowonder I do not leave the room except when I must!" her meaning couldnot have been plainer. Ramona felt it keenly, and not without somemisgiving that it was deserved. 

"Oh, dear Felipe, has it hurt you?" she said timidly; and to the Senora, "Indeed, Senora, he has been speaking but a very few moments, very low. "

"Go call Alessandro, Ramona, will you?" said Felipe. "Tell him to bringhis violin. I think I will go to sleep if he plays. "

A long search Ramona had for Alessandro. Everybody had seen him a fewminutes ago, but nobody knew where he was now. Kitchens, sheepfolds, vineyards, orchards, Juan Can's bedchamber, --Ramona searched them allin vain. At last, standing at the foot of the veranda steps, and lookingdown the garden, she thought she saw figures moving under the willows bythe washing-stones. 

"Can he be there?" she said. "What can he be doing there? Who is it withhim?" And she walked down the path, calling, "Alessandro! Alessandro!"

At the first sound, Alessandro sprang from the side of his companion, and almost before the second syllables had been said, was standing faceto face with Ramona. 

"Here I am, Senorita. Does Senor Felipe want me? I have my violin here. I thought perhaps he would like to have me play to him in the twilight. "

"Yes, " replied Ramona, "he wishes to hear you. I have been lookingeverywhere for you. " As she spoke, she was half unconsciously peeringbeyond into the dusk, to see whose figure it was, slowly moving by thebrook. 

Nothing escaped Alessandro's notice where Ramona was concerned. "It isMargarita, " he said instantly. "Does the Senorita want her? Shall I runand call her?"

"No, " said Ramona, again displeased, she knew not why, nor in fact knewshe was displeased; "no, I was not looking for her. What is she doingthere?"

"She is washing, " replied Alessandro, innocently. 

"Washing at this time of day!" thought Ramona, severely. "A merepretext. I shall watch Margarita. The Senora would never allow this sortof thing. " And as she walked back to the house by Alessandro's side, she meditated whether or no she would herself speak to Margarita on thesubject in the morning. 

Margarita, in the mean time, was also having her season of reflectionsnot the pleasantest. As she soused her aprons up and down in the water, she said to herself, "I may as well finish them now I am here. Howprovoking! I've no more than got a word with him, than she must come, calling him away. And he flies as if he was shot on an arrow, atthe first word. I'd like to know what's come over the man, to be sodifferent. If I could ever get a good half-hour with him alone, I'd soonfind out. Oh, but his eyes go through me, through and through me! Iknow he's an Indian, but what do I care for that. He's a million timeshandsomer than Senor Felipe. And Juan Jose said the other day he'd makeenough better head shepherd than old Juan Can, if Senor Felipe'd onlysee it; and why shouldn't he get to see it, if Alessandro's hereall summer?" And before the aprons were done, Margarita had a fineair-castle up: herself and Alessandro married, a nice little house, children playing in the sunshine below the artichoke-patch, she herselfstill working for the Senora. "And the Senorita will perhaps marry SenorFelipe, " she added, her thoughts moving more hesitatingly. "He worshipsthe ground she walks on. Anybody with quarter of a blind eye can seethat; but maybe the Senora would not let him. Anyhow, Senor Felipe issure to have a wife, and so and so. " It was an innocent, girlish castle, built of sweet and natural longings, for which no maiden, high orlow, need blush; but its foundations were laid in sand, on which wouldpresently beat such winds and floods as poor little Margarita neverdreamed of. 

The next day Margarita and Ramona both went about their day's businesswith a secret purpose in their hearts. Margarita had made up her mindthat before night she would, by fair means or foul, have a good longtalk with Alessandro. "He was fond enough of me last year, I know, "she said to herself, recalling some of the dances and the good-nightleave-takings at that time. "It's because he is so put upon by everybodynow. What with Juan Can in one bed sending for him to prate to him aboutthe sheep, and Senor Felipe in another sending for him to fiddle him tosleep, and all the care of the sheep, it's a wonder he's not out of hismind altogether. But I'll find a chance, or make one, before this day'ssun sets. If I can once get a half-hour with him, I'm not afraid afterthat; I know the way it is with men!" said the confident Margarita, who, truth being told, it must be admitted, did indeed know a greatdeal about the way it is with men, and could be safely backed, in a fairfield, with a fair start, against any girl of her age and station inthe country. So much for Margarita's purpose, at the outset of a daydestined to be an eventful one in her life. 

Ramona's purpose was no less clear. She had decided, after somereflection, that she would not speak to the Senora about Margarita'shaving been under the willows with Alessandro in the previous evening, but would watch her carefully and see whether there were any farthersigns of her attempting to have clandestine interviews with him. 

This course she adopted, she thought, chiefly because of her affectionfor Margarita, and her unwillingness to expose her to the Senora'sdispleasure, which would be great, and terrible to bear. She was alsoaware of an unwillingness to bring anything to light which would reflectever so lightly upon Alessandro in the Senora's estimation. "And he isnot really to blame, " thought Ramona, "if a girl follows him about andmakes free with him. She must have seen him at the willows, and gonedown there on purpose to meet him, making a pretext of the washing. Forshe never in this world would have gone to wash in the dark, as he musthave known, if he were not a fool. He is not the sort of person, itseems to me, to be fooling with maids. He seems as full of grave thoughtas Father Salvierderra. If I see anything amiss in Margarita to-day, Ishall speak to her myself, kindly but firmly, and tell her to conductherself more discreetly. "

Then, as the other maiden's had done, Ramona's thoughts, beingconcentrated on Alessandro, altered a little from their first key, andgrew softer and more imaginative; strangely enough, taking some of thephrases, as it were, out of the other maiden's mouth. 

"I never saw such eyes as Alessandro has, " she said. "I wonder any girlshould make free with him. Even I myself, when he fixes his eyes on me, feel a constraint. There is something in them like the eyes of a saint, so solemn, yet so mild. I am sure he is very good. "

And so the day opened; and if there were abroad in the valley that daya demon of mischief, let loose to tangle the skeins of human affairs, things could not have fallen out better for his purpose than they did;for it was not yet ten o'clock of the morning, when Ramona, sitting ather embroidery in the veranda, half hid behind the vines, saw Alessandrogoing with his pruning-knife in his hand towards the artichoke-patch atthe east of the garden, and joining the almond orchard. "I wonderwhat he is going to do there, " she thought. "He can't be going to cutwillows;" and her eyes followed him till he disappeared among the trees. 

Ramona was not the only one who saw this. Margarita, looking from theeast window of Father Salvierderra's room, saw the same thing. "Now'smy chance!" she said; and throwing a white reboso coquettishly over herhead, she slipped around the corner of the house. She ran swiftly in thedirection in which Alessandro had gone. The sound of her steps reachedRamona, who, lifting her eyes, took in the whole situation at a glance. There was no possible duty, no possible message, which would takeMargarita there. Ramona's cheeks blazed with a disproportionateindignation. But she bethought herself, "Ah, the Senora may have senther to call Alessandro!" She rose, went to the door of Felipe's room, and looked in. The Senora was sitting in the chair by Felipe's bed, with her eyes closed. Felipe was dozing. The Senora opened her eyes, andlooked inquiringly at Ramona. 

"Do you know where Margarita is?" said Ramona. 

"In Father Salvierderra's room, or else in the kitchen helping Marda, "replied the Senora, in a whisper. "I told her to help Marda with thepeppers this morning. "

Ramona nodded, returned to the veranda, and sat down to decide onher course of action. Then she rose again, and going to FatherSalvierderra's room, looked in. The room was still in disorder. Margarita had left her work there unfinished. The color deepened onRamona's cheeks. It was strange how accurately she divined each processof the incident. "She saw him from this window, " said Ramona, "and hasrun after him. It is shameful. I will go and call her back, and let hersee that I saw it all. It is high time that this was stopped. "

But once back in the veranda, Ramona halted, and seated herself in herchair again. The idea of seeming to spy was revolting to her. 

"I will wait here till she comes back, " she said, and took up herembroidery. But she could not work. As the minutes went slowly by, shesat with her eyes fixed on the almond orchard, where first Alessandroand then Margarita had disappeared. At last she could bear it no longer. It seemed to her already a very long time. It was not in reality verylong, --a half hour or so, perhaps; but it was long enough for Margaritato have made great headway, as she thought, in her talk with Alessandro, and for things to have reached just the worst possible crisis at whichthey could have been surprised, when Ramona suddenly appeared at theorchard gate, saying in a stern tone, "Margarita, you are wanted in thehouse!" At a bad crisis, indeed, for everybody concerned. The picturewhich Ramona had seen, as she reached the gate, was this: Alessandro, standing with his back against the fence, his right hand hanginglistlessly down, with the pruning-knife in it, his left hand in the handof Margarita, who stood close to him, looking up in his face, with ahalf-saucy, half-loving expression. What made bad matters worse, was, that at the first sight of Ramona, Alessandro snatched his hand fromMargarita's, and tried to draw farther off from her, looking at her withan expression which, even in her anger, Ramona could not help seeing wasone of disgust and repulsion. And if Ramona saw it, how much more didMargarita! Saw it, as only a woman repulsed in presence of another womancan see and feel. The whole thing was over in the twinkling of an eye;the telling it takes double, treble the time of the happening. BeforeAlessandro was fairly aware what had befallen, Ramona and Margaritawere disappearing from view under the garden trellis, --Ramona walking inadvance, stately, silent, and Margarita following, sulky, abject in hergait, but with a raging whirlwind in her heart. 

It had taken only the twinkling of an eye, but it had told Margarita thetruth. Alessandro too. 

"My God. " he said, "the Senorita thought me making love to that girl. May the fiends get her! The Senorita looked at me as if I were a dog. Howcould she think a man would look at a woman after he had once seen her!And I can never, never speak to her to tell her! Oh, this cannot beborne!" And in his rage Alessandro threw his pruning-knife whirlingthrough the air so fiercely, it sank to the hilt in one of the oldolive-trees. He wished he were dead. He was minded to flee the place. How could he ever look the Senorita in the face again!

"Perdition take that girl!" he said over and over in his helplessdespair. An ill outlook for Margarita after this; and the girl had notdeserved it. 

In Margarita's heart the pain was more clearly defined. She had seenRamona a half-second before Alessandro had; and dreaming no specialharm, except a little confusion at being seen thus standing withhim, --for she would tell the Senorita all about it when matters had gonea little farther, --had not let go of Alessandro's hand. But the nextsecond she had seen in his face a look; oh, she would never forget it, never! That she should live to have had any man look at her like that!At the first glimpse of the Senorita, all the blood in his body seemedrushing into his face, and he had snatched his hand away, --for it wasMargarita herself that had taken his hand, not he hers, --had snatchedhis hand away, and pushed her from him, till she had nearly fallen. Allthis might have been borne, if it had been only a fear of the Senorita'sseeing them, which had made him do it. But Margarita knew a great dealbetter than that. That one swift, anguished, shame-smitten, appealing, worshipping look on Alessandro's face, as his eyes rested on Ramona, waslike a flash of light into Margarita's consciousness. Far better thanAlessandro himself, she now knew his secret. In her first rage she didnot realize either the gulf between herself and Ramona, or that betweenRamona and Alessandro. Her jealous rage was as entire as if they hadall been equals together. She lost her head altogether, and there wasembodied insolence in the tone in which she said presently, "Did theSenorita want me?"

Turning swiftly on her, and looking her full in the eye, Ramona said:"I saw you go to the orchard, Margarita, and I knew what you went for. Iknew that you were at the brook last night with Alessandro. All I wantedof you was, to tell you that if I see anything more of this sort, Ishall speak to the Senora. "

"There is no harm, " muttered Margarita, sullenly. "I don't know what theSenorita means. "

"You know very well, Margarita, " retorted Ramona. "You know that theSenora permits nothing of the kind. Be careful, now, what you do. " Andwith that the two separated, Ramona returning to the veranda and herembroidery, and Margarita to her neglected duty of making the goodFather's bed. But each girl's heart was hot and unhappy; and Margarita'swould have been still hotter and unhappier, had she heard the wordswhich were being spoken on the veranda a little later. 

After a few minutes of his blind rage at Margarita, himself, and fategenerally, Alessandro, recovering his senses, had ingeniously persuadedhimself that, as the Senora's; and also the Senorita's servant, for thetime being, he owed it to them to explain the situation in which he hadjust been found. Just what he was to say he did not know; but no soonerhad the thought struck him, than he set off at full speed for the house, hoping to find Ramona on the veranda, where he knew she spent all hertime when not with Senor Felipe. 

When Ramona saw him coming, she lowered her eyes, and was absorbed inher embroidery. She did not wish to look at him. 

The footsteps stopped. She knew he was standing at the steps. She wouldnot look up. She thought if she did not, he would go away. She did notknow either the Indian or the lover nature. After a time, finding theconsciousness of the soundless presence intolerable, she looked up, andsurprised on Alessandro's face a gaze which had, in its long intervalof freedom from observation, been slowly gathering up into it all thepassion of the man's soul, as a burning-glass draws the fire of thesun's rays. Involuntarily a low cry burst from Ramona's lips, and shesprang to her feet. 

"Ah! did I frighten the Senorita? Forgive. I have been waiting here along time to speak to her. I wished to say--"

Suddenly Alessandro discovered that he did not know what he wished tosay. 

As suddenly, Ramona discovered that she knew all he wished to say. Butshe spoke not, only looked at him searchingly. 

"Senorita, " he began again, "I would never be unfaithful to my duty tothe Senora, and to you. "

"I believe you, Alessandro, " said Ramona. "It is not necessary to saymore. "

At these words a radiant joy spread over Alessandro's face. He had nothoped for this. He felt, rather than heard, that Ramona understood him. He felt, for the first time, a personal relation between himself andher. 

"It is well, " he said, in the brief phrase so frequent with his people. "It is well. " And with a reverent inclination of his head, he walkedaway. Margarita, still dawdling surlily over her work in FatherSalvierderra's room, heard Alessandro's voice, and running to discoverto whom he was speaking, caught these last, words. Peering from behinda curtain, she saw the look with which he said them; saw also theexpression on Ramona's face as she listened. 

Margarita clenched her hands. The seed had blossomed. Ramona had anenemy. 

"Oh, but I am glad Father Salvierderra has gone!" said the girl, bitterly. "He'd have had this out of me, spite of everything. I haven'tgot to confess for a year, maybe; and much can happen in that time. "

Much, indeed!

VIII

FELIPE gained but slowly. The relapse was indeed, as Father Salvierderrahad said, worse than the original attack. Day after day he lay withlittle apparent change; no pain, but a weakness so great that it wasalmost harder to bear than sharp suffering would have been. Nearly everyday Alessandro was sent for to play or sing to him. It seemed to be theonly thing that roused him from his half lethargic state. Sometimes hewould talk with Alessandro on matters relative to the estate, and showfor a few moments something like his old animation; but he was soontired, and would close his eyes, saying: "I will speak with you againabout this, Alessandro; I am going to sleep now. Sing. "

The Senora, seeing Felipe's enjoyment of Alessandro's presence, sooncame to have a warm feeling towards him herself; moreover, she greatlyliked his quiet reticence. There was hardly a surer road to the Senora'sfavor, for man or woman, than to be chary of speech and reservedin demeanor. She had an instinct of kinship to all that was silent, self-contained, mysterious, in human nature. The more she observedAlessandro, the more she trusted and approved him. Luckily for Juan Can, he did not know how matters were working in his mistress's mind. If hehad, he would have been in a fever of apprehension, and would have gotat swords' points with Alessandro immediately. On the contrary, allunaware of the real situation of affairs, and never quite sure that theMexican he dreaded might not any day hear of his misfortune, and appear, asking for the place, he took every opportunity to praise Alessandro tothe Senora. She never visited his bedside that he had not something tosay in favor of the lad, as he called him. 

"Truly, Senora, " he said again and again, "I do marvel where the ladgot so much knowledge, at his age. He is like an old hand at the sheepbusiness. He knows more than any shepherd I have, --a deal more; and itis not only of sheep. He has had experience, too, in the handling ofcattle. Juan Jose has been beholden to him more than once, already, fora remedy of which he knew not. And such modesty, withal. I knew not thatthere were such Indians; surely there cannot be many such. "

"No, I fancy not, " the Senora would reply, absently. "His father is aman of intelligence, and has trained his son well. "

"There is nothing he is not ready to do, " continued Alessandro'seulogist. "He is as handy with tools as if he had been 'prenticed to acarpenter. He has made me a new splint for my leg, which was a relieflike salve to a wound, so much easier was it than before. He is a goodlad, --a good lad. "

None of these sayings of Juan's were thrown away on the Senora. More andmore closely she watched Alessandro; and the very thing which Juanhad feared, and which he had thought to avert by having Alessandro histemporary substitute, was slowly coming to pass. The idea was workingin the Senora's mind, that she might do a worse thing than engage thisyoung, strong, active, willing man to remain permanently in her employ. The possibility of an Indian's being so born and placed that he wouldhesitate about becoming permanently a servant even to the Senora Moreno, did not occur to her. However, she would do nothing hastily. There wouldbe plenty of time before Juan Can's leg was well. She would study theyoung man more. In the mean time, she would cause Felipe to think of theidea, and propose it. 

So one day she said to Felipe: "What a voice that Alessandro has, Felipe. We shall miss his music sorely when he goes, shall we not?"

"He's not going!" exclaimed Felipe, startled. 

"Oh, no, no; not at present. He agreed to stay till Juan Can wasabout again; but that will be not more than six weeks now, or eight, Isuppose. You forget how time has flown while you have been lying hereill, my son. "

"True, true!" said Felipe. "Is it really a month already?" and hesighed. 

"Juan Can tells me that the lad has a marvellous knowledge for one ofhis years, " continued the Senora. "He says he is as skilled with cattleas with sheep; knows more than any shepherd we have on the place. Heseems wonderfully quiet and well-mannered. I never saw an Indian who hadsuch behavior. "

"Old Pablo is just like him, " said Felipe. "It was natural enough, living so long with Father Peyri. And I've seen other Indians, too, witha good deal the same manner as Alessandro. It's born in them. "

"I can't bear the idea of Alessandro's going away. But by that time youwill be well and strong, " said the Senora; "you would not miss him then, would you?"

"Yes, I would, too!" said Felipe, pettishly. He was still weak enough tobe childish. "I like him about me. He's worth a dozen times as much asany man we've got. But I don't suppose money could hire him to stay onany ranch. "

"Were you thinking of hiring him permanently?" asked the Senora, in asurprised tone. "I don't doubt you could do so if you wished. They areall poor, I suppose; he would not work with the shearers if he were notpoor. "

"Oh, it isn't that, " said Felipe, impatiently. "You can't understand, because you've never been among them. But they are just as proud as weare. Some of them, I mean; such men as old Pablo. They shear sheep formoney just as I sell wool for money. There isn't so much difference. Alessandro's men in the band obey him, and all the men in the villageobey Pablo, just as implicitly as my men here obey me. Faith, much moreso!" added Felipe, laughing. "You can't understand it, mother, but it'sso. I am not at all sure I could offer Alessandro Assis money enough totempt him to stay here as my servant. "

The Senora's nostrils dilated in scorn. "No, I do not understand it, "she said. "Most certainly I do not understand it. Of what is it thatthese noble lords of villages are so proud? their ancestors, --nakedsavages less than a hundred years ago? Naked savages they themselvestoo, to-day, if we had not come here to teach and civilize them. Therace was never meant for anything but servants. That was all the Fathersever expected to make of them, --good, faithful Catholics, and contentedlaborers in the fields. Of course there are always exceptionalinstances, and I think, myself, Alessandro is one. I don't believe, however, he is so exceptional, but that if you were to offer him, forinstance, the same wages you pay Juan Can, he would jump at the chanceof staying on the place. "

"Well, I shall think about it, " said Felipe. "I'd like nothing betterthan to have him here always. He's a fellow I heartily like. I'll thinkabout it. "

Which was all the Senora wanted done at present. 

Ramona had chanced to come in as this conversation was going on. HearingAlessandro's name she seated herself at the window, looking out, butlistening intently. The month had done much for Alessandro withRamona, though neither Alessandro nor Ramona knew it. It had donethis much, --that Ramona knew always when Alessandro was near, that shetrusted him, and that she had ceased to think of him as an Indian anymore than when she thought of Felipe, she thought of him as a Mexican. Moreover, seeing the two men frequently together, she had admitted toherself, as Margarita had done before her, that Alessandro was far thehandsomer man of the two. This Ramona did not like to admit, but shecould not help it. 

"I wish Felipe were as tall and strong as Alessandro, " she said toherself many a time. "I do not see why he could not have been. I wonderif the Senora sees how much handsomer Alessandro is. "

When Felipe said that he did not believe he could offer Alessandro Assismoney enough to tempt him to stay on the place, Ramona opened her lipssuddenly, as if to speak, then changed her mind, and remained silent. She had sometimes displeased the Senora by taking part in conversationsbetween her and her son. 

Felipe saw the motion, but he also thought it wiser to wait till afterhis mother had left the room, before he asked Ramona what she was on thepoint of saying. As soon as the Senora went out, he said, "What was it, Ramona, you were going to say just now?"

Ramona colored. She had decided not to say it. 

"Tell me, Ramona, " persisted Felipe. "You were going to say somethingabout Alessandro's staying; I know you were. "

Ramona did not answer. For the first time in her life she found herselfembarrassed before Felipe. 

"Don't you like Alessandro?" said Felipe. 

"Oh, yes!" replied Ramona, with instant eagerness. "It was not that atall. I like him very much;" But then she stopped. 

"Well, what is it, then? Have you heard anything on the place about hisstaying?"

"Oh, no, no; not a word!" said Ramona. "Everybody understands that he ishere only till Juan Can gets well. But you said you did not believe youcould offer him money enough to tempt him to stay. "

"Well, " said Felipe, inquiringly, "I do not. Do you?"

"I think he would like to stay, " said Ramona, hesitatingly. "That waswhat I was going to say. "

"What makes you think so?" asked Felipe. 

"I don't know, " Ramona said, still more hesitatingly. Now that she hadsaid it, she was sorry. Felipe looked curiously at her. Hesitancy likethis, doubts, uncertainty as to her impressions, were not characteristicof Ramona. A flitting something which was far from being suspicionor jealousy, and yet was of kin to them both, went through Felipe'smind, --went through so swiftly that he was scarce conscious of it; ifhe had been, he would have scorned himself. Jealous of an Indiansheep-shearers Impossible! Nevertheless, the flitting something left atrace, and prevented Felipe from forgetting the trivial incident; andafter this, it was certain that Felipe would observe Ramona more closelythan he had done; would weigh her words and actions; and if she shouldseem by a shade altered in either, would watch still more closely. Meshes were closing around Ramona. Three watchers of her every look andact, --Alessandro in pure love, Margarita in jealous hate, Felipe in loveand perplexity. Only the Senora observed her not. If she had, matters might have turned out very differently, for the Senora wasclear-sighted, rarely mistaken in her reading of people's motives, neverlong deceived; but her observing and discriminating powers were not infocus, so far as Ramona was concerned. The girl was curiously outside ofthe Senora's real life. Shelter, food, clothes, all external needs, inso far as her means allowed, the Senora would, without fail, provide forthe child her sister had left in her hands as a trust; but a personalrelation with her, a mother's affection, or even interest andacquaintance, no. The Senora had not that to give. And if she had itnot, was she to blame? What could she do? Years ago Father Salvierderrahad left off remonstrating with her on this point. "Is there more Ishould do for the child? Do you see aught lacking, aught amiss?" theSenora would ask, conscientiously, but with pride. And the Father, thusinquired of, could not point out a duty which had been neglected. 

"You do not love her, my daughter, " he said. 

"No. " Senora Moreno's truthfulness was of the adamantine order. "No, Ido not. I cannot. One cannot love by act of will. "

"That is true, " the Father would say sadly; "but affection may becultivated. "

"Yes, if it exists, " was the Senora's constant answer. "But in this caseit does not exist. I shall never love Ramona. Only at your command, andto save my sister a sorrow, I took her. I will never fail in my duty toher. "

It was of no use. As well say to the mountain, "Be cast into the sea, "as try to turn the Senora's heart in any direction whither it did not ofitself tend. All that Father Salvierderra could do, was to love Ramonathe more himself, which he did heartily, and more and more each year, and small marvel at it; for a gentler, sweeter maiden never drew breaththan this same Ramona, who had been all these years, save for Felipe, lonely in the Senora Moreno's house. 

Three watchers of Ramona now. If there had been a fourth, and thatfourth herself, matters might have turned out differently. But howshould Ramona watch? How should Ramona know? Except for her two years atschool with the nuns, she had never been away from the Senora's house. Felipe was the only young man she had known, --Felipe, her brother sinceshe was five years old. 

There were no gayeties in the Senora Moreno's home. Felipe, when heneeded them, went one day's journey, or two, or three, to get them; wentas often as he liked. Ramona never went. How many times she had longedto go to Santa Barbara, or to Monterey, or Los Angeles; but to haveasked the Senora's permission to accompany her on some of her nowinfrequent journeys to these places would have required more couragethan Ramona possessed. It was now three years since she left the conventschool, but she was still as fresh from the hands of the nuns as on theday when, with loving tears, they had kissed her in farewell. The fewromances and tales and bits of verse she had read were of the mostinnocent and old-fashioned kind, and left her hardly less childlike thanbefore. This childlikeness, combined with her happy temperament, hadkept her singularly contented in her monotonous life. She had fed thebirds, taken care of the flowers, kept the chapel in order, helped inlight household work, embroidered, sung, and, as the Senora eightyears before had bade her do, said her prayers and pleased FatherSalvierderra. 

By processes strangely unlike, she and Alessandro had both been keptstrangely free from thoughts of love and of marriage, --he by living inthe shadow, and she by living in the sun; his heart and thoughts filledwith perplexities and fears, hers filled by a placid routine of lightand easy tasks, and the outdoor pleasures of a child. 

As the days went on, and Felipe still remained feeble, Alessandromeditated a bold stroke. Each time that he went to Felipe's room to singor to play, he felt himself oppressed by the air. An hour of it made himuncomfortable. The room was large, and had two windows, and the door wasnever shut; yet the air seemed to Alessandro stifling. 

"I should be as ill as the Senor Felipe, if I had to stay in that room, and a bed is a weakening thing, enough to pull the strongest man down, "said Alessandro to Juan Can one day. "Do you think I should anger themif I asked them to let me bring Senor Felipe out to the veranda and puthim on a bed of my making? I'd wager my head I'd put him on his feet ina week. "

"And if you did that, you might ask the Senora for the half of theestate, and get it, lad, " replied Juan, Seeing the hot blood darkeningin Alessandro's face at his words, he hastened to add, "Do not be sohot-blooded. I meant not that you would ask any reward for doing it; Iwas only thinking what joy it would be to the Senora to see Senor Felipeon his feet again. It has often crossed my thoughts that if he did notget up from this sickness the Senora would not be long behind him. It isbut for him that she lives. And who would have the estate in that case, I have never been able to find out. "

"Would it not be the Senorita?" asked Alessandro. 

Juan Can laughed an ugly laugh. "Ha, ha! Let the Senora hear you saythat!" he said. "Faith, it will be little the Senorita gets morethan enough for her bread, may be, out of the Moreno estate. Hark ye, Alessandro; if you will not tell, I will tell you the story of theSenorita. You know she is not of the Moreno blood; is no relation oftheirs. "

"Yes, " said Alessandro; "Margarita has said to me that the SenoritaRamona was only the foster-child of the Senora Moreno. "

"Foster-child!" repeated Juan Can, contemptuously, "there is somethingto the tale I know not, nor ever could find out; for when I was inMonterey the Ortegna house was shut, and I could not get speech of anyof their people. But this much I know, that it was the Senora Ortegnathat had the girl first in keeping; and there was a scandalous taleabout her birth. "

If Juan Can's eyes had not been purblind with old age, he would haveseen that in Alessandro's face which would have made him choose hiswords more carefully. But he went on: "It was after the Senora Ortegnawas buried, that our Senora returned, bringing this child with her; andI do assure you, lad, I have seen the Senora look at her many a time asif she wished her dead. And it is a shame, for she was always as fairand good a child as the saints ever saw. But a stain on the blood, astain on the blood, lad, is a bitter thing in a house. This much I know, her mother was an Indian. Once when I was in the chapel, behind the bigSaint Joseph there, I overheard the Senora say as much. She was talkingto Father Salvierderra, and she said, 'If the child had only the oneblood in her veins, it would be different. I like not these crosses withIndians. '"

If Alessandro had been civilized, he would at this word "Indian" havebounded to his feet. Being Alessandro, he stood if possible stiller thanbefore, and said in a low voice, "How know you it was the mother thatwas the Indian?"

Juan laughed again, maliciously: "Ha, it is the Ortegna face she has;and that Ortegna, why, he was the scandal byword of the whole coast. There was not a decent woman would have spoken to him, except for hiswife's sake. "

"But did you not say that it was in the Senora Ortegna's keeping thatthe child was?" asked Alessandro, breathing harder and faster eachmoment now; stupid old Juan Can so absorbed in relish of his gossip, that he noticed nothing. 

"Ay, ay. So I said, " he went on; "and so it was. There be such saints, you know; though the Lord knows if she had been minded to give shelterto all her husband's bastards, she might have taken lease of a church tohold them. But there was a story about a man's coming with this infantand leaving it in the Senora's room; and she, poor lady, never havinghad a child of her own, did warm to it at first sight, and kept it withher to the last; and I wager me, a hard time she had to get our Senorato take the child when she died; except that it was to spite Ortegna, Ithink our Senora would as soon the child had been dead. "

"Has she not treated her kindly?" asked Alessandro, in a husky voice. 

Juan Can's pride resented this question. "Do you suppose the SenoraMoreno would do an unkindness to one under her roof?" he asked loftily. "The Senorita has been always, in all things, like Senor Felipe himself. It was so that she promised the Senora Ortegna, I have heard. "

"Does the Senorita know all this?" asked Alessandro. 

Juan Can crossed himself. "Saints save us, no!" he exclaimed. "I'll notforget, to my longest day, what it cost me, once I spoke in her hearing, when she was yet small. I did not know she heard; but she went to theSenora, asking who was her mother. And she said I had said her motherwas no good, which in faith I did, and no wonder. And the Senora came tome, and said she, 'Juan Canito, you have been a long time in our house;but if ever I hear of your mentioning aught concerning the SenoritaRamona, on this estate or anywhere else in the country, that day youleave my service!'--And you'd not do me the ill-turn to speak of it, Alessandro, now?" said the old man, anxiously. "My tongue runs away withme, lying here on this cursed bed, with nothing to do, --an active manlike me. "

"No, I'll not speak of it, you may be assured, " said Alessandro, walkingaway slowly. 

"Here! Here!" called Juan. "What about that plan you had for making abed for Senor Felipe on the verandah Was it of raw-hide you meant?"

"Ah, I had forgotten, " said Alessandro, returning. "Yes, that was it. There is great virtue in a raw-hide, tight stretched; my father saysthat it is the only bed the Fathers would ever sleep on, in the Missiondays. I myself like the ground even better; but my father sleeps alwayson the rawhide. He says it keeps him well. Do you think I might speak ofit to the Senora?"

"Speak of it to Senor Felipe himself, " said Juan. "It will be as hesays. He rules this place now, from beginning to end; and it is butyesterday I held him on my knee. It is soon that the old are pushed tothe wall, Alessandro. "

"Nay, Juan Canito, " replied Alessandro, kindly. "It is not so. My fatheris many years older than you are, and he rules our people to-day asfirmly as ever. I myself obey him, as if I were a lad still. "

"What else, then, but a lad do you call yourself, I wonder?" thoughtJuan; but he answered, "It is not so with us. The old are not held insuch reverence. "

"That is not well, " replied Alessandro. "We have been taughtdifferently. There is an old man in our village who is many, many yearsolder than my father. He helped to carry the mortar at the building ofthe San Diego Mission, I do not know how many years ago. He is long pasta hundred years of age. He is blind and childish, and cannot walk; buthe is cared for by every one. And we bring him in our arms to everycouncil, and set him by my father's side. He talks very foolishlysometimes, but my father will not let him be interrupted. He saysit brings bad luck to affront the aged. We will presently be agedourselves. "

"Ay, ay!" said Juan, sadly. "We must all come to it. It is beginning tolook not so far off to me!"

Alessandro stared, no less astonished at Juan Can's unconsciousrevelation of his standard of measurement of years than Juan had beenat his. "Faith, old man, what name dost give to yourself to-day!" hethought; but went on with the topic of the raw-hide bed. "I may not sosoon get speech with Senor Felipe, " he said. "It is usually when he issleepy that I go to play for him or to sing. But it makes my heart heavyto see him thus languishing day by day, and all for lack of the air andthe sun, I do believe, indeed, Juan. "

"Ask the Senorita, then, " said Juan. "She has his ear at all times. "

Alessandro made no answer. Why was it that it did not please him, --thissuggestion of speaking to Ramona of his plan for Felipe's welfare? Hecould not have told; but he did not wish to speak of it to her. 

"I will speak to the Senora, " he said; and as luck would have it, atthat moment the Senora stood in the doorway, come to ask after JuanCan's health. 

The suggestion of the raw-hide bed struck her favorably. She herselfhad, in her youth, heard much of their virtues, and slept on them. "Yes, " she said, "they are good. We will try it. It was only yesterdaythat Senor Felipe was complaining of the bed he lies on; and when hewas well, he thought nothing could be so good; he brought it here, at agreat price, for me, but I could not lie on it. It seemed as if it wouldthrow me off as soon as I lay down; it is a cheating device, like allthese innovations the Americans have brought into the country. But SenorFelipe till now thought it a luxury; now he tosses on it, and says it isthrowing him all the time. "

Alessandro smiled, in spite of his reverence for the Senora. "I once laydown on one myself, Senora, " he said, "and that was what I said to myfather. It was like a wild horse under me, making himself ready to buck. I thought perhaps the invention was of the saints, that men should notsleep too long. "

"There is a pile of raw-hides, " said Juan, "well cured, but not toostiff; Juan Jose was to have sent them off to-day to be sold; one ofthose will be just right. It must not be too dry. "

"The fresher the better, " said Alessandro, "so it have no dampness. Shall I make the bed, Senora?" he asked, "and will the Senora permitthat I make it on the veranda? I was just asking Juan Can if he thoughtI might be so bold as to ask you to let me bring Senor Felipe into theouter air. With us, it is thought death to be shut up in walls, as hehas been so long. Not till we are sure to die, do we go into the darklike that. "

The Senora hesitated. She did not share Alessandro's prejudice in favorof fresh air. 

"Night and day both?" she said. "Surely it is not well to sleep out inthe night?"

"That is the best of all, Senora, " replied Alessandro, earnestly. "I begthe Senora to try it. If Senor Felipe have not mended greatly after thefirst night he had so slept, then Alessandro will be a liar. "

"No, only mistaken, " said the Senora, gently. She felt herself greatlydrawn to this young man by his devotion, as she thought, of Felipe. "When I die and leave Felipe here, " she had more than once said toherself, "it would be a great good to him to have such a servant as thison the place. "

"Very well, Alessandro, " she replied; "make the bed, and we will try itat once. "

This was early in the forenoon. The sun was still high in the west, when Ramona, sitting as usual in the veranda, at her embroidery, sawAlessandro coming, followed by two men, bearing the raw-hide bed. 

"What can that be?" she said. "Some new invention of Alessandro's, butfor what?"

"A bed for the Senor Felipe, Senorita, " said Alessandro, running lightlyup the steps. "The Senora has given permission to place it here on theveranda, and Senor Felipe is to lie here day and night; and it will bea marvel in your eyes how he will gain strength. It is the close roomwhich is keeping him weak now; he has no illness. "

"I believe that is the truth, Alessandro, " exclaimed Ramona; "I havebeen thinking the same thing. My head aches after I am in that room butan hour, and when I come here I am well. But the nights too, Alessandro?Is it not harmful to sleep out in the night air?"

"Why, Senorita?" asked Alessandro, simply. 

And Ramona had no answer, except, "I do not know; I have always heardso. "

"My people do not think so, " replied Alessandro; "unless it is cold, we like it better. It is good, Senorita, to look up at the sky in thenight. "

"I should think it would be, " cried Ramona. "I never thought of it. Ishould like to do it. "

Alessandro was busy, with his face bent down, arranging the bedstead ina sheltered corner of the veranda. If his face had been lifted, Ramonawould have seen a look on it that would have startled her more thanthe one she had surprised a few days previous, after the incident withMargarita. All day there had been coming and going in Alessandro's braina confused procession of thoughts, vague yet intense. Put in words, they would have been found to be little more than ringing changes onthis idea: "The Senorita Ramona has Indian blood in her veins. TheSenorita Ramona is alone. The Senora loves her not. Indian blood! Indianblood!" These, or something like them, would have been the words; butAlessandro did not put them in words. He only worked away on the roughposts for Senor Felipe's bedstead, hammered, fitted, stretched theraw-hide and made it tight and firm, driving every nail, striking everyblow, with a bounding sense of exultant strength, as if there weresuddenly all around him a new heaven and a new earth. 

Now, when he heard Ramona say suddenly in her girlish, eager tone, "Itmust be; I never thought of it; I should like to try it, " these vagueconfused thoughts of the day, and the day's bounding sense of exultantstrength, combined in a quick vision before Alessandro's eyes, --a visionof starry skies overhead, Ramona and himself together, looking up tothem. But when he raised his head, all he said was, "There, Senorita!That is all firm, now. If Senor Felipe will let me lay him an this bed, he will sleep as he has not slept since he fell ill. "

Ramona ran eagerly into Felipe's room, "The bed is all ready on theveranda, " she exclaimed. "Shall Alessandro come in and carry you out?"

Felipe looked up, startled. The Senora turned on Ramona that expressionof gentle, resigned displeasure, which always hurt the girl's sensitivenature far worse than anger. "I had not spoken to Felipe yet of thechange, Ramona, " she said. "I supposed that Alessandro would haveinformed me when the bed was ready; I am sorry you came in so suddenly. Felipe is still very weak, you see. "

"What is it? What is it?" exclaimed Felipe, impatiently. 

As soon as it was explained to him, he was like a child in his haste tobe moved. 

"That's just what I needed!" he exclaimed. "This cursed bed racks everybone in my body, and I have longed for the sun more than ever a thirstyman longed for water. Bless you, Alessandro, " he went on, seeingAlessandro in the doorway. "Come here, and take me up in those long armsof yours, and carry me quick. Already I feel myself better. "

Alessandro lifted him as if he were a baby; indeed, it was but a lightburden now, Felipe's wasted body, for a man much less strong thanAlessandro to lift. 

Ramona, chilled and hurt, ran in advance, carrying pillows and blankets. As she began to arrange them on the couch, the Senora took them from herhands, saying, "I will arrange them myself;" and waved Ramona away. 

It was a little thing. Ramona was well used to such. Ordinarily it wouldhave given her no pain she could not conceal. But the girl's nerves werenot now in equilibrium. She had had hard work to keep back her tearsat the first rebuff. This second was too much. She turned, and walkedswiftly away, the tears rolling down her cheeks. 

Alessandro saw it; Felipe saw it. 

To Felipe the sight was, though painful, not a surprise. He knew buttoo well how often his mother hurt Ramona. All he thought now, in hisweakness, was, "Alas! what a pity my mother does not love Ramona!"

To Alessandro the sight was the one drop too much in the cup. As hestooped to lay Felipe on the bed, he trembled so that Felipe looked up, half afraid. 

"Am I still so heavy, Alessandro?" he said smiling. 

"It is not your weight, Senor Felipe, " answered Alessandro, off guard, still trembling, his eyes following Ramona. 

Felipe saw. In the next second, the eyes of the two young men met. Alessandro's fell before Felipe's. Felipe gazed on, steadily, atAlessandro. 

"Ah!" he said; and as he said it, he closed his eyes, and let his headsink back into the pillow. 

"Is that comfortable? Is that right?" asked the Senora, who had seennothing. 

"The first comfortable moment I have had, mother, " said Felipe. "Stay, Alessandro, I want to speak to you as soon as I am rested. This move hasshaken me up a good deal. Wait. "

"Yes, Senor, " replied Alessandro, and seated himself on the verandasteps. 

"If you are to stay, Alessandro, " said the Senora, "I will go and lookafter some matters that need my attention. I feel always at ease aboutSenor Felipe when you are with him. You will stay till I come back?"

"Yes, Senora, " said Alessandro, in a tone cold as the Senora's own hadbeen to Ramona. He was no longer in heart the Senora Moreno's servant. In fact, he was at that very moment revolving confusedly in his mindwhether there could be any possibility of his getting away before theexpiration of the time for which he had agreed to stay. 

It was a long time before Felipe opened his eyes. Alessandro thought hewas asleep. 

At last Felipe spoke. He had been watching Alessandro's face for someminutes. "Alessandro, " he said. 

Alessandro sprang to his feet, and walked swiftly to the bedside. He didnot know what the next word might be. He felt that the Senor Felipe hadseen straight into his heart in that one moment's look, and Alessandrowas preparing for anything. 

"Alessandro, " said Felipe, "my mother has been speaking to me about yourremaining with us permanently. Juan Can is now very old, and after thisaccident will go on crutches the rest of his days, poor soul! We are ingreat need of some man who understands sheep, and the care of the placegenerally. "

As he spoke, he watched Alessandro's face closely. Swift changingexpressions passed over it. Surprise predominated. Felipe misunderstoodthe surprise. "I knew you would be surprised, " he said. "I told mymother that you would not think of it; that you had stayed now onlybecause we were in trouble. "

Alessandro bowed his head gratefully. This recognition from Felipe gavehim pleasure. 

"Yes, Senor, " he said, "that was it. I told Father Salvierderra it wasnot for the wages. But my father and I have need of all the money we canearn. Our people are very poor, Senor. I do not know whether my fatherwould think I ought to take the place you offer me, or not, Senor. Itwould be as he said. I will ask him. "

"Then you would be willing to take it?" asked Felipe. 

"Yes, Senor, if my father wished me to take it, " replied Alessandro, looking steadily and gravely at Felipe; adding, after a second'spause, "if you are sure that you desire it, Senor Felipe, it would be apleasure to me to be of help to you. "

And yet it was only a few moments ago that Alessandro had been turningover in his mind the possibility of leaving the Senora Moreno's serviceimmediately. This change had not been a caprice, not been an impulseof passionate desire to remain near Ramona; it had come from a suddenconsciousness that the Senor Felipe would be his friend. And Alessandrowas not mistaken. 

IX

WHEN the Senora came back to the veranda, she found Felipe asleep, Alessandro standing at the foot of the bed, with his arms crossed on hisbreast, watching him. As the Senora drew near, Alessandro felt again thesame sense of dawning hatred which had seized him at her harsh speech toRamona. He lowered his eyes, and waited to be dismissed. 

"You can go now, Alessandro, " said the Senora. "I will sit here. Youare quite sure that it will be safe for Senor Felipe to sleep here allnight?"

"It will cure him before many nights, " replied Alessandro, still withoutraising his eyes, and turning to go. 

"Stay, " said the Senora. Alessandro paused. "It will not do for him tobe alone here in the night, Alessandro. "

Alessandro had thought of this, and had remembered that if he lay onthe veranda floor by Senor Felipe's side, he would also lie under theSenorita's window. 

"No, Senora, " he replied. "I will lie here by his side. That was what Ihad thought, if the Senora is willing. "

"Thank you, Alessandro, " said the Senora, in a tone which would havesurprised poor Ramona, still sitting alone in her room, with sad eyes. She did not know the Senora could speak thus sweetly to any one butFelipe. "Thank you! You are kind. I will have a bed made for you. "

"Oh, no. " cried Alessandro; "if the Senora will excuse me, I could notlie on a bed. A raw-hide like Senor Felipe's, and my blanket, are all Iwant. I could not lie on any bed. "

"To be sure, " thought the Senora; "what was I thinking of! How theboy makes one forget he is an Indian! But the floor is harder than theground, Alessandro, " she said kindly. 

"No, Senora, " he said, "it is all one; and to-night I will not sleep. I will watch Senor Felipe, in case there should be a wind, or he shouldwake and need something. "

"I will watch him myself till midnight, " said the Senora. "I should feeleasier to see how he sleeps at first. "

It was the balmiest of summer nights, and as still as if no living thingwere on the earth. There was a full moon, which shone on the garden, andon the white front of the little chapel among the trees. Ramona, fromher window, saw Alessandro pacing up and down the walk. She had seen himspread down the raw-hide by Felipe's bed, and had seen the Senora takeher place in one of the big carved chairs. She wondered if they wereboth going to watch; she wondered why the Senora would never let her situp and watch with Felipe. 

"I am not of any use to anybody, " she thought sadly. She dared notgo out and ask any questions about the arrangements for the night. Atsupper the Senora had spoken to her only in the same cold and distantmanner which always made her dumb and afraid. She had not once seenFelipe alone during the day. Margarita, who, in the former times, --ah, how far away those former times looked now!--had been a greater comfortto Ramona than she realized, --Margarita now was sulky and silent, nevercame into Ramona's presence if she could help it, and looked at hersometimes with an expression which made Ramona tremble, and say toherself, "She hates me; She has always hated me since that morning. "

It had been a long, sad day to Ramona; and as she sat in her windowleaning her head against the sash, and looked at Alessandro pacing upand down, she felt for the first time, and did not shrink from it nor inany wise disavow or disguise it to herself, that she was glad he lovedher. More than this she did not think; beyond this she did not go. Her mind was not like Margarita's, full of fancies bred of freedom inintercourse with men. But distinctly, tenderly glad that Alessandroloved her, and distinctly, tenderly aware how well he loved her, shewas, as she sat at her window this night, looking out into the moonlitgarden; after she had gone to bed, she could still hear his slow, regular steps on the garden-walk, and the last thought she had, as shefell asleep, was that she was glad Alessandro loved her. 

The moon had been long set, and the garden, chapel-front, trees, vines, were all wrapped in impenetrable darkness, when Ramona awoke, sat up inher bed, and listened. All was so still that the sound of Felipe's low, regular breathing came in through her open window. After hearkening toit for a few moments, she rose noiselessly from her bed, and creeping tothe window parted the curtains and looked out; noiselessly, she thought;but it was not noiselessly enough to escape Alessandro's quick ear;without a sound, he sprang to his feet, and stood looking at Ramona'swindow. 

"I am here, Senorita, " he whispered. "Do you want anything?"

"Has he slept all night like this?" she whispered back. 

"Yes, Senorita. He has not once moved. "

"How good!" said Ramona. "How good!"

Then she stood still; she wanted to speak again to Alessandro, to hearhim speak again, but she could think of no more to say. Because shecould not, she gave a little sigh. 

Alessandro took one swift step towards the window. "May the saints blessyou, Senorita, " he whispered fervently. 

"Thank you, Alessandro, " murmured Ramona, and glided back to her bed, but not to sleep. It lacked not much of dawn; as the first faint lightfiltered through the darkness, Ramona heard the Senora's window open. 

"Surely she will not strike up the hymn and wake Felipe, " thoughtRamona; and she sprang again to the window to listen. A few low wordsbetween the Senora and Alessandro, and then the Senora's window closedagain, and all was still. 

"I thought she would not have the heart to wake him, " said Ramona toherself. "The Virgin would have had no pleasure in our song, I am sure;but I will say a prayer to her instead;" and she sank on her knees atthe head of her bed, and began saying a whispered prayer. The footfallof a spider in Ramona's room had not been light enough to escape theear of that watching lover outside. Again Alessandro's tall figure arosefrom the floor, turning towards Ramona's window; and now the darknesswas so far softened to dusk, that the outline of his form could be seen. Ramona felt it rather than saw it, and stopped praying. Alessandro wassure he had heard her voice. 

"Did the Senorita speak?" he whispered, his face close at the curtain. Ramona, startled, dropped her rosary, which rattled as it fell on thewooden floor. 

"No, no, Alessandro, " she said, "I did not speak. " And she trembled, she knew not why. The sound of the beads on the floor explained toAlessandro what had been the whispered words he heard. 

"She was at her prayers, " he thought, ashamed and sorry. "Forgive me, "he whispered, "I thought you called;" and he stepped back to the outeredge of the veranda, and seated himself on the railing. He would liedown no more. Ramona remained on her knees, gazing at the window. Through the transparent muslin curtain the dawning light came slowly, steadily, till at last she could see Alessandro distinctly. Forgetfulof all else, she knelt gazing at him. The rosary lay on the floor, forgotten. Ramona would not finish that prayer, that day. But her heartwas full of thanksgiving and gratitude, and the Madonna had a betterprayer than any in the book. 

The sun was up, and the canaries, finches, and linnets had made theveranda ring with joyous racket, before Felipe opened his eyes. TheSenora had come and gone and come again, looking at him anxiously, buthe stirred not. Ramona had stolen timidly out, glancing at Alessandroonly long enough to give him one quick smile, and bent over Felipe'sbed, holding her breath, he lay so still. 

"Ought he to sleep so long?" she whispered. 

"Till the noon, it may be, " answered Alessandro; "and when he wakes, youwill see by his eye that he is another man. "

It was indeed so. When Felipe first looked about him, he laughedoutright with pure pleasure. Then catching sight of Alessandro at thesteps, he called, in a stronger voice than had yet been heard from him, "Alessandro, you are a famous physician. Why couldn't that fool fromVentura have known as much? With all his learning, he had had me in thenext world before many days, except for you. Now, Alessandro, breakfast!I'm hungry. I had forgotten what the thought of food was like to ahungry stomach. And plenty! plenty!" he called, as Alessandro ran towardthe kitchen. "Bring all they have. "

When the Senora saw Felipe bolstered up in the bed, his eye bright, his color good, his voice clear, eating heartily like his old self, she stood like a statue in the middle of the veranda for a moment; thenturning to Alessandro, she said chokingly, "May Heaven reward you!" anddisappeared abruptly in her own room. When she came out, her eyeswere red. All day she moved and spoke with a softness unwonted, indeedinconceivable. She even spoke kindly and without constraint to Ramona. She felt like one brought back from the dead. 

After this, a new sort of life began for them all. Felipe's bed onthe veranda was the rallying point for everything and everybody. . Theservants came to look up at him, and wish him well, from the garden-walkbelow. Juan Can, when he first hobbled out on the stout crutchesAlessandro had made him of manzanita wood, dragged himself all the wayround the house, to have a look at Senor Felipe and a word with him. TheSenora sat there, in the big carved chair, looking like a sibyl with herblack silk banded head-dress severely straight across her brow, and herlarge dark eyes gazing out, past Felipe, into the far south sky. Ramonalived there too, with her embroidery or her book, sitting on cushions onthe floor in a corner, or at the foot of Felipe's bed, always so placed, however, --if anybody had noticed, but nobody did, --so placed that shecould look at Felipe without looking full at the Senora's chair, even ifthe Senora were not in it. 

Here also came Alessandro many times a day, --sometimes sent for, sometimes of his own accord. He was freely welcome. When he played orsang he sat on the upper step of the stairs leading down to the garden. He also had a secret, which he thought all his own, in regard to thepositions he chose. He sat always, when Ramona was there, in the spotwhich best commanded a view of her face. The secret was not all his own. Felipe knew it. Nothing was escaping Felipe in these days. A bomb-shellexploding at their feet would not have more astonished the differentmembers of this circle, the Senora, Ramona, Alessandro, than it wouldto have been made suddenly aware of the thoughts which were going on inFelipe's mind now, from day to day, as he lay there placidly looking atthem all. 

It is probable that if Felipe had been in full health and strength whenthe revelation suddenly came to him that Alessandro loved Ramona, andthat Ramona might love Alessandro, he would have been instantly filledwith jealous antagonism. But at the time when this revelation came, hewas prostrate, feeble, thinking many times a day that he must soon die;it did not seem to Felipe that a man could be so weak as he was, andever again be strong and well. Side by side with these forebodings ofhis own death, always came the thought of Ramona. What would become ofher, if he were gone? Only too well he knew that the girl's heart wouldbe broken; that she could not live on alone with his mother. Felipeadored his mother; but he understood her feeling about Ramona. 

With his feebleness had also come to Felipe, as is often the case inlong illnesses, a greater clearness of perception. Ramona had ceased topuzzle him. He no longer asked himself what her long, steady look intohis eyes meant. He knew. He saw it mean that as a sister she loved him, had always loved him, and could love him in no other way. He wondered alittle at himself that this gave him no more pain; only a sort of sweet, mournful tenderness towards her. It must be because he was so soon goingout of the world, he thought. Presently he began to be aware that a newquality was coming into his love for her. He himself was returningto the brother love which he had had for her when they were childrentogether, and in which he had felt no change until he became a man andRamona a woman. It was strange what a peace fell upon Felipe when thiswas finally clear and settled in his mind. No doubt he had had moremisgiving and fear about his mother in the matter than he had everadmitted to himself; perhaps also the consciousness of Ramona'sunfortunate birth had rankled at times; but all this was past now. Ramona was his sister. He was her brother. What course should he pursuein the crisis which he saw drawing near? How could he best help Ramona?What would be best for both her and Alessandro? Long before the thoughtof any possible union between himself and Ramona had entered intoAlessandro's mind, still longer before it had entered into Ramona's tothink of Alessandro as a husband, Felipe had spent hours in forecasting, plotting, and planning for them. For the first time in his life he felthimself in the dark as to his mother's probable action. That any concernas to Ramona's personal happiness or welfare would influence her, heknew better than to think for a moment. So far as that was concerned, Ramona might wander out the next hour, wife of a homeless beggar, and his mother would feel no regret. But Ramona had been the adopteddaughter of the Senora Ortegna, bore the Ortegna name, and had lived asfoster-child in the house of the Morenos. Would the Senora permit such aone to marry an Indian?

Felipe doubted. The longer he thought, the more he doubted. The morehe watched, the more he saw that the question might soon have to bedecided. Any hour might precipitate it. He made plan after plan forforestalling trouble, for preparing his mother; but Felipe was by natureindolent, and now he was, in addition, feeble. Day after day slipped by. It was exceedingly pleasant on the veranda. Ramona was usually with him;his mother was gentler, less sad, than he had ever seen her. Alessandrowas always at hand, ready for any service, --in the field, in thehouse, --his music a delight, his strength and fidelity a repose, hispersonal presence always agreeable. "If only my mother could thinkit, " reflected Felipe, "it would be the best thing, all round, to haveAlessandro stay here as overseer of the place, and then they might bemarried. Perhaps before the summer is over she will come to see it so. "

And the delicious, languid, semi-tropic summer came hovering over thevalley. The apricots turned golden, the peaches glowed, the grapesfilled and hardened, like opaque emeralds hung thick under the canopiedvines. The garden was a shade brown, and the roses had all fallen; butthere were lilies, and orange-blossoms, and poppies, and carnations, andgeraniums in the pots, and musk, --oh, yes, ever and always musk. It waslike an enchanter's spell, the knack the Senora had of forever keepingrelays of musk to bloom all the year; and it was still more like anenchanter's spell, that Felipe would never confess that he hated it. 'But the bees liked it, and the humming-birds, --the butterflies also;and the air was full of them. The veranda was a quieter place now as theseason's noon grew near. The linnets were all nesting, and the finchesand the canaries too; and the Senora spent hours, every day, tirelesslyfeeding the mothers. The vines had all grown and spread out to theirthickest; no need any longer of the gay blanket Alessandro had pinned upthat first morning to keep the sun off Felipe's head. 

What was the odds between a to-day and a to-morrow in such a spotas this? "To-morrow, " said Felipe, "I will speak to my mother, " and"to-morrow, " and "to-morrow;" but he did not. 

There was one close observer of these pleasant veranda days that Felipeknew nothing about. That was Margarita. As the girl came and went abouther household tasks, she was always on the watch for Alessandro, on thewatch for Ramona. She was biding her time. Just what shape her revengewas going to take, she did not know. It was no use plotting. It must beas it fell out; but that the hour and the way for her revenge would comeshe never doubted. 

When she saw the group on the veranda, as she often did, all listeningto Alessandro's violin, or to his singing, Alessandro himself now at hisease and free in the circle, as if he had been there always, her angerwas almost beyond bounds. 

"Oh, ho! like a member of the family; quite so!" she sneered. "It is newtimes when a head shepherd spends his time with the ladies of the house, and sits in their presence like a guest who is invited! We shall see; weshall see what comes of all this!" And she knew not which she hated themore of the two, Alessandro or Ramona. 

Since the day of the scene at the artichoke-field she had never spokento Alessandro, and had avoided, so far as was possible, seeing him. Atfirst Alessandro was sorry for this, and tried to be friendly with her. As soon as he felt assured that the incident had not hurt him at all inthe esteem of Ramona, he began to be sorry for Margarita. "A man shouldnot be rude to any maiden, " he thought; and he hated to remember how hehad pushed Margarita from him, and snatched his hand away, when hehad in the outset made no objection to her taking it. But Margarita'sresentment was not to be appeased. She understood only too clearly howlittle Alessandro's gentle advances meant, and she would none of them. "Let him go to his Senorita, " she said bitterly, mocking the reverentialtone in which she had overheard him pronounce the word. "She is fondenough of him, if only the fool had eyes to see it. She'll be ready tothrow herself at his head before long, if this kind of thing keeps up. 'It is not well to speak thus freely of young men, Margarita!' Ha, ha! Little I thought that day which way the wind set in my mistress'stemper! I'll wager she reproves me no more, under this roof or anyother! Curse her! What did she want of Alessandro, except to turn hishead, and then bid him go his way!"

To do Margarita justice, she never once dreamed of the possibility ofRamona's wedding Alessandro. A clandestine affair, an intrigue of moreor less intensity, such as she herself might have carried on with anyone of the shepherds, --this was the utmost stretch of Margarita's angryimaginations in regard to her young mistress's liking for Alessandro. There was not, in her way of looking at things, any impossibility ofsuch a thing as that. But marriage! It might be questioned whether thatidea would have been any more startling to the Senora herself than toMargarita. 

Little had passed between Alessandro and Ramona which Margarita did notknow. The girl was always like a sprite, --here, there, everywhere, inan hour, and with eyes which, as her mother often told her, saw on allsides of her head. Now, fired by her new purpose, new passion, she movedswifter than ever, and saw and heard even more, There were few hours ofany day when she did not know to a certainty where both Alessandro andRamona were; and there had been few meetings between them which she hadnot either seen or surmised. 

In the simple life of such a household as the Senora's, it was notstrange that this was possible; nevertheless, it argued and involveduntiring vigilance on Margarita's part. Even Felipe, who thoughthimself, from his vantage-post of observation on the veranda, and fromhis familiar relation with Ramona, well informed of most that happened, would have been astonished to hear all that Margarita could havetold him. In the first days Ramona herself had guilelessly told himmuch, --had told him how Alessandro, seeing her trying to sprinkle andbathe and keep alive the green ferns with which she had decorated thechapel for Father Salvierderra's coming, had said: "Oh, Senorita, theyare dead! Do not take trouble with them! I will bring you fresh ones;"and the next morning she had found, lying at the chapel door, a pile ofsuch ferns as she had never before seen; tall ones, like ostrich-plumes, six and eight feet high; the feathery maidenhair, and the gold fern, andthe silver, twice as large as she ever had found them. The chapel wasbeautiful, like a conservatory, after she had arranged them in vases andaround the high candlesticks. 

It was Alessandro, too, who had picked up in the artichoke-patch allof the last year's seed-vessels which had not been trampled down by thecattle, and bringing one to her, had asked shyly if she did not thinkit prettier than flowers made out of paper. His people, he said, madewreaths of them. And so they were, more beautiful than any paper flowerswhich ever were made, --great soft round disks of fine straight threadslike silk, with a kind of saint's halo around them of sharp, stiffpoints, glossy as satin, and of a lovely creamy color. It was thestrangest thing in the world nobody had ever noticed them as they laythere on the ground. She had put a great wreath of them around SaintJoseph's head, and a bunch in the Madonna's hand; and when the Senorasaw them, she exclaimed in admiration, and thought they must have beenmade of silk and satin. 

And Alessandro had brought her beautiful baskets, made by the Indianwomen at Pala, and one which had come from the North, from the Tularecountry; it had gay feathers woven in with the reeds, --red and yellow, in alternate rows, round and round. It was like a basket made out of abright-colored bird. 

And a beautiful stone bowl Alessandro had brought her, glossy black, that came all the way from Catalina Island; a friend of Alessandro's gotit. For the first few weeks it had seemed as if hardly a day passedthat there was not some new token to be chronicled of Alessandro'sthoughtfulness and good-will. Often, too, Ramona had much to tell thatAlessandro had said, --tales of the old Mission days that he had heardfrom his father; stories of saints, and of the early Fathers, who weremore like saints than like men, Alessandro said, --Father Junipero, whofounded the first Missions, and Father Crespi, his friend. Alessandro'sgrandfather had journeyed with Father Crespi as his servant, and many amiracle he had with his own eyes seen Father Crespi perform. There was acup out of which the Father always took his chocolate for breakfast, --abeautiful cup, which was carried in a box, the only luxury the Fatherhad; and one morning it was broken, and everybody was in terror anddespair. "Never mind, never mind, " said the Father; "I will make itwhole;" and taking the two pieces in his hands, he held them tighttogether, and prayed over them, and they became one solid piece again, and it was used all through the journey, just as before. 

But now, Ramona never spoke voluntarily of Alessandro. To Felipe'ssometimes artfully put questions or allusions to him, she made briefreplies, and never continued the topic; and Felipe had observed anotherthing: she now rarely looked at Alessandro. When he was speaking toothers she kept her eyes on the ground. If he addressed her, shelooked quickly up at him, but lowered her eyes after the first glance. Alessandro also observed this, and was glad of it. He understood it. Heknew how differently she could look in his face in the rare moments whenthey were alone together. He fondly thought he alone knew this; but hewas mistaken. Margarita knew. She had more than once seen it. 

It had happened more than once that he had found Ramona at the willowsby the brook, and had talked with her there. The first time it happened, it was a chance; after that never a chance again, for Alessandro wentoften seeking the spot, hoping to find her. In Ramona's mind too, notavowed, but half consciously, there was, if not the hope of seeing himthere, at least the memory that it was there they had met. It was apleasant spot, --cool and shady even at noon, and the running wateralways full of music. Ramona often knelt there of a morning, washing outa bit of lace or a handkerchief; and when Alessandro saw her, it wenthard with him to stay away. At such moments the vision returned to himvividly of that first night when, for the first second, seeing her facein the sunset glow, he had thought her scarce mortal. It was not thathe even now thought her less a saint; but ah, how well he knew her tobe human! He had gone alone in the dark to this spot many a time, and, lying on the grass, put his hands into the running water, and playedwith it dreamily, thinking, in his poetic Indian fashion, thoughts likethese: "Whither have gone the drops that passed beneath her hands, justhere? These drops will never find those in the sea; but I love thiswater!"

Margarita had seen him thus lying, and without dreaming of the refinedsentiment which prompted his action, had yet groped blindly towards it, thinking to herself: "He hopes his Senorita will come down to him there. A nice place it is for a lady to meet her lover, at the washing-stones!It will take swifter water than any in that brook, Senorita Ramona, towash you white in the Senora's eyes, if ever she come upon you therewith the head shepherd, making free with him, may be! Oh, but if thatcould only happen, I'd die content!" And the more Margarita watched, the more she thought it not unlikely that it might turn out so. It wasoftener at the willows than anywhere else that Ramona and Alessandromet; and, as Margarita noticed with malicious satisfaction, they talkedeach time longer, each time parted more lingeringly. Several times ithad happened to be near supper-time; and Margarita, with one eye onthe garden-walk, had hovered restlessly near the Senora, hoping to beordered to call the Senorita to supper. 

"If but I could come on them of a sudden, and say to her as she did tome, 'You are wanted in the house'! Oh, but it would do my soul good! I'dsay it so it would sting like a lash laid on both their faces! It willcome! It will come! It will be there that she'll be caught one of thesefine times she's having! I'll wait! It will come!"

X

IT came. And when it came, it fell out worse for Ramona than Margarita'smost malicious hopes had pictured; but Margarita had no hand in it. Itwas the Senora herself. 

Since Felipe had so far gained as to be able to be dressed, sit in hischair on the veranda, and walk about the house and garden a little, the Senora, at ease in her mind about him, had resumed her old habit oflong, lonely walks on the place. It had been well said by her servants, that there was not a blade of grass on the estate that the Senora hadnot seen. She knew every inch of her land. She had a special purposein walking over it now. She was carefully examining to see whether shecould afford to sell to the Ortegas a piece of pasture-land which theygreatly desired to buy, as it joined a pasturage tract of theirs. Thisbit of land lay farther from the house than the Senora realized, and ithad taken more time than she thought it would, to go over it; and it wasalready sunset on this eventful day, when, hurrying home, she turnedoff from the highway into the same shortcut path in which FatherSalvierderra had met Ramona in the spring. There was no difficulty nowin getting through the mustard tangle. It was parched and dry, and hadbeen trampled by cattle. The Senora walked rapidly, but it wasdusky twilight when she reached the willows; so dusky that she sawnothing--and she stepped so lightly on the smooth brown path that shemade no sound--until suddenly, face to face with a man and a womanstanding locked in each other's arms, she halted, stepped back a pace, gave a cry of surprise, and, in the same second, recognized the faces ofthe two, who, stricken dumb, stood apart, each gazing into her face withterror. 

Strangely enough, it was Ramona who spoke first. Terror for herself hadstricken her dumb; terror for Alessandro gave her a voice. 

"Senora, " she began. 

"Silence! Shameful creature!" cried the Senora. "Do not dare to speak!Go to your room!"

Ramona did not move. 

"As for you, " the Senora continued, turning to Alessandro, "you, "--shewas about to say, "You are discharged from my service from this hour, "but recollecting herself in time, said, --"you will answer to SenorFelipe. Out of my sight!" And the Senora Moreno actually, for once inher life beside herself with rage, stamped her foot on the ground. "Outof my sight!" she repeated. 

Alessandro did not stir, except to turn towards Ramona with an inquiringlook. He would run no risk of doing what she did not wish. He had noidea what she would think it best to do in this terrible dilemma. 

"Go, Alessandro, " said Ramona, calmly, still looking the Senora full inthe eye. Alessandro obeyed; before the words had left her lips, he hadwalked away. 

Ramona's composure, and Alessandro's waiting for further orders than herown before stirring from the spot, were too much for Senora Moreno. Awrath, such as she had not felt since she was young, took possession ofher. As Ramona opened her lips again, saying, "Senora, " the Senora did ashameful deed; she struck the girl on the mouth, a cruel blow. 

"Speak not to me!" she cried again; and seizing her by the arm, shepushed rather than dragged her up the garden-walk. 

"Senora, you hurt my arm, " said Ramona, still in the same calm voice. "You need not hold me. I will go with you. I am not afraid. "

Was this Ramona? The Senora, already ashamed, let go the arm, andstared in the girl's face. Even in the twilight she could see upon itan expression of transcendent peace, and a resolve of which no one wouldhave thought it capable. "What does this mean?" thought the Senora, still weak, and trembling all over, from rage. "The hussy, thehypocrite!" and she seized the arm again. 

This time Ramona did not remonstrate, but submitted to being led likea prisoner, pushed into her own room, the door slammed violently andlocked on the outside. 

All of which Margarita saw. She had known for an hour that Ramonaand Alessandro were at the willows, and she had been consumed withimpatience at the Senora's prolonged absence. More than once she hadgone to Felipe, and asked with assumed interest if he were not hungry, and if he and the Senorita would not have their supper. 

"No, no, not till the Senora returns, " Felipe had answered. He, too, happened this time to know where Ramona and Alessandro were. He knewalso where the Senora had gone, and that she would be late home; but hedid not know that there would be any chance of her returning by way ofthe willows at the brook; if he had known it, he would have contrived tosummon Ramona. 

When Margarita saw Ramona shoved into her room by the pale and tremblingSenora, saw the key turned, taken out, and dropped into the Senora'spocket, she threw her apron over her head, and ran into the back porch. Almost a remorse seized her. She remembered in a flash how often Ramonahad helped her in times gone by, --sheltered her from the Senora'sdispleasure. She recollected the torn altar-cloth. "Holy Virgin! whatwill be done to her now?" she exclaimed, under her breath. Margaritahad never conceived of such an extremity as this. Disgrace, and a sharpreprimand, and a sundering of all relations with Alessandro, --this wasall Margarita had meant to draw down on Ramona's head. But the Senoralooked as if she might kill her. 

"She always did hate her, in her heart, " reflected Margarita; "sheshan't starve her to death, anyhow. I'll never stand by and see that. But it must have been something shameful the Senora saw, to have broughther to such a pass as this;" and Margarita's jealousy again got thebetter of her sympathy. "Good enough for her. No more than she deserved. An honest fellow like Alessandro, that would make a good husband for anygirl!" Margarita's short-lived remorse was over. She was an enemy again. 

It was an odd thing, how identical were Margarita's and the Senora'sview and interpretation of the situation. The Senora looking at it fromabove, and Margarita looking at it from below, each was sure, and theywere both equally sure, that it could be nothing more nor less than adisgraceful intrigue. Mistress and maid were alike incapable either ofconjecturing or of believing the truth. 

As ill luck would have it, --or was it good luck?--Felipe also hadwitnessed the scene in the garden-walk. Hearing voices, he had lookedout of his window, and, almost doubting the evidence of his senses, hadseen his mother violently dragging Ramona by the arm, --Ramona pale, butstrangely placid; his mother with rage and fury in her white face. Thesight told its own tale to Felipe. Smiting his forehead with his hand, he groaned out: "Fool that I was, to let her be surprised; she has comeon them unawares; now she will never, never forgive it!" And Felipethrew himself on his bed, to think what should be done. Presently heheard his mother's voice, still agitated, calling his name. He remainedsilent, sure she would soon seek him in his room. When she entered, and, seeing him on the bed, came swiftly towards him, saying, "Felipe, dear, are you ill?" he replied in a feeble voice, "No, mother, only tired alittle to-night;" and as she bent over him, anxious, alarmed, he threwhis arms around her neck and kissed her warmly. "Mother mia!" he saidpassionately, "what should I do without you?" The caress, the lovingwords, acted like oil on the troubled waters. They restored the Senoraas nothing else could. What mattered anything, so long as she had heradoring and adorable son! And she would not speak to him, now that hewas so tired, of this disgraceful and vexing matter of Alessandro. Itcould wait till morning. She would send him his supper in his room, andhe would not miss Ramona, perhaps. 

"I will send your supper here, Felipe, " she said; "you must notoverdo; you have been walking too much. Lie still. " And kissing himaffectionately, she went to the dining-room, where Margarita, vainlytrying to look as if nothing had happened, was standing, ready to servesupper. When the Senora entered, with her countenance composed, and inher ordinary tones said, "Margarita, you can take Senor Felipe's supperinto his room; he is lying down, and will not get up; he is tired, "Margarita was ready to doubt if she had not been in a nightmare dream. Had she, or had she not, within the last half-hour, seen the Senora, shaking and speechless with rage, push the Senorita Ramona into herroom, and lock her up there? She was so bewildered that she stood stilland gazed at the Senora, with her mouth wide open. 

"What are you staring at, girl?" asked the Senora, so sharply thatMargarita jumped. 

"Oh, nothing, nothing, Senora! And the Senorita, will she come tosupper? Shall I call her?" she said. 

The Senora eyed her. Had she seen? Could she have seen? The SenoraMoreno was herself again. So long as Ramona was under her roof, nomatter what she herself might do or say to the girl, no servant shouldtreat her with disrespect, or know that aught was wrong. 

"The Senorita is not well, " she said coldly. "She is in her room. Imyself will take her some supper later, if she wishes it. Do not disturbher. " And the Senora returned to Felipe. 

Margarita chuckled inwardly, and proceeded to clear the table she hadspread with such malicious punctuality two short hours before. In thosetwo short hours how much had happened!

"Small appetite for supper will our Senorita have, I reckon, " said thebitter Margarita, "and the Senor Alessandro also! I'm curious to see howhe will carry himself. "

But her curiosity was not gratified. Alessandro came not to the kitchen. The last of the herdsmen had eaten and gone; it was past nine o'clock, and no Alessandro. Slyly Margarita ran out and searched in some of theplaces where she knew he was in the habit of going; but Alessandrowas not to be found. Once she brushed so near his hiding-place that hethought he was discovered, and was on the point of speaking, butluckily held his peace, and she passed on. Alessandro was hid behind thegeranium clump at the chapel door; sitting on the ground, with his kneesdrawn up to his chin, watching Ramona's window. He intended to staythere all night. He felt that he might be needed: if Ramona wanted him, she would either open her window and call, or would come out and go downthrough the garden-walk to the willows. In either case, he would see herfrom the hiding-place he had chosen. He was racked by his emotions; madwith joy one minute, sick at heart with misgiving the next. Ramona lovedhim. She had told him so. She had said she would go away with him andbe his wife. The words had but just passed her lips, at that dreadfulmoment when the Senora appeared in their presence. As he lived the sceneover again, he re-experienced the joy and the terror equally. 

What was not that terrible Senora capable of doing? Why did she lookat him and at Ramona with such loathing scorn? Since she knew that theSenorita was half Indian, why should she think it so dreadful a thingfor her to marry an Indian man? It did not once enter into Alessandro'smind, that the Senora could have had any other thought, seeing them asshe did, in each other's arms. And again what had he to give to Ramona?Could she live in a house such as he must live in, --live as the Temeculawomen lived? No! for her sake he must leave his people; must go to sometown, must do--he knew not what--something to earn more money. Anguishseized him as he pictured to himself Ramona suffering deprivations. Themore he thought of the future in this light, the more his joy faded andhis fear grew. He had never had sufficient hope that she could be his, to look forward thus to the practical details of life; he had only goneon loving, and in a vague way dreaming and hoping; and now, --now, ina moment, all had been changed; in a moment he had spoken, and she hadspoken, and such words once spoken, there was no going back; and he hadput his arms around her, and felt her head on his shoulder, and kissedher! Yes, he, Alessandro, had kissed the Senorita Ramona, and she hadbeen glad of it, and had kissed him on the lips, as no maiden kisses aman unless she will wed with him, --him, Alessandro! Oh, no wonder theman's brain whirled, as he sat there in the silent darkness, wondering, afraid, helpless; his love wrenched from him, in the very instant oftheir first kiss, --wrenched from him, and he himself ordered, by one whohad the right to order him, to begone! What could an Indian do against aMoreno!

Would Felipe help him? Ay, there was Felipe! That Felipe was hisfriend, Alessandro knew with a knowledge as sure as the wild partridge'sinstinct for the shelter of her brood; but could Felipe move the Senora?Oh, that terrible Senora! What would become of them?

As in the instant of drowning, men are said to review in a second thewhole course of their lives, so in this supreme moment of Alessandro'slove there flashed through his mind vivid pictures of every word and actof Ramona's since he first knew her. He recollected the tone in whichshe had said, and the surprise with which he heard her say it, at thetime of Felipe's fall, "You are Alessandro, are you not?" He heard againher soft-whispered prayers the first night Felipe slept on the veranda. He recalled her tender distress because the shearers had had no dinner;the evident terribleness to her of a person going one whole day withoutfood. "O God! will she always have food each day if she comes with me?"he said. And at the bare thought he was ready to flee away from herforever. Then he recalled her look and her words only a few hours ago, when he first told her he loved her; and his heart took courage. Shehad said, "I know you love me, Alessandro, and I am glad of it, " and hadlifted her eyes to his, with all the love that a woman's eyes can carry;and when he threw his arms around her, she had of her own accord comecloser, and laid one hand on his shoulder, and turned her face to his. Ah, what else mattered! There was the whole world; if she loved him likethis, nothing could make them wretched; his love would be enough forher, --and for him hers was an empire. 

It was indeed true, though neither the Senora nor Margarita would havebelieved it, that this had been the first word of love ever spokenbetween Alessandro and Ramona, the first caress ever given, the firstmoment of unreserve. It had come about, as lovers' first words, firstcaresses, are so apt to do, unexpectedly, with no more premonition, atthe instant, than there is of the instant of the opening of a flower. Alessandro had been speaking to Ramona of the conversation Felipe hadheld with him in regard to remaining on the place, and asked her if sheknew of the plan. 

"Yes, " she said; "I heard the Senora talking about it with Felipe, somedays ago. "

"Was she against my staying?" asked Alessandro, quickly. 

"I think not, " said Ramona, "but I am not sure. It is not easy to besure what the Senora wishes, till afterward. It was Felipe that proposedit. "

This somewhat enigmatical statement as to the difficulty of knowing theSenora's wishes was like Greek to Alessandro's mind. 

"I do not understand, Senorita, " he said. "What do you mean by'afterward'?"

"I mean, " replied Ramona, "that the Senora never says she wishesanything; she says she leaves everything to Felipe to decide, or toFather Salvierderra. But I think it is always decided as she wishes tohave it, after all. The Senora is wonderful, Alessandro; don't you thinkso?"

"She loves Senor Felipe very much, " was Alessandro's evasive reply. 

"Oh, yes, " exclaimed Ramona. "You do not begin to know how much. Shedoes not love any other human being. He takes it all. She hasn't anyleft. If he had died, she would have died too. That is the reason shelikes you so much; she thinks you saved Felipe's life. I mean, thatis one reason, " added Ramona, smiling, and looking up confidingly atAlessandro, who smiled back, not in vanity, but honest gratitude thatthe Senorita was pleased to intimate that he was not unworthy of theSenora's regard. 

"I do not think she likes me, " he said. "I cannot tell why; but I donot think she likes any one in the world. She is not like any one I eversaw, Senorita. "

"No, " replied Ramona, thoughtfully. "She is not. I am, oh, so afraid ofher, Alessandro! I have always been, ever since I was a little girl. Iused to think she hated me; but now I think she does not care one way orthe other, if I keep out of her way. "

While Ramona spoke these words, her eyes were fixed on the runningwater at her feet. If she had looked up, and seen the expression inAlessandro's eyes as he listened, the thing which was drawing near wouldhave drawn near faster, would have arrived at that moment; but she didnot look up. She went on, little dreaming how hard she was making it forAlessandro. 

"Many's the time I've come down here, at night, to this brook, andlooked at it, and wished it was a big river, so I could throw myselfin, and be carried away out to the sea, dead. But it is a fearful sin, Father Salvierderra says, to take one's own life; and always the nextmorning, when the sun came out, and the birds sang, I've been gladenough I had not done it. Were you ever so unhappy as that, Alessandro?"

"No, Senorita, never, " replied Alessandro; "and it is thought a greatdisgrace, among us, to kill one's self. I think I could never do it. But, oh, Senorita, it is a grief to think of your being unhappy. Willyou always be so? Must you always stay here?"

"Oh, but I am not always unhappy!" said Ramona, with her sunny littlelaugh. "Indeed, I am generally very happy. Father Salvierderra says thatif one does no sin, one will be always happy, and that it is a sin notto rejoice every hour of the day in the sun and the sky and the workthere is to do; and there is always plenty of that. " Then, her faceclouding, she continued: "I suppose I shall always stay here. I have noother home; you know I was the Senora's sister's adopted child. She diedwhen I was little, and the Senora kindly took me. Father Salvierderrasays I must never forget to be grateful to her for all she has done forme, and I try not to. "

Alessandro eyed her closely. The whole story, as Juan Can had told it tohim, of the girl's birth, was burning in his thoughts. How he longed tocry out, "O my loved one, they have made you homeless in your home. Theydespise you. The blood of my race is in your veins; come to me; come tome! be surrounded with love!" But he dared not. How could he dare?

Some strange spell seemed to have unloosed Ramona's tongue to-night. She had never before spoken to Alessandro of her own personal history orburdens; but she went on: "The worst thing is, Alessandro, that she willnot tell me who my mother was; and I do not know if she is alive or not, or anything about her. Once I asked the Senora, but she forbade me everto ask her again. She said she herself would tell me when it was properfor me to know. But she never has. "

How the secret trembled on Alessandro's lips now. Ramona had neverseemed so near, so intimate, so trusting. What would happen if he wereto tell her the truth? Would the sudden knowledge draw her closer tohim, or repel her?

"Have you never asked her again?" he said. 

Ramona looked up astonished. "No one ever disobeyed the Senora, " shesaid quickly. 

"I would!" exclaimed Alessandro. 

"You may think so, " said Ramona, "but you couldn't. When you tried, youwould find you couldn't. I did ask Father Salvierderra once. "

"What did he say?" asked Alessandro, breathless. 

"The same thing. He said I must not ask; I was not old enough. When thetime came, I would be told, " answered Ramona, sadly. "I don't see whatthey can mean by the time's coming. What do you suppose they meant?"

"I do not know the ways of any people but my own, Senorita, " repliedAlessandro. "Many things that your people do, and still more that theseAmericans do, are to me so strange, I know nothing what they mean. Perhaps they do not know who was your mother?"

"I am sure they do, " answered Ramona, in a low tone, as if the wordswere wrung from her. "But let us talk about something else, Alessandro;not about sad things, about pleasant things. Let us talk about yourstaying here. "

"Would it be truly a pleasure to the Senorita Ramona, if I stayed?" saidAlessandro. 

"You know it would, " answered Ramona, frankly, yet with a tremor in hervoice, which Alessandro felt. "I do not see what we could any of us dowithout you. Felipe says he shall not let you go. "

Alessandro's face glowed. "It must be as my father says, Senorita, " hesaid. "A messenger came from him yesterday, and I sent him back with aletter telling him what the Senor Felipe had proposed to me, and askinghim what I should do. My father is very old, Senorita, and I do not seehow he can well spare me. I am his only child, and my mother died yearsago. We live alone together in our house, and when I am away he is verylonely. But he would like to have me earn the wages, I know, and I hopehe will think it best for me to stay. There are many things we want todo for the village; most of our people are poor, and can do little morethan get what they need to eat day by day, and my father wishes to seethem better off before he dies. Now that the Americans are coming in allaround us, he is afraid and anxious all the time. He wants to get a bigfence built around our land, so as to show where it is; but the peoplecannot take much time to work on the fence; they need all their time towork for themselves and their families. Indians have a hard time to livenow, Senorita. Were you ever in Temecula?"

"No, " said Ramona. "Is it a large town?"

Alessandro sighed. "Dear Senorita, it is not a town; it is only a littlevillage not more than twenty houses in all, and some of those are builtonly of tule. There is a chapel, and a graveyard. We built an adobe wallaround the graveyard last year. That my father said we would do, beforewe built the fence round the village. "

"How many people are there in the village?" asked Ramona. 

"Nearly two hundred, when they are all there; but many of them are awaymost of the time. They must go where they can get work; they arehired by the farmers, or to do work on the great ditches, or to go asshepherds; and some of them take their wives and children with them. Ido not believe the Senorita has ever seen any very poor people. "

"Oh, yes, I have, Alessandro, at Santa Barbara. There were many poorpeople there, and the Sisters used to give them food every week. "

"Indians?" said Alessandro. 

Ramona colored. "Yes, " she said, "some of them were, but not like yourmen, Alessandro. They were very different; miserable looking; they couldnot read nor write, and they seemed to have no ambition. "

"That is the trouble, " said Alessandro, "with so many of them; it iswith my father's people, too. They say, 'What is the use?' My fathergets in despair with them, because they will not learn better. He givesthem a great deal, but they do not seem to be any better off for it. There is only one other man in our village who can read and write, besides my father and me, Senorita; and yet my father is all the timebegging them to come to his house and learn of him. But they say theyhave no time; and indeed there is much truth in that, Senorita. You seeeverybody has troubles, Senorita. "

Ramona had been listening with sorrowful face. All this was new to her. Until to-night, neither she nor Alessandro had spoken of private andpersonal matters. 

"Ah, but these are real troubles, " she said. "I do not think mine werereal troubles at all. I wish I could do something for your people, Alessandro. If the village were only near by, I could teach them, couldI not? I could teach them to read. The Sisters always said, that toteach the ignorant and the poor was the noblest work one could do. Iwish I could teach your people. Have you any relatives therebesides your father? Is there any one in the village that you--love, Alessandro?"

Alessandro was too much absorbed in thoughts of his people, to observethe hesitating emphasis with which Ramona asked this question. 

"Yes, Senorita, I love them all. They are like my brothers and sisters, all of my father's people, " he said; "and I am unhappy about them allthe time. "

During the whole of this conversation Ramona had had an undercurrent ofthought going on, which was making her uneasy. The more Alessandro saidabout his father and his people, the more she realized that he was heldto Temecula by bonds that would be hard to break, the more she fearedhis father would not let him remain away from home for any length oftime. At the thought of his going away, her very heart sickened. Takinga sudden step towards him, she said abruptly, "Alessandro, I am afraidyour father will not give his consent to your staying here. "

"So am I, Senorita, " he replied sadly. 

"And you would not stay if he did not approve of it, of course, " shesaid. 

"How could I, Senorita?"

"No, " she said, "it would not be right;" but as she said these words, the tears filled her eyes. 

Alessandro saw them. The world changed in that second. "Senorita!Senorita Ramona!" he cried, "tears have come in your eyes! O Senorita, then you will not be angry if I say that I love you!" and Alessandrotrembled with the terror and delight of having said the words. 

Hardly did he trust his palpitating senses to be telling him true thewords that followed, quick, firm, though only in a whisper, --"I knowthat you love me, Alessandro, and I am glad of it!" Yes, this waswhat the Senorita Ramona was saying! And when he stammered, "But you, Senorita, you do not--you could not--" "Yes, Alessandro, I do--I loveyou!" in the same clear, firm whisper; and the next minute Alessandro'sarms were around Ramona, and he had kissed her, sobbing rather thansaying, "O Senorita, do you mean that you will go with me? that youare mine? Oh, no, beloved Senorita, you cannot mean that!" But he waskissing her. He knew she did mean it; and Ramona, whispering, "Yes, Alessandro, I do mean it; I will go with you, " clung to him with herhands, and kissed him, and repeated it, "I will go with you, I loveyou. " And then, just then, came the Senora's step, and her sharp cryof amazement, and there she stood, no more than an arm's-length away, looking at them with her indignant, terrible eyes. 

What an hour this for Alessandro to be living over and over, as hecrouched in the darkness, watching! But the bewilderment of his emotionsdid not dull his senses. As if stalking deer in a forest, he listenedfor sounds from the house. It seemed strangely still. As the darknessdeepened, it seemed still stranger that no lamps were lit. Darkness inthe Senora's room, in the Senorita's; a faint light in the dining-room, soon put out, --evidently no supper going on there. Only from underFelipe's door streamed a faint radiance; and creeping close to theveranda, Alessandro heard voices fitfully talking, --the Senora's andFelipe's; no word from Ramona. Piteously he fixed his eyes on herwindow; it was open, but the curtains tight drawn; no stir, no sound. Where was she? What had been done to his love? Only the tireless cautionand infinite patience of his Indian blood kept Alessandro from goingto her window. But he would imperil nothing by acting on his ownresponsibility. He would wait, if it were till daylight, till hislove made a sign. Certainly before long Senor Felipe would come to hisveranda bed, and then he could venture to speak to him. But it was nearmidnight when the door of Felipe's room opened, and he and his mothercame out, still speaking in low tones. Felipe lay down on his couch; hismother, bending over, kissed him, bade him good-night, and went into herown room. 

It had been some time now since Alessandro had left off sleeping on theveranda floor by Felipe's side. Felipe was so well it was not needful. But Felipe felt sure he would come to-night, and was not surprisedwhen, a few minutes after the Senora's door closed, he heard a low voicethrough the vines, "Senor Felipe?"

"Hush, Alessandro, " whispered Felipe. "Do not make a sound. To-morrowmorning early I will see you, behind the little sheepfold. It is notsafe to talk here. "

"Where is the Senorita?" Alessandro breathed rather than said. 

"In her room, " answered Felipe. 

"Well?" said Alessandro. 

"Yes, " said Felipe, hoping he was not lying; and this was all Alessandrohad to comfort himself with, through his long night of watching. No, notall; one other thing comforted him, --the notes of two wood-doves, thatat intervals he heard, cooing to each other; just the two notes, thecall and the answer, "Love?" "Here. " "Love?" "Here, "--and long intervalsof silence between. Plain as if written on a page was the thing theytold. 

"That is what my Ramona is like, " thought he, "the gentle wood-dove. Ifshe is my wife my people will call her Majel, the Wood-Dove. "

XI

WHEN the Senora bade Felipe good-night, she did not go to bed. Afterclosing her door, she sat down to think what should be done aboutRamona. It had been a hard task she had set herself, talking all theevening with Felipe without alluding to the topic uppermost in her mind. But Felipe was still nervous and irritable. She would not spoil hisnight's rest, she thought, by talking of disagreeable things. Moreover, she was not clear in her own mind what she wished to have done aboutAlessandro. If Ramona were to be sent away to the nuns, which was theonly thing the Senora could think of as yet, there would be no reasonfor discharging Alessandro. And with him the Senora was by no meansready to part, though in her first anger she had been ready to dismisshim on the spot. As she pursued her reflections, the whole situationcleared itself in her mind; so easily do affairs fall into line, in theplottings and plannings of an arbitrary person, who makes in his formulano allowance for a human element which he cannot control. 

Ramona should be sent in disgrace to the Sisters' School, to be aservant there for the rest of her life. The Senora would wash her handsof her forever. Even Father Salvierderra himself could not expecther any longer to keep such a shameless creature under her roof. Hersister's written instructions had provided for the possibility of justsuch a contingency. Going to a secret closet in the wall, behind alife-size statue of Saint Catharine, the Senora took out an iron box, battered and rusty with age, and set it on the bed. The key turned withdifficulty in the lock. It was many years since the Senora had openedthis box. No one but herself knew of its existence. There had been manytimes in the history of the Moreno house when the price of the contentsof that box would have averted loss and misfortune; but the Senora nomore thought of touching the treasure than if it had been guarded byangels with fiery swords. There they lay, brilliant and shining even inthe dim light of the one candle, --rubies, emeralds, pearls, and yellowdiamonds. The Senora's lip curled as she looked at them. "Fine dowry, truly, for a creature like this!" she said. "Well I knew in thebeginning no good would come of it; base begotten, base born, she hasbut carried out the instincts of her nature. I suppose I may be gratefulthat my own son was too pure to be her prey!" "To be given to my adopteddaughter, Ramona Ortegna, on her wedding day, "--so the instructionsran, --"if she weds worthily and with your approval. Should such amisfortune occur, which I do not anticipate, as that she should proveunworthy, then these jewels, and all I have left to her of value, shallbe the property of the Church. "

"No mention as to what I am to do with the girl herself if she provesunworthy, " thought the Senora, bitterly; "but the Church is the placefor her; no other keeping will save her from the lowest depths ofdisgrace. I recollect my sister said that Angus had at first intended togive the infant to the Church. Would to God he had done so, or left itwith its Indian mother!" and the Senora rose, and paced the floor. Thepaper of her dead sister's handwriting fell at her feet. As she walked, her long skirt swept it rustling to and fro. She stooped, picked it up, read it again, with increasing bitterness. No softness at the memory ofher sister's love for the little child; no relenting. "Unworthy!" Yes, that was a mild word to apply to Ramona, now. It was all settled;and when the girl was once out of the house, the Senora would breatheeasier. She and Felipe would lead their lives together, and Felipe wouldwed some day. Was there a woman fair enough, good enough, for Felipe towed? But he must wed; and the place would be gay with children's voices, and Ramona would be forgotten. 

The Senora did not know how late it was. "I will tell her to-night, " shesaid. "I will lose no time; and now she shall hear who her mother was!"

It was a strange freak of just impulse in the Senora's angry soul, whichmade her suddenly remember that Ramona had had no supper, and led herto go to the kitchen, get a jug of milk and some bread, and take themto the room. Turning the key cautiously, that Felipe might not hear, sheopened the door and glided in. No voice greeted her; she held her candlehigh up; no Ramona in sight; the bed was empty. She glanced at thewindow. It was open. A terror seized the Senora; fresh anger also. "Shehas run off with Alessandro, " she thought, "What horrible disgrace. "Standing motionless, she heard a faint, regular breathing from the otherside of the bed. Hastily crossing the room, she saw a sight which hadmelted a heart that was only ice; but the Senora's was stone towardRamona. There lay Ramona on the floor, her head on a pillow at the feetof the big Madonna which stood in the corner. Her left hand was underher cheek, her right arm flung tight around the base of the statue. Shewas sound asleep. Her face was wet with tears. Her whole attitude wasfull of significance. Even helpless in sleep, she was one who had takenrefuge in sanctuary. This thought had been distinct in the girl's mindwhen she found herself, spite of all her woe and terror, growing sleepy. "She won't dare to hurt me at the Virgin's feet, " she had said; "andthe window is open. Felipe would hear if I called; and Alessandro willwatch. " And with a prayer on her lips she fell asleep. 

It was Felipe's nearness more than the Madonna's, which saved her frombeing roused to hear her doom. The Senora stood for some momentslooking at her, and at the open window. With a hot rush of disgracefulsuspicions, she noted what she had never before thought of, thatAlessandro, through all his watching with Felipe, had had close accessto Ramona's window. "Shameful creature!" she repeated to herself. "Andshe can sleep! It is well she prayed, if the Virgin will hear such!" andshe turned away, first setting down the jug of milk and the bread on atable. Then, with a sudden and still more curious mingling of justnessin her wrath, she returned, and lifting the coverlet from the bed, spread it over Ramona, covering her carefully from head to foot. Thenshe went out and again locked the door. 

Felipe, from his bed, heard and divined all, but made no sound. "ThankGod, the poor child is asleep!" he said; "and my poor dear mother fearedto awake me by speaking to her! What will become of us all to-morrow!"And Felipe tossed and turned, and had barely fallen into an uneasysleep, when his mother's window opened, and she sang the first line ofthe sunrise hymn. Instantly Ramona joined, evidently awake and ready;and no sooner did the watching Alessandro hear the first note of hervoice, than he struck in; and Margarita, who had been up for an hour, prowling, listening, peering, wondering, her soul racked between herjealousy and her fears, --even Margarita delayed not to unite; andFelipe, too, sang feebly; and the volume of the song went up as roundedand melodious as if all hearts were at peace and in harmony, instead ofbeing all full of sorrow, confusion, or hatred. But there was no one ofthem all who was not the better for the singing; Ramona and Alessandromost of all. 

"The saints be praised, " said Alessandro. "There is my wood-dove'svoice. She can sing!" And, "Alessandro was near. He watched all night. Iam glad he loves me, " said Ramona. 

"To hear those two voices. " said the Senora; "would one suppose theycould sing like that? Perhaps it is not so bad as I think. "

As soon as the song was done, Alessandro ran to the sheepfold, whereFelipe had said he would see him. The minutes would be like years toAlessandro till he had seen Felipe. 

Ramona, when she waked and found herself carefully covered, and breadand milk standing on the table, felt much reassured. Only the Senora'sown hand had done this, she felt sure, for she had heard her theprevious evening turn the key in the lock, then violently take it out;and Ramona knew well that the fact of her being thus a prisoner would beknown to none but the Senora herself. The Senora would not set servantsto gossiping. She ate her bread and milk thankfully, for she was veryhungry. Then she set her room in order, said her prayers, and sat downto wait. For what? She could not imagine; in truth, she did not muchtry. Ramona had passed now into a country where the Senora did not rule. She felt little fear. Felipe would not see her harmed, and she was goingaway presently with Alessandro. It was wonderful what peace and freedomlay in the very thought. The radiance on her face of these two new-bornemotions was the first thing the Senora observed as she opened the door, and slowly, very slowly, eyeing Ramona with a steady look, entered theroom. This joyous composure on Ramona's face angered the Senora, as ithad done before, when she was dragging her up the garden-walk. It seemedto her like nothing less than brazen effrontery, and it changed thewhole tone and manner of her address. 

Seating herself opposite Ramona, but at the farthest side of the room, she said, in a tone scornful and insulting, "What have you to say foryourself?"

Returning the Senora's gaze with one no less steady, Ramona spoke in thesame calm tone in which she had twice the evening before attempted tostay the Senora's wrath. This time, she was not interrupted. 

"Senora, " she said slowly, "I tried to tell you last night, but youwould not hear me. If you had listened, you would not have been soangry. Neither Alessandro nor I have done anything wrong, and we werenot ashamed. We love each other, and we are going to be married, and goaway. I thank you, Senora, for all you have done for me; I am sureyou will be a great deal happier when I am away;" and Ramona lookedwistfully, with no shade of resentment, into the Senora's dark, shrunkenface. "You have been very good to do so much for a girl you did notlove. Thank you for the bread and milk last night. Perhaps I can go awaywith Alessandro to-day. I do not know what he will wish. We had onlyjust that minute spoken of being married, when you found us last night. "

The Senora's face was a study during the few moments that it took to saythese words. She was dumb with amazement. Instantaneously, on thefirst sense of relief that the disgrace had not been what she supposed, followed a new wrath, if possible hotter than the first; not so muchscorn, but a bitterer anger. "Marry! Marry that Indian!" she cried, assoon as she found voice. "You marry an Indian? Never! Are you mad? Iwill never permit it. "

Ramona looked anxiously at her. "I have never disobeyed you, Senora, "she said, "but this is different from all other things; you are not mymother. I have promised to marry Alessandro. "

The girl's gentleness deceived the Senora. 

"No, " she said icily, "I am not your mother; but I stand in a mother'splace to you. You were my sister's adopted child, and she gave you tome. You cannot marry without my permission, and I forbid you ever tospeak again of marrying this Indian. "

The moment had come for the Senora Moreno to find out, to her surpriseand cost, of what stuff this girl was made, --this girl, who hadfor fourteen years lived by her side, docile, gentle, sunny, anduncomplaining in her loneliness. Springing to her feet, and walkingswiftly till she stood close face to face with the Senora, who, herselfstartled by the girl's swift motion, had also risen to her feet, Ramonasaid, in a louder, firmer voice: "Senora Moreno, you may forbid meas much as you please. The whole world cannot keep me from marryingAlessandro. I love him. I have promised, and I shall keep my word. " Andwith her young lithe arms straight down at her sides, her head thrownback, Ramona flashed full in the Senora's face a look of proud defiance. It was the first free moment her soul had ever known. She felt herselfbuoyed up as by wings in air. Her old terror of the Senora fell from herlike a garment thrown off. 

"Pshaw!" said the Senora, contemptuously, half amused, in spite of herwrath, by the girl's, as she thought, bootless vehemence, "you talk likea fool. Do you not know that I can shut you up in the nunnery to-morrow, if I choose?"

"No, you cannot!" replied Ramona. 

"Who, then, is to hinder me. " said the Senora, insolently. 

"Alessandro!" answered Ramona, proudly. 

"Alessandro!" the Senora sneered. "Alessandro! Ha! a beggarly Indian, onwhom my servants will set the dogs, if I bid them! Ha, ha!"

The Senora's sneering tone but roused Ramona more. "You would neverdare!" she cried; "Felipe would not permit it!" A most unwise retort forRamona. 

"Felipe!" cried the Senora, in a shrill voice. "How dare you pronouncehis name! He will none of you, from this hour! I forbid him to speak toyou. Indeed, he will never desire to set eyes on you when he hears thetruth. "

"You are mistaken, Senora, " answered Ramona, more gently. "Felipe isAlessandro's friend, and--mine, " she added, after a second's pause. 

"So, ho! the Senorita thinks she is all-powerful in the house ofMoreno!" cried the Senora. "We will see! we will see! Follow me, Senorita Ramona!" And throwing open the door, the Senora strode out, looking back over her shoulder. 

"Follow me!" she cried again sharply, seeing that Ramona hesitated; andRamona went; across the passage-way leading to the dining-room, out intothe veranda, down the entire length of it, to the Senora's room, --theSenora walking with a quick, agitated step, strangely unlike her usualgait; Ramona walking far slower than was her habit, and with her eyesbent on the ground. As they passed the dining-room door, Margarita, standing just inside, shot at Ramona a vengeful, malignant glance. 

"She would help the Senora against me in anything, " thought Ramona; andshe felt a thrill of fear, such as the Senora with all her threats hadnot stirred. 

The Senora's windows were open. She closed them both, and drew thecurtains tight. Then she locked the door, Ramona watching her everymovement. 

"Sit down in that chair, " said the Senora, pointing to one near thefireplace. A sudden nervous terror seized Ramona. 

"I would rather stand, Senora, " she said. 

"Do as I bid you. " said the Senora, in a husky tone; and Ramona obeyed. It was a low, broad armchair, and as she sank back into it, her sensesseemed leaving her. She leaned her head against the back and closedher eyes. The room swam. She was roused by the Senora's strongsmelling-salts held for her to breathe, and a mocking taunt from theSenora's iciest voice: "The Senorita does not seem so over-strong as shedid a few moments back!"

Ramona tried to reason with herself; surely no ill could happen to her, in this room, within call of the whole house. But an inexplicable terrorhad got possession of her; and when the Senora, with a sneer on herface, took hold of the Saint Catharine statue, and wheeling it halfaround, brought into view a door in the wall, with a big iron key in thekeyhole, which she proceeded to turn, Ramona shook with fright. She hadread of persons who had been shut up alive in cells in the wall, andstarved to death. With dilating eyes she watched the Senora, who, allunaware of her terror, was prolonging it and intensifying it by herevery act. First she took out the small iron box, and set it on a table. Then, kneeling, she drew out from an inner recess in the closet a largeleather-covered box, and pulled it, grating and scraping along thefloor, till it stood in front of Ramona. All this time she spoke noword, and the cruel expression of her countenance deepened each moment. The fiends had possession of the Senora Moreno this morning, and nomistake. A braver heart than Ramona's might have indeed been fearful, atbeing locked up alone with a woman who looked like that. 

Finally, she locked the door and wheeled the statue back into its place. Ramona breathed freer. She was not, after all, to be thrust intothe wall closet and left to starve. She gazed with wonder at the oldbattered boxes. What could it all mean?

"Senorita Ramona Ortegna, " began the Senora, drawing up a chair, andseating herself by the table on which stood the iron box, "I will nowexplain to you why you will not marry the Indian Alessandro. "

At these words, this name, Ramona was herself again, --not her old self, her new self, Alessandro's promised wife. The very sound of his name, even on an enemy's tongue, gave her strength. The terrors fled away. She looked up, first at the Senora, then at the nearest window. She wasyoung and strong; at one bound, if worst came to worst, she could leapthrough the window, and fly for her life, calling on Alessandro. 

"I shall marry the Indian Alessandro, Senora Moreno, " she said, in atone as defiant, and now almost as insolent, as the Senora's own. 

The Senora paid no heed to the words, except to say, "Do not interruptme again. I have much to tell you;" and opening the box, she lifted outand placed on the table tray after tray of jewels. The sheet of writtenpaper lay at the bottom of the box. 

"Do you see this paper, Senorita Ramona?" she asked, holding it up. Ramona bowed her head. "This was written by my sister, the SenoraOrtegna, who adopted you and gave you her name. These were her finalinstructions to me, in regard to the disposition to be made of theproperty she left to you. "

Ramona's lips parted. She leaned forward, breathless, listening, whilethe Senora read sentence after sentence. All the pent-up pain, wonder, fear of her childhood and her girlhood, as to the mystery of her birth, swept over her anew, now. Like one hearkening for life or death, shelistened. She forgot Alessandro. She did not look at the jewels. Hereyes never left the Senora's face. At the close of the reading, theSenora said sternly, "You see, now, that my sister left to me the entiredisposition of everything belonging to you. "

"But it hasn't said who was my mother, " cried Ramona. "Is that all thereis in the paper?"

The Senora looked stupefied. Was the girl feigning? Did she care nothingthat all these jewels, almost a little fortune, were to be lost to herforever?

"Who was your mother?" she exclaimed, scornfully, "There was no need towrite that down. Your mother was an Indian. Everybody knew that!"

At the word "Indian, " Ramona gave a low cry. 

The Senora misunderstood it. "Ay, " she said, "a low, common Indian. Itold my sister, when she took you, the Indian blood in your veins wouldshow some day; and now it has come true. "

Ramona's cheeks were scarlet. Her eyes flashed. "Yes, Senora Moreno, "she said, springing to her feet; "the Indian blood in my veins showsto-day. I understand many things I never understood before. Was itbecause I was an Indian that you have always hated me?"

"You are not an Indian, and I have never hated you, " interrupted theSenora. 

Ramona heeded her not, but went on, more and more impetuously. "And ifI am an Indian, why do you object to my marrying Alessandro? Oh, I amglad I am an Indian! I am of his people. He will be glad!" The wordspoured like a torrent out of her lips. In her excitement she came closerand closer to the Senora. "You are a cruel woman, " she said. "I did notknow it before; but now I do. If you knew I was an Indian, you had noreason to treat me so shamefully as you did last night, when you saw mewith Alessandro. You have always hated me. Is my mother alive'? Wheredoes she live? Tell me; and I will go to her to-day. Tell me! She willbe glad that Alessandro loves me!"

It was a cruel look, indeed, and a crueller tone, with which the Senoraanswered: "I have not the least idea who your mother was, or if she isstill alive, Nobody ever knew anything about her, --some low, viciouscreature, that your father married when he was out of his senses, as youare now, when you talk of marrying Alessandro!"

"He married her, then?" asked Ramona, with emphasis. "How know you that, Senora Moreno?"

"He told my sister so, " replied the Senora, reluctantly. She grudged thegirl even this much of consolation. 

"What was his name?" asked Ramona. 

"Phail; Angus Phail, " the Senora replied almost mechanically. She foundherself strangely constrained by Ramona's imperious earnestness, and shechafed under it. The tables were being turned on her, she hardly knewhow. Ramona seemed to tower in stature, and to have the bearing ofthe one in authority, as she stood before her pouring out passionatequestion after question. The Senora turned to the larger box, and openedit. With unsteady hands she lifted out the garments which for so manyyears had rarely seen the light. Shawls and ribosos of damask, laces, gowns of satin, of velvet. As the Senora flung one after another on thechairs, it was a glittering pile of shining, costly stuffs. Ramona'seyes rested on them dreamily. 

"Did my adopted mother wear all these?" she asked, lifting in her hand afold of lace, and holding it up to the light, in evident admiration. 

Again the Senora misconceived her. The girl seemed not insensible to thevalue and beauty of this costly raiment. Perhaps she would be lured byit. 

"All these are yours, Ramona, you understand, on your wedding day, ifyou marry worthily, with my permission, " said the Senora, in a voicea shade less cold than had hitherto come from her lips. "Did youunderstand what I read you?"

The girl did not answer. She had taken up in her hand a ragged, crimsonsilk handkerchief, which, tied in many knots, lay in one corner of thejewel-box. 

"There are pearls in that, " said the Senora; "that came with the thingsyour father sent to my sister when he died. "

Ramona's eyes gleamed. She began untying the knots. The handkerchief wasold, the knots tied tight, and undisturbed for years. As she reached thelast knot, and felt the hard stones, she paused. "This was my father's, then. " she said. 

"Yes, " said the Senora, scornfully. She thought she had detected a newbaseness in the girl. She was going to set up a claim to all which hadbeen her father's property. "They were your father's, and all theserubies, and these yellow diamonds;" and she pushed the tray towards her. 

Ramona had untied the last knot. Holding the handkerchief carefullyabove the tray, she shook the pearls out. A strange, spicy fragrancecame from the silk. The pearls fell in among the rubies, rolling rightand left, making the rubies look still redder by contrast with theirsnowy whiteness. 

"I will keep this handkerchief, " she said, thrusting it as she spoke, by a swift resolute movement into her bosom. "I am very glad to have onething that belonged to my father. The jewels, Senora, you can give tothe Church, if Father Salvierderra thinks that is right. I shall marryAlessandro;" and still keeping one hand in her bosom where she hadthrust the handkerchief, she walked away and seated herself again in herchair. 

Father Salvierderra! The name smote the Senora like a spear-thrust, There could be no stronger evidence of the abnormal excitement underwhich she had been laboring for the last twenty-four hours, than thefact that she had not once, during all this time, thought to ask herselfwhat Father Salvierderra would say, or might command, in this crisis. Her religion and the long habit of its outward bonds had alike gone fromher in her sudden wrath against Ramona. It was with a real terror thatshe became conscious of this. 

"Father Salvierderra?" she stammered; "he has nothing to do with it. "

But Ramona saw the change in the Senora's face, at the word, andfollowed up her advantage. "Father Salvierderra has to do witheverything, " she said boldly. "He knows Alessandro, He will not forbidme to marry him, and if he did--" Ramona stopped. She also was smittenwith a sudden terror at the vista opening before her, --of a disobedienceto Father Salvierderra. 

"And if he did, " repeated the Senora, eyeing Ramona keenly, "would youdisobey him?"

"Yes, " said Ramona. 

"I will tell Father Salvierderra what you say, " retorted the Senora, sarcastically, "that he may spare himself the humiliation of laying anycommands on you, to be thus disobeyed. "

Ramona's lip quivered, and her eyes filled with the tears which no otherof the Senora's taunts had been strong enough to bring. Dearly sheloved the old monk; had loved him since her earliest recollection. Hisdispleasure would be far more dreadful to her than the Senora's. Hiswould give her grief; the Senora's, at utmost, only terror. 

Clasping her hands, she said, "Oh, Senora, have mercy! Do not say thatto the Father!"

"It is my duty to tell the Father everything that happens in my family, "answered the Senora, chillingly. "He will agree with me, that if youpersist in this disobedience you will deserve the severest punishment. Ishall tell him all;" and she began putting the trays back in the box. 

"You will not tell him as it really is, Senora, " persisted Ramona. "Iwill tell him myself. "

"You shall not see him! I will take care of that!" cried the Senora, sovindictively that Ramona shuddered. 

"I will give you one more chance, " said the Senora, pausing in theact of folding up one of the damask gowns. "Will you obey me? Will youpromise to have nothing more to do with this Indian?"

"Never, Senora, " replied Ramona; "never!"

"Then the consequences be on your own head, " cried the Senora. "Go toyour room! And, hark! I forbid you to speak of all this to Senor Felipe. Do you hear?"

Ramona bowed her head. "I hear, " she said; and gliding out of the room, closed the door behind her, and instead of going to her room, sped likea hunted creature down the veranda steps, across the garden, calling ina low tone, "Felipe! Felipe! Where are you, Felipe?"

XII

THE little sheepfold, or corral, was beyond the artichoke-patch, on thatsouthern slope whose sunshine had proved so disastrous a temptation toMargarita in the matter of drying the altar-cloth. It was almost like aterrace, this long slope; and the sheepfold, being near the bottom, was wholly out of sight of the house. This was the reason Felipe hadselected it as the safest spot for his talk with Alessandro. 

When Ramona reached the end of the trellised walk in the garden, shehalted and looked to the right and left. No one was in sight. As sheentered the Senora's room an hour before, she had caught a glimpse ofsome one, she felt almost positive it was Felipe, turning off in thepath to the left, leading down to the sheepfold. She stood irresolutefor a moment, gazing earnestly down this path. "If the saints would onlytell me where he is!" she said aloud. She trembled as she stood there, fearing each second to hear the Senora's voice calling her. But fortunewas favoring Ramona, for once; even as the words passed her lips, shesaw Felipe coming slowly up the bank. She flew to meet him. "Oh, Felipe, Felipe!" she began. 

"Yes, dear, I know it all, " interrupted Felipe; "Alessandro has toldme. "

"She forbade me to speak to you, Felipe, " said Ramona, "but I could notbear it. What are we to do? Where is Alessandro?"

"My mother forbade you to speak to me!" cried Felipe, in a tone ofterror. "Oh, Ramona, why did you disobey her? If she sees us talking, she will be even more displeased. Fly back to your room. Leave it all tome. I will do all that I can. "

"But, Felipe, " began Ramona, wringing her hands in distress. 

"I know! I know!" said Felipe; "but you must not make my mother any moreangry. I don't know what she will do till I talk with her. Do go back toyour room! Did she not tell you to stay there?"

"Yes, " sobbed Ramona, "but I cannot. Oh, Felipe, I am so afraid! Do helpus! Do you think you can? You won't let her shut me up in the convent, will you, Felipe? Where is Alessandro? Why can't I go away with him thisminute? Where is he? Dear Felipe, let me go now. "

Felipe's face was horror-stricken. "Shut you in the convent!" he gasped. "Did she say that? Ramona, dear, fly back to your room. Let me talkto her. Fly, I implore you. I can't do anything for you if she sees metalking with you now;" and he turned away, and walked swiftly down theterrace. 

Ramona felt as if she were indeed alone in the world. How could shego back into that house! Slowly she walked up the garden-path again, meditating a hundred wild plans of escape. Where, where was Alessandro?Why did he not appear for her rescue? Her heart failed her; and whenshe entered her room, she sank on the floor in a paroxysm of hopelessweeping. If she had known that Alessandro was already a good half-hour'sjourney on his way to Temecula, galloping farther and farther away fromher each moment, she would have despaired indeed. 

This was what Felipe, after hearing the whole story, had counselled himto do. Alessandro had given him so vivid a description of the Senora'sface and tone, when she had ordered him out of her sight, that Felipewas alarmed. He had never seen his mother angry like that. He could notconceive why her wrath should have been so severe. The longer he talkedwith Alessandro, the more he felt that it would be wiser for him to beout of sight till the first force of her anger had been spent. "I willsay that I sent you, " said Felipe, "so she cannot feel that you havecommitted any offence in going. Come back in four days, and by that timeit will be all settled what you shall do. "

It went hard with Alessandro to go without seeing Ramona; but it did notneed Felipe's exclamation of surprise, to convince him that it would befoolhardy to attempt it. His own judgment had told him that it would beout of the question. 

"But you will tell her all, Senor Felipe? You will tell her that it isfor her sake I go?" the poor fellow said piteously, gazing into Felipe'seyes as if he would read his inmost soul. 

"I will, indeed, Alessandro; I will, " replied Felipe; and he held hishand out to Alessandro, as to a friend and equal. "You may trust me todo all I can do for Ramona and for you. "

"God bless you, Senor Felipe, " answered Alessandro, gravely, a slighttrembling of his voice alone showing how deeply he was moved. 

"He's a noble fellow, " said Felipe to himself, as he watched Alessandroleap on his horse, which had been tethered near the corral allnight, --"a noble fellow! There isn't a man among all my friends whowould have been manlier or franker than he has been in this wholebusiness. I don't in the least wonder that Ramona loves him. He's anoble fellow! But what is to be done! What is to be done!"

Felipe was sorely perplexed. No sharp crisis of disagreement had everarisen between him and his mother, but he felt that one was comingnow. He was unaware of the extent of his influence over her. He doubtedwhether he could move her very far. The threat of shutting Ramona up inthe convent terrified him more than he liked to admit to himself. Hadshe power to do that? Felipe did not know. She must believe that shehad, or she would not have made the threat. Felipe's whole soul revoltedat the cruel injustice of the idea. 

"As if it were a sin for the poor girl to love Alessandro!" he said. "I'd help her to run away with him, if worse comes to worst. What canmake my mother feel so!" And Felipe paced back and forth till the sunwas high, and the sharp glare and heat reminded him that he must seekshelter; then he threw himself down under the willows. He dreaded togo into the house. His instinctive shrinking from the disagreeable, hisdisposition to put off till another time, held him back, hour by hour. The longer he thought the situation over, the less he knew how to broachthe subject to his mother; the more uncertain he felt whether it wouldbe wise for him to broach it at all. Suddenly he heard his name called. It was Margarita, who had been sent to call him to dinner. "Goodheavens! dinner already!" he cried, springing to his feet. 

"Yes, Senor, " replied Margarita, eyeing him observantly. She had seenhim talking with Alessandro, had seen Alessandro galloping away downthe river road. She had also gathered much from the Senora's look, and Ramona's, as they passed the dining-room door together soon afterbreakfast. Margarita could have given a tolerably connected account ofall that had happened within the last twenty-four hours to the chiefactors in this tragedy which had so suddenly begun in the Morenohousehold. Not supposed to know anything, she yet knew nearly all; andher every pulse was beating high with excited conjecture and wonder asto what would come next. 

Dinner was a silent and constrained meal, --Ramona absent, the fiction ofher illness still kept up; Felipe embarrassed, and unlike himself; theSenora silent, full of angry perplexity. At her first glance in Felipe'sface, she thought to herself, "Ramona has spoken to him. When and howdid she do it?" For it had been only a few moments after Ramona had lefther presence, that she herself had followed, and, seeing the girl in herown room, had locked the door as before, and had spent the rest of themorning on the veranda within hands' reach of Ramona's window. How, when, and where had she contrived to communicate with Felipe? The longerthe Senora studied over this, the angrier and more baffled she felt; tobe outwitted was even worse to her than to be disobeyed. Under her veryeyes, as it were, something evidently had happened, not only againsther will, but which she could not explain. Her anger even rippled outtowards Felipe, and was fed by the recollection of Ramona's unwiseretort, "Felipe would not let you!" What had Felipe done or said to makethe girl so sure that he would be on her side and Alessandro's? Was itcome to this, that she, the Senora Moreno, was to be defied in her ownhouse by children and servants!

It was with a tone of severe displeasure that she said to Felipe, asshe rose from the dinner-table, "My son, I would like to have someconversation with you in my room, if you are at leisure. "

"Certainly, mother, " said Felipe, a load rolling off his mind at herhaving thus taken the initiative, for which he lacked courage; andwalking swiftly towards her, he attempted to put his arm around herwaist, as it was his affectionate habit frequently to do. She repulsedhim gently, but bethinking herself, passed her hand through his arm, and leaning on it heavily as she walked, said: "This is the most fittingway, my son. I must lean more and more heavily on you each year now. Ageis telling on me fast. Do you not find me greatly changed, Felipe, inthe last year?"

"No, madre mia, " replied Felipe, "indeed I do not. I see not that youhave changed in the last ten years. " And he was honest in this. Hiseyes did not note the changes so clear to others, and for the best ofreasons. The face he saw was one no one else ever beheld; it was kindledby emotion, transfigured by love, whenever it was turned towards him. 

The Senora sighed deeply as she answered: "That must be because you solove me, Felipe. I myself see the changes even day by day. Troublestell on me as they did not when I was younger. Even within the lasttwenty-four hours I seem to myself to have aged frightfully;" and shelooked keenly at Felipe as she seated herself in the arm-chair wherepoor Ramona had swooned a few hours before. Felipe remained standingbefore her, gazing, with a tender expression, upon her features, butsaying nothing. 

"I see that Ramona has told you all!" she continued, her voice hardeningas she spoke. What a fortunate wording of her sentence!

"No, mother; it was not Ramona, it was Alessandro, who told me thismorning, early, " Felipe answered hastily, hurrying on, to draw theconversation as far away from Ramona as possible. "He came and spoke tome last night after I was in bed; but I told him to wait till morning, and then I would hear all he had to say. "

"Ah!" said the Senora, relieved. Then, as Felipe remained silent, sheasked, "And what did he say?"

"He told me all that had happened. "

"All!" said the Senora, sneeringly. "Do you suppose that he told youall?"

"He said that you had bidden him begone out of your sight, " said Felipe, "and that he supposed he must go. So I told him to go at once. I thoughtyou would prefer not to see him again. "

"Ah!" said the Senora again, startled, gratified that Felipe had sopromptly seconded her action, but sorry that Alessandro had gone. "Ah, Idid not know whether you would think it best to discharge him at onceor not; I told him he must answer to you. I did not know but you mightdevise some measures by which he could be retained on the estate. "

Felipe stared. Could he believe his ears? This did not sound like therelentless displeasure he had expected. Could Ramona have been dreaming?In his astonishment, he did not weigh his mother's words carefully; hedid not carry his conjecture far enough; he did not stop to make surethat retaining Alessandro on the estate might not of necessity bode anygood to Ramona; but with his usual impetuous ardor, sanguine, at thefirst glimpse of hope, that all was well, he exclaimed joyfully, "Ah, dear mother, if that could only be done, all would be well;" and, nevernoting the expression of his mother's face, nor pausing to take breath, he poured out all he thought and felt on the subject. 

"That is just what I have been hoping for ever since I saw that he andRamona were growing so fond of each other. He is a splendid fellow, andthe best hand we have ever had on the place. All the men like him; hewould make a capital overseer; and if we put him in charge of the wholeestate, there would not be any objection to his marrying Ramona. Thatwould give them a good living here with us. "

"Enough!" cried the Senora, in a voice which fell on Felipe's earslike a voice from some other world, --so hollow, so strange. He stoppedspeaking, and uttered an ejaculation of amazement. At the first wordshe had uttered, the Senora had fixed her eyes on the floor, --a habit ofhers when she wished to listen with close attention. Lifting her eyesnow, fixing them full on Felipe, she regarded him with a look which notall his filial reverence could bear without resentment. It was nearly asscornful as that with which she had regarded Ramona. Felipe colored. 

"Why do you look at me like that, mother?" he exclaimed. "What have Idone?"

The Senora waved her hand imperiously. "Enough!" she reiterated. "Do notsay any more. I wish to think for a few moments;" and she fixed her eyeson the floor again. 

Felipe studied her countenance. A more nearly rebellious feeling thanhe had supposed himself capable of slowly arose in his heart. Now he forthe first time perceived what terror his mother must inspire in a girllike Ramona. 

"Poor little one!" he thought. "If my mother looked at her as she did atme just now, I wonder she did not die. "

A great storm was going on in the Senora's bosom. Wrath against Ramonawas uppermost in it. In addition to all else, the girl had now been thecause, or at least the occasion, of Felipe's having, for the first timein his whole life, angered her beyond her control. 

"As if I had not suffered enough by reason of that creature, " shethought bitterly to herself, "without her coming between me and Felipe!"

But nothing could long come between the Senora and Felipe. Like a freshlava-stream flowing down close on the track of its predecessor, came therush of the mother's passionate love for her son close on the passionateanger at his words. 

When she lifted her eyes they were full of tears, which it smote Felipeto see. As she gazed at him, they rolled down her cheeks, and she saidin trembling tones: "Forgive me, my child; I had not thought anythingcould make me thus angry with you. That shameless creature is costing ustoo dear. She must leave the house. "

Felipe's heart gave a bound; Ramona had not been mistaken, then. Abitter shame seized him at his mother's cruelty. But her tears made himtender; and it was in a gentle, even pleading voice that he replied:"I do not see, mother, why you call Ramona shameless. There is nothingwrong in her loving Alessandro. "

"I found her in his arms!" exclaimed the Senora. 

"I know, " said Felipe; "Alessandro told me that he had just at thatinstant told her he loved her, and she had said she loved him, and wouldmarry him, just as you came up. "

"Humph!" retorted the Senora; "do you think that Indian would have daredto speak a word of love to the Senorita Ramona Ortegna, if she had notconducted herself shamelessly? I wonder that he concerned himself tospeak about marriage to her at all. "

"Oh, mother! mother!" was all that Felipe could say to this. He wasaghast. He saw now, in a flash, the whole picture as it lay in hismother's mind, and his heart sank within him. "Mother!" he repeated, ina tone which spoke volumes. 

"Ay, " she continued, "that is what I say. I see no reason why hehesitated to take her, as he would take any Indian squaw, with smallceremony of marrying. "

"Alessandro would not take any woman that way any quicker than I would, mother, " said Felipe courageously; "you do him injustice. " He longedto add, "And Ramona too, " but he feared to make bad matters worse bypleading for her at present. 

"No, I do not, " said the Senora; "I do Alessandro full justice. Ithink very few men would have behaved as well as he has under the sametemptation. I do not hold him in the least responsible for all that hashappened. It is all Ramona's fault. "

Felipe's patience gave way. He had not known, till now, how very closelythis pure and gentle girl, whom he had loved as a sister in his boyhood, and had come near loving as a lover in his manhood, had twined herselfaround his heart. He could not remain silent another moment, and hearher thus wickedly accused. 

"Mother!" he exclaimed, in a tone which made the Senora look up at himin sudden astonishment. "Mother, I cannot help it if I make you veryangry; I must speak; I can't bear to hear you say such things of Ramona. I have seen for a long time that Alessandro loved the very ground underher feet; and Ramona would not have been a woman if she had not seen ittoo! She has seen it, and has felt it, and has come to love him with allher soul, just as I hope some woman will love me one of these days. If Iam ever loved as well as she loves Alessandro, I shall be lucky. I thinkthey ought to be married; and I think we ought to take Alessandro on tothe estate, so that they can live here. I don't see anything disgracefulin it, nor anything wrong, nor anything but what was perfectly natural. You know, mother, it isn't as if Ramona really belonged to our family;you know she is half Indian. " A scornful ejaculation from his motherinterrupted him here; but Felipe hurried on, partly because he was borneout of himself at last by impetuous feeling, partly that he dreaded tostop, because if he did, his mother would speak; and already he felta terror of what her next words might be. "I have often thought aboutRamona's future, mother. You know a great many men would not want tomarry her, just because she is half Indian. You, yourself, would neverhave given your consent to my marrying her, if I had wanted to. " Againan exclamation from the Senora, this time more of horror than of scorn. But Felipe pressed on. "No, of course you would not, I always knew that;except for that, I might have loved her myself, for a sweeter girlnever drew breath in this God's earth. " Felipe was reckless now; havingentered on this war, he would wage it with every weapon that lay withinhis reach; if one did not tell, another might. "You have never lovedher. I don't know that you have ever even liked her; I don't think youhave. I know, as a little boy, I always used to see how much kinder youwere to me than to her, and I never could understand it. And you areunjust to her now. I've been watching her all summer; I've seen her andAlessandro together continually. You know yourself, mother, he has beenwith us on the veranda, day after day, just as if he were one of thefamily. I've watched them by the hour, when I lay there so sick; Ithought you must have seen it too. I don't believe Alessandro has everlooked or said or done a thing I wouldn't have done in his place; and Idon't believe Ramona has ever looked, said, or done a thing I would notbe willing to have my own sister do!" Here Felipe paused. He had madehis charge; like a young impetuous general, massing all his forces atthe onset; he had no reserves. It is not the way to take Gibraltars. 

When he paused, literally breathless, he had spoken so fast, --and evenyet Felipe was not quite strong, so sadly had the fever undermined hisconstitution, --the Senora looked at him interrogatively, and said ina now composed tone: "You do not believe that Ramona has done anythingthat you would not be willing to have your own sister do? Would you bewilling that your own sister should marry Alessandro?"

Clever Senora Moreno! During the few moments that Felipe had beenspeaking, she had perceived certain things which it would be beyond herpower to do; certain others that it would be impolitic to try to do. Nothing could possibly compensate her for antagonizing Felipe. Nothingcould so deeply wound her, as to have him in a resentful mood towardsher; or so weaken her real control of him, as to have him feel that shearbitrarily overruled his preference or his purpose. In presence of herimperious will, even her wrath capitulated and surrendered. There wouldbe no hot words between her and her son. He should believe that hedetermined the policy of the Moreno house, even in this desperatecrisis. 

Felipe did not answer. A better thrust was never seen on any field thanthe Senora's question. She repeated it, still more deliberately, in herwonted gentle voice. The Senora was herself again, as she had not beenfor a moment since she came upon Alessandro and Ramona at the brook. How just and reasonable the question sounded, as she repeated it slowly, with an expression in her eyes, of poising and weighing matters. "Wouldyou be willing that your own sister should marry Alessandro?"

Felipe was embarrassed. He saw whither he was being led. He could givebut one answer to this question. "No, mother, " he said, "I should not;but--"

"Never mind buts, " interrupted his mother; "we have not got to thoseyet;" and she smiled on Felipe, --an affectionate smile, but it somehowgave him a feeling of dread. "Of course I knew you could make but oneanswer to my question. If you had a sister, you would rather see herdead than married to any one of these Indians. "

Felipe opened his lips eagerly, to speak. "Not so, " he said. 

"Wait, dear!" exclaimed his mother. "One thing at a time, I see how fullyour loving heart is, and I was never prouder of you as my son than whenlistening just now to your eloquent defence of Ramona, Perhaps youmay be right and I wrong as to her character and conduct. We will notdiscuss those points. " It was here that the Senora had perceived somethings that it would be out of her power to do. "We will not discussthose, because they do not touch the real point at issue. What it isour duty to do by Ramona, in such a matter as this, does not turn onher worthiness or unworthiness. The question is, Is it right for youto allow her to do what you would not allow your own sister to do?" TheSenora paused for a second, noted with secret satisfaction how puzzledand unhappy Felipe looked; then, in a still gentler voice, she went on, "You surely would not think that right, my son, would you?" And now theSenora waited for an answer. 

"No, mother, " came reluctantly from Felipe's lips. "I suppose not;but--"

"I was sure my own son could make no other reply, " interrupted theSenora. She did not wish Felipe at present to do more than reply toher questions. "Of course it would not be right for us to let Ramonado anything which we would not let her do if she were really of our ownblood. That is the way I have always looked at my obligation to her. Mysister intended to rear her as her own daughter. She had given her herown name. When my sister died, she transferred to me all her right andresponsibility in and for the child. You do not suppose that if youraunt had lived, she would have ever given her consent to her adopteddaughter's marrying an Indian, do you?"

Again the Senora paused for a reply, and again the reluctant Felipesaid, in a low tone, "No, I suppose she would not. "

"Very well. Then that lays a double obligation on us. It is not onlythat we are not to permit Ramona to do a thing which we would considerdisgraceful to one of our own blood; we are not to betray the trustreposed in us by the only person who had a right to control her, and whotransferred that trust to us. Is not that so?"

"Yes, mother, " said the unhappy Felipe. 

He saw the meshes closing around him. He felt that there was a flawsomewhere in his mother's reasoning, but he could not point it out;in fact, he could hardly make it distinct to himself. His brain wasconfused. Only one thing he saw clearly, and that was, that after allhad been said and done, Ramona would still marry Alessandro. But it wasevident that it would never be with his mother's consent. "Nor with mineeither, openly, the way she puts it. I don't see how it can be; and yetI have promised Alessandro to do all I could for him. Curse the luck, I wish he had never set foot on the place!" said Felipe in his heart, growing unreasonable, and tired with the perplexity. 

The Senora continued: "I shall always blame myself bitterly for havingfailed to see what was going on. As you say, Alessandro has been withus a great deal since your illness, with his music, and singing, and onething and another; but I can truly say that I never thought of Ramona'sbeing in danger of looking upon him in the light of a possible lover, any more than of her looking thus upon Juan Canito, or Luigo, or anyother of the herdsmen or laborers. I regret it more than words canexpress, and I do not know what we can do, now that it has happened. "

"That's it, mother! That's it!" broke in Felipe. "You see, you see it istoo late now. "

The Senora went on as if Felipe had not spoken. "I suppose you wouldreally very much regret to part with Alessandro, and your word is in away pledged to him, as you had asked him if he would stay on the place, Of course, now that all this has happened, it would be very unpleasantfor Ramona to stay here, and see him continually--at least for a time, until she gets over this strange passion she seems to have conceivedfor him. It will not last. Such sudden passions never do. " The Senoraartfully interpolated, "What should you think, Felipe, of having her goback to the Sisters' school for a time? She was very happy there. "

The Senora had strained a point too far. Felipe's self-control suddenlygave way, and as impetuously as he had spoken in the beginning, he spokeagain now, nerved by the memory of Ramona's face and tone as she hadcried to him in the garden, "Oh, Felipe, you won't let her shut me upin the convent, will you?" "Mother!" he cried, "you would never do that. You would not shut the poor girl up in the convent!"

The Senora raised her eyebrows in astonishment. "Who spoke of shuttingup?" she said. "Ramona has already been there at school. She might goagain. She is not too old to learn. A change of scene and occupation isthe best possible cure for a girl who has a thing of this sort to getover. Can you propose anything better, my son? What would you advise?"And a third time the Senora paused for an answer. 

These pauses and direct questions of the Senora's were like nothingin life so much as like that stage in a spider's processes when, withdrawing a little way from a half-entangled victim, which stillsupposes himself free, it rests from its weaving, and watches the victimflutter. Subtle questions like these, assuming, taking for granted assettled, much which had never been settled at all, were among the bestweapons in the Senora's armory. They rarely failed her. 

"Advise!" cried Felipe, excitedly. "Advise! This is what I advise--tolet Ramona and Alessandro marry. I can't help all you say about ourobligations. I dare say you're right; and it's a cursedly awkwardcomplication for us, anyhow, the way you put it. "

"Yes, awkward for you, as the head of our house, " interrupted theSenora, sighing. "I don't quite see how you would face it. "

"Well, I don't propose to face it, " continued Felipe, testily. "I don'tpropose to have anything to do with it, from first to last. Let her goaway with him, if she wants to. '

"Without our consent?" said the Senora, gently. 

"Yes, without it, if she can't go with it; and I don't see, as you havestated it, how we could exactly take any responsibility about marryingher to Alessandro. But for heaven's sake, mother, let her go! She willgo, any way. You haven't the least idea how she loves Alessandro, or howhe loves her. Let her go!"

"Do you really think she would run away with him, if it came to that?"asked the Senora, earnestly. "Run away and marry him, spite of ourrefusing to consent to the marriage?"

"I do, " said Felipe. 

"Then it is your opinion, is it, that the only thing left for us to do, is to wash our hands of it altogether, and leave her free to do what shepleases?"

"That's just what I do think, mother, " replied Felipe, his heart growinglighter at her words. "That's just what I do think. We can't preventit, and it is of no use to try. Do let us tell them they can do as theylike. "

"Of course, Alessandro must leave us, then, " said the Senora. "Theycould not stay here. "

"I don't see why!" said Felipe, anxiously. 

"You will, my son, if you think a moment. Could we possibly give astronger indorsement to their marriage than by keeping them here? Don'tyou see that would be so?"

Felipe's eyes fell. "Then I suppose they couldn't be married here, either, " he said. 

"What more could we do than that, for a marriage that we heartilyapproved of, my son?"

"True, mother;" and Felipe clapped his hand to his forehead. "But thenwe force them to run away!"

"Oh, no. " said the Senora, icily. "If they go, they will go of theirown accord. We hope they will never do anything so foolish and wrong. Ifthey do, I suppose we shall always be held in a measure responsible fornot having prevented it. But if you think it is not wise, or of no useto attempt that, I do not see what there is to be done. "

Felipe did not speak. He felt discomfited; felt as if he had betrayedhis friend Alessandro, his sister Ramona; as if a strange complication, network of circumstances, had forced him into a false position; he didnot see what more he could ask, what more could be asked, of his mother;he did not see, either, that much less could have been granted toAlessandro and Ramona; he was angry, wearied, perplexed. 

The Senora studied his face. "You do not seem satisfied, Felipe dear, "she said tenderly. "As, indeed, how could you be in this unfortunatestate of affairs? But can you think of anything different for us to do?"

"No, " said Felipe, bitterly. "I can't, that's the worst of it. It isjust turning Ramona out of the house, that's all. "

"Felipe! Felipe!" exclaimed the Senora, "how unjust you are to yourself!You know you would never do that! You know that she has always had ahome here as if she were a daughter; and always will have, as long asshe wishes it. If she chooses to turn her back on it, and go away, isit our fault? Do not let your pity for this misguided girl blind you towhat is just to yourself and to me. Turn Ramona out of the house! Youknow I promised my sister to bring her up as my own child; and I havealways felt that my son would receive the trust from me, when I died. Ramona has a home under the Moreno roof so long as she will accept it. It is not just, Felipe, to say that we turn her out;" and tears stood inthe Senora's eyes. 

"Forgive me, dear mother, " cried the unhappy Felipe. "Forgive me foradding one burden to all you have to bear. Truth is, this miserablebusiness has so distraught my senses, I can't seem to see anything as itis. Dear mother, it is very hard for you. I wish it were done with. "

"Thanks for your precious sympathy, my Felipe, " replied the Senora. "Ifit were not for you, I should long ago have broken down beneath my caresand burdens. But among them all, have been few so grievous as this. Ifeel myself and our home dishonored. But we must submit. As you say, Felipe, I wish it were done with. It would be as well, perhaps, to sendfor Ramona at once, and tell her what we have decided. She is no doubtin great anxiety; we will see her here. "

Felipe would have greatly preferred to see Ramona alone; but as he knewnot how to bring this about he assented to his mother's suggestion. 

Opening her door, the Senora walked slowly down the passage-way, unlocked Ramona's door, and said: "Ramona, be so good as to come to myroom. Felipe and I have something to say to you. "

Ramona followed, heavy-hearted. The words, "Felipe and I, " boded nogood. 

"The Senora has made Felipe think just as she does herself, " thoughtRamona. "Oh, what will become of me!" and she stole a reproachful, imploring look at Felipe. He smiled back in a way which reassured her;but the reassurance did not last long. 

"Senorita Ramona Ortegna, " began the Senora. Felipe shivered. He had hadno conception that his mother could speak in that way. The words seemedto open a gulf between Ramona and all the rest of the world, so coldand distant they sounded, --as the Senora might speak to an intrudingstranger. 

"Senorita Ramona Ortegna, " she said, "my son and I have been discussingwhat it is best for us to do in the mortifying and humiliating positionin which you place us by your relation with the Indian Alessandro. Ofcourse you know--or you ought to know--that it is utterly impossiblefor us to give our consent to your making such a marriage; we should befalse to a trust, and dishonor our own family name, if we did that. "

Ramona's eyes dilated, her cheeks paled; she opened her lips, but nosound came from them; she looked toward Felipe, and seeing him withdowncast eyes, and an expression of angry embarrassment on his face, despair seized her. Felipe had deserted their cause. Oh, where, wherewas Alessandro! Clasping her hands, she uttered a low cry, --a cry thatcut Felipe to the heart. He was finding out, in thus being witness ofRamona's suffering, that she was far nearer and dearer to him than hehad realized. It would have taken very little, at such moments as these, to have made Felipe her lover again; he felt now like springing to herside, folding his arms around her, and bidding his mother defiance. Ittook all the self-control he could gather, to remain silent, and trustto Ramona's understanding him later. 

Ramona's cry made no break in the smooth, icy flow of the Senora'ssentences. She gave no sign of having heard it, but continued: "My sontells me that he thinks our forbidding it would make no difference; thatyou would go away with the man all the same. I suppose he is right inthinking so, as you yourself told me that even if Father Salvierderraforbade it, you would disobey him. Of course, if this is yourdetermination, we are powerless. Even if I were to put you in thekeeping of the Church, which is what I am sure my sister, who adoptedyou as her child, would do, if she were alive, you would devise somemeans of escape, and thus bring a still greater and more public scandalon the family. Felipe thinks that it is not worth while to attempt tobring you to reason in that way; and we shall therefore do nothing. Iwish to impress it upon you that my son, as head of this house, and I, as my sister's representative, consider you a member of our own family. So long as we have a home for ourselves, that home is yours, as italways has been. If you choose to leave it, and to disgrace yourself andus by marrying an Indian, we cannot help ourselves. "

The Senora paused. Ramona did not speak. Her eyes were fixed on theSenora's face, as if she would penetrate to her inmost soul; the girlwas beginning to recognize the Senora's true nature; her instincts andher perceptions were sharpened by love. 

"Have you anything to say to me or to my son?" asked the Senora. 

"No, Senora, " replied Ramona; "I do not think of anything more to saythan I said this morning. Yes, " she added, "there is. Perhaps I shallnot speak with you again before I go away. I thank you once more forthe home you have given me for so many years. And you too, Felipe, " shecontinued, turning towards Felipe, her face changing, all her pent-upaffection and sorrow looking out of her tearful eyes, --"you too, dearFelipe. You have always been so good to me. I shall always love you aslong as I live;" and she held out both her hands to him. Felipe tookthem in his, and was about to speak, when the Senora interruptedhim. She did not intend to have any more of this sort of affectionatefamiliarity between her son and Ramona. 

"Are we to understand that you are taking your leave now?" she said. "Isit your purpose to go at once?"

"I do not know, Senora, " stammered Ramona; "I have not seen Alessandro;I have not heard--" And she looked up in distress at Felipe, whoanswered compassionately, --

"Alessandro has gone. "

"Gone!" shrieked Ramona. "Gone! not gone, Felipe!"

"Only for four days, " replied Felipe. "To Temecula. I thought it wouldbe better for him to be away for a day or two. He is to come backimmediately. Perhaps he will be back day after to-morrow. "

"Did he want to go? What did he go for? Why didn't you let me go withhim? Oh, why, why did he go?" cried Ramona. 

"He went because my son told him to go, " broke in the Senora, impatientof this scene, and of the sympathy she saw struggling in Felipe'sexpressive features. "My son thought, and rightly, that the sight of himwould be more than I could bear just now; so he ordered him to go away, and Alessandro obeyed. "

Like a wounded creature at bay, Ramona turned suddenly away from Felipe, and facing the Senora, her eyes resolute and dauntless spite of thestreaming tears, exclaimed, lifting her right hand as she spoke, "Youhave been cruel; God will punish you!" and without waiting to see whateffect her words had produced, without looking again at Felipe, shewalked swiftly out of the room. 

"You see, " said the Senora, "you see she defies us. "

"She is desperate, " said Felipe. "I am sorry I sent Alessandro away. "

"No, my son, " replied the Senora, "you were wise, as you always are. It may bring her to her senses, to have a few days' reflection insolitude. "

"You do not mean to keep her locked up, mother, do you?" cried Felipe. 

The Senora turned a look of apparently undisguised amazement on him. "You would not think that best, would you? Did you not say that all wecould do, was simply not to interfere with her in any way? To wash ourhands, so far as is possible, of all responsibility about her?"

"Yes, yes, " said the baffled Felipe; "that was what I said. But, mother--" He stopped. He did not know what he wanted to say. 

The Senora looked tenderly at him, her face full of anxious inquiry. 

"What is it, Felipe dear? Is there anything more you think I ought tosay or do?" she asked. 

"What is it you are going to do, mother?" said Felipe. "I don't seem tounderstand what you are going to do. "

"Nothing, Felipe! You have entirely convinced me that all effort wouldbe thrown away. I shall do nothing, " replied the Senora. "Nothingwhatever. "

"Then as long as Ramona is here, everything will be just as it alwayshas been?" said Felipe. 

The Senora smiled sadly. "Dear Felipe, do you think that possible? Agirl who has announced her determination to disobey not only you andme, but Father Salvierderra, who is going to bring disgrace both on theMoreno and the Ortegna name, --we can't feel exactly the same towards heras we did before, can we?"

Felipe made an impatient gesture. "No, of course not. But I mean, iseverything to be just the same, outwardly, as it was before?"

"I supposed so, " said the Senora. "Was not that your idea? We must tryto have it so, I think. Do not you?"

"Yes, " groaned Felipe, "if we can!"

XIII

THE Senora Moreno had never before been so discomfited as in this matterof Ramona and Alessandro. It chafed her to think over her conversationwith Felipe; to recall how far the thing she finally attained was fromthe thing she had in view when she began. To have Ramona sent to theconvent, Alessandro kept as overseer of the place, and the Ortegnajewels turned into the treasury of the Church, --this was the plan shehad determined on in her own mind. Instead of this, Alessandro was notto be overseer on the place; Ramona would not go to the convent: shewould be married to Alessandro, and they would go away together; andthe Ortegna jewels, --well, that was a thing to be decided in the future;that should be left to Father Salvierderra to decide. Bold as the Senorawas, she had not quite the courage requisite to take that questionwholly into her own hands. 

One thing was clear, Felipe must not be consulted in regard to them. Hehad never known of them, and need not now. Felipe was far too much insympathy with Ramona to take a just view of the situation. He would besure to have a quixotic idea of Ramona's right of ownership. It was notimpossible that Father Salvierderra might have the same feeling. If so, she must yield; but that would go harder with her than all the rest. Almost the Senora would have been ready to keep the whole thing a secretfrom the Father, if he had not been at the time of the Senora Ortegna'sdeath fully informed of all the particulars of her bequest to heradopted child. At any rate, it would be nearly a year before the Fathercame again, and in the mean time she would not risk writing about it. The treasure was as safe in Saint Catharine's keeping as it had been allthese fourteen years; it should still lie hidden there. When Ramona wentaway with Alessandro, she would write to Father Salvierderra, simplystating the facts in her own way, and telling him that all furtherquestions must wait for decision until they met. 

And so she plotted and planned, and mapped out the future in hertireless weaving brain, till she was somewhat soothed for the partialfailure of her plans. 

There is nothing so skilful in its own defence as imperious pride. Ithas an ingenious system of its own, of reprisals, --a system so ingeniousthat the defeat must be sore indeed, after which it cannot stillfind some booty to bring off! And even greater than this ingenuity atreprisals is its capacity for self-deception. In this regard, it outdoesvanity a thousandfold. Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally hurt;and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises thrown away. But pridecarries its banner to the last; and fast as it is driven from one fieldunfurls it in another, never admitting that there is a shade less honorin the second field than in the first, or in the third than in thesecond; and so on till death. It is impossible not to have a certainsort of admiration for this kind of pride. Cruel, those who have it, areto all who come in their way; but they are equally cruel to themselves, when pride demands the sacrifice. Such pride as this has led many aforlorn hope, on the earth, when all other motives have died out ofmen's breasts; has won many a crown, which has not been called by itstrue name. 

Before the afternoon was over, the Senora had her plan, her chart ofthe future, as it were, all reconstructed; the sting of her discomfituresoothed; the placid quiet of her manner restored; her habitualoccupations also, and little ways, all resumed. She was going to do"nothing" in regard to Ramona. Only she herself knew how much thatmeant; how bitterly much! She wished she were sure that Felipe alsowould do "nothing;" but her mind still misgave her about Felipe. Unpityingly she had led him on, and entangled him in his own words, step by step, till she had brought him to the position she wished him totake. Ostensibly, his position and hers were one, their action a unit;all the same, she did not deceive herself as to his real feeling aboutthe affair. He loved Ramona. He liked Alessandro. Barring the questionof family pride, which he had hardly thought of till she suggestedit, and which he would not dwell on apart from her continuing to pressit, --barring this, he would have liked to have Alessandro marry Ramonaand remain on the place. All this would come uppermost in Felipe'smind again when he was removed from the pressure of her influence. Nevertheless, she did not intend to speak with him on the subject again, or to permit him to speak to her. Her ends would be best attainedby taking and keeping the ground that the question of theirnon-interference having been settled once for all, the painful topicshould never be renewed between them. In patient silence they must awaitRamona's action; must bear whatever of disgrace and pain she chose toinflict on the family which had sheltered her from her infancy till now. 

The details of the "nothing" she proposed to do, slowly arrangedthemselves in her mind. There should be no apparent change in Ramona'sposition in the house. She should come and go as freely as ever; nowatch on her movements; she should eat, sleep, rise up and sit downwith them, as before; there should be not a word, or act, that Felipe'ssympathetic sensitiveness could construe into any provocation to Ramonato run away. Nevertheless, Ramona should be made to feel, every momentof every hour, that she was in disgrace; that she was with them, but notof them; that she had chosen an alien's position, and must abide by it. How this was to be done, the Senora did not put in words to herself, butshe knew very well. If anything would bring the girl to her senses, thiswould. There might still be a hope, the Senora believed, so little didshe know Ramona's nature, or the depth of her affection for Alessandro, that she might be in this manner brought to see the enormity of theoffence she would commit if she persisted in her purpose. And if she didperceive this, confess her wrong, and give up the marriage, --the Senoragrew almost generous and tolerant in her thoughts as she contemplatedthis contingency, --if she did thus humble herself and return to herrightful allegiance to the Moreno house, the Senora would forgive her, and would do more for her than she had ever hitherto done. She wouldtake her to Los Angeles and to Monterey; would show her a little moreof the world; and it was by no means unlikely that there might thus comeabout for her a satisfactory and honorable marriage. Felipe should seethat she was not disposed to deal unfairly by Ramona in any way, ifRamona herself would behave properly. 

Ramona's surprise, when the Senora entered her room just before supper, and, in her ordinary tone, asked a question about the chili which wasdrying on the veranda, was so great, that she could not avoid showing itboth in her voice and look. 

The Senora recognized this immediately, but gave no sign of having doneso, continuing what she had to say about the chili, the hot sun, theturning of the grapes, etc. , precisely as she would have spoken toRamona a week previous. At least, this was what Ramona at first thought;but before the sentences were finished, she had detected in the Senora'seye and tone the weapons which were to be employed against her. Theemotion of half-grateful wonder with which she had heard the first wordschanged quickly to heartsick misery before they were concluded; andshe said to herself: "That's the way she is going to break me down, shethinks! But she can't do it. I can bear anything for four days; and theminute Alessandro comes, I will go away with him. " This train of thoughtin Ramona's mind was reflected in her face. The Senora saw it, andhardened herself still more. It was to be war, then. No hope ofsurrender. Very well. The girl had made her choice. 

Margarita was now the most puzzled person in the household. She hadoverheard snatches of the conversation between Felipe and his mother andRamona, having let her curiosity get so far the better of her discretionas to creep to the door and listen. In fact, she narrowly escapedbeing caught, having had barely time to begin her feint of sweeping thepassage-way, when Ramona, flinging the door wide open, came out, after her final reply to the Senora, the words of which Margarita haddistinctly heard: "God will punish you. "

"Holy Virgin! how dare she say that to the Senora?" ejaculatedMargarita, under her breath; and the next second Ramona rushed by, noteven seeing her. But the Senora's vigilant eyes, following Ramona, saw her; and the Senora's voice had a ring of suspicion in it, as shecalled, "How comes it you are sweeping the passage-way at this hour ofthe day, Margarita?"

It was surely the devil himself that put into Margarita's head the quicklie which she instantaneously told. "There was early breakfast, Senora, to be cooked for Alessandro, who was setting off in haste, and my motherwas not up, so I had it to cook. "

As Margarita said this, Felipe fixed his eyes steadily upon her. Shechanged color. Felipe knew this was a lie. He had seen Margarita peeringabout among the willows while he was talking with Alessandro at thesheepfold; he had seen Alessandro halt for a moment and speak to her ashe rode past, --only for a moment; then, pricking his horse sharply, hehad galloped off down the valley road. No breakfast had Alessandro hadat Margarita's hands, or any other's, that morning. What could have beenMargarita's motive for telling this lie?

But Felipe had too many serious cares on his mind to busy himself longwith any thought of Margarita or her fibs. She had said the first thingwhich came into her head, most likely, to shelter herself from theSenora's displeasure; which was indeed very near the truth, only therewas added a spice of malice against Alessandro. A slight undercurrent ofjealous antagonism towards him had begun to grow up among the servantsof late; fostered, if not originated, by Margarita's sharp sayings as tohis being admitted to such strange intimacy with the family. 

While Felipe continued ill, and was so soothed to rest by his music, there was no room for cavil. It was natural that Alessandro came andwent as a physician might. But after Felipe had recovered, why shouldthis freedom and intimacy continue? More than once there had been sullenmutterings of this kind on the north veranda, when all the laborersand servants were gathered there of an evening, Alessandro alone beingabsent from the group, and the sounds of his voice or his violin comingfrom the south veranda, where the family sat. 

"It would be a good thing if we too had a bit of music now and then, "Juan Canito would grumble; "but the lad's chary enough of his bow onthis side the house. "

"Ho! we're not good enough for him to play to!" Margarita would reply;"'Like master, like servant, ' is a good proverb sometimes, but notalways. But there's a deal going on, on the veranda yonder, besidesfiddling!" and Margarita's lips would purse themselves up in anexpression of concentrated mystery and secret knowledge, well fitted todraw from everybody a fire of questions, none of which, however, wouldshe answer. She knew better than to slander the Senorita Ramona, or tosay a word even reflecting upon her unfavorably. Not a man or a womanthere would have borne it. They all had loved Ramona ever since she cameamong them as a toddling baby. They petted her then, and idolized hernow. Not one of them whom she had not done good offices for, --nursedthem, cheered them, remembered their birthdays and their saints'-days. To no one but her mother had Margarita unbosomed what she knew, and whatshe suspected; and old Marda, frightened at the bare pronouncing of suchwords, had terrified Margarita into the solemnest of promises never, under any circumstances whatever, to say such things to any other memberof the family. Marda did not believe them. She could not. She believedthat Margarita's jealousy had imagined all. 

"And the Senora; she'd send you packing off this place in an hour, and me too, long's I've lived here, if ever she was to know of youblackening the Senorita. An Indian, too! You must be mad, Margarita!"

When Margarita, in triumph, had flown to tell her that the Senora hadjust dragged the Senorita Ramona up the garden-walk, and shoved her intoher room and locked the door, and that it was because she had caught herwith Alessandro at the washing-stones, Marda first crossed herself insheer mechanical fashion at the shock of the story, and then cuffedMargarita's ears for telling her. 

"I'll take the head off your neck, if you say that aloud again!Whatever's come to the Senora! Forty years I've lived under this roof, and I never saw her lift a hand to a living creature yet. You're out ofyour senses, child!" she said, all the time gazing fearfully towards theroom. 

"You'll see whether I am out of my senses or not, " retorted Margarita, and ran back to the dining-room. And after the dining-room door wasshut, and the unhappy pretence of a supper had begun, old Marda hadherself crept softly to the Senorita's door and listened, and heardRamona sobbing as if her heart would break. Then she knew that whatMargarita had said must be true, and her faithful soul was in sorestraits what to think. The Senorita misdemean herself! Never! Whateverhappened, it was not that! There was some horrible mistake somewhere. Kneeling at the keyhole, she had called cautiously to Ramona, "Oh, mylamb, what is it?" But Ramona had not heard her, and the danger was toogreat of remaining; so scrambling up with difficulty from her rheumaticknees, the old woman had hobbled back to the kitchen as much in the darkas before, and, by a curiously illogical consequence, crosser than everto her daughter. All the next day she watched for herself, and couldnot but see that all appearances bore out Margarita's statements. Alessandro's sudden departure had been a tremendous corroboration of thestory. Not one of the men had had an inkling of it; Juan Canito, Luigo, both alike astonished; no word left, no message sent; only Senor Felipehad said carelessly to Juan Can, after breakfast: "You'll have to lookafter things yourself for a few days, Juan. Alessandro has gone toTemecula. "

"For a few days!" exclaimed Margarita, sarcastically, when this wasrepeated to her. "That's easy said! If Alessandro Assis is seen hereagain, I'll eat my head! He's played his last tune on the south veranda, I wager you. "

But when at supper-time of this same eventful day the Senora was heard, as she passed the Senorita's door, to say in her ordinary voice, "Areyou ready for supper, Ramona?" and Ramona was seen to come out and walkby the Senora's side to the dining-room; silent, to be sure, --but thenthat was no strange thing, the Senorita always was more silent in theSenora's presence, --when Marda, standing in the court-yard, feigning tobe feeding her chickens, but keeping a close eye on the passage-ways, saw this, she was relieved, and thought: "It's only a dispute there hasbeen. There will be disputes in families sometimes. It is none of ouraffair. All is settled now. "

And Margarita, standing in the dining-room, when she saw them allcoming in as usual, --the Senora, Felipe, Ramona, --no change, even toher scrutinizing eye, in anybody's face, was more surprised than she hadbeen for many a day; and began to think again, as she had more thanonce since this tragedy began, that she must have dreamed much that sheremembered. 

But surfaces are deceitful, and eyes see little. Considering itscomplexity, the fineness and delicacy of its mechanism, the resultsattainable by the human eye seem far from adequate to the expenditureput upon it. We have flattered ourselves by inventing proverbs ofcomparison in matter of blindness, --"blind as a bat, " for instance. Itwould be safe to say that there cannot be found in the animal kingdoma bat, or any other creature, so blind in its own range of circumstanceand connection, as the greater majority of human beings are in thebosoms of their families. Tempers strain and recover, hearts break andheal, strength falters, fails, and comes near to giving way altogether, every day, without being noted by the closest lookers-on. 

Before night of this second day since the trouble had burst like astorm-cloud on the peaceful Moreno household, everything had so resumedthe ordinary expression and routine, that a shrewder observer andreasoner than Margarita might well be excused for doubting if anyserious disaster could have occurred to any one. Senor Felipe saunteredabout in his usual fashion, smoking his cigarettes, or lay on his bed inthe veranda, dozing. The Senora went her usual rounds of inspection, fedher birds, spoke to every one in her usual tone, sat in her carved chairwith her hands folded, gazing out on the southern sky. Ramona busiedherself with her usual duties, dusted the chapel, put fresh flowersbefore all the Madonnas, and then sat down at her embroidery. Ramona hadbeen for a long time at work on a beautiful altar-cloth for the chapel. It was to have been a present to the Senora. It was nearly done. As sheheld up the frame in which it was stretched, and looked at the delicatetracery of the pattern, she sighed. It had been with a mingled feelingof interest and hopelessness that she had for months been at work on it, often saying to herself, "She won't care much for it, beautiful as itis, just because I did it; but Father Salvierderra will be pleased whenhe sees it. "

Now, as she wove the fine threads in and out, she thought: "She willnever let it be used on the altar. I wonder if I could any way get it toFather Salvierderra, at Santa Barbara. I would like to give it to him. I will ask Alessandro. I'm sure the Senora would never use it, and itwould be a shame to leave it here. I shall take it with me. " But as shethought these things, her face was unruffled. A strange composure hadsettled on Ramona. "Only four days; only four days; I can bear anythingfor four days!" these words were coming and going in her mind likerefrains of songs which haunt one's memory and will not be still. Shesaw that Felipe looked anxiously at her, but she answered his inquiringlooks always with a gentle smile. It was evident that the Senora didnot intend that she and Felipe should have any private conversation;but that did not so much matter. After all, there was not so much to besaid. Felipe knew all. She could tell him nothing; Felipe had acted forthe best, as he thought, in sending Alessandro away till the heat of theSenora's anger should have spent itself. 

After her first dismay at suddenly learning that Alessandro had gone, had passed, she had reflected that it was just as well. He would comeback prepared to take her with him. How, or where, she did not know;but she would go with no questions. Perhaps she would not even bid theSenora good-by; she wondered how that would arrange itself, and how farAlessandro would have to take her, to find a priest to marry them. Itwas a terrible thing to have to do, to go out of a home in such a way:no wedding--no wedding clothes--no friends--to go unmarried, and journeyto a priest's house, to have the ceremony performed; "but it is not myfault, " said Ramona to herself; "it is hers. She drives me to do it. Ifit is wrong, the blame will be hers. Father Salvierderra would gladlycome here and marry us, if she would send for him. I wish we could go tohim, Alessandro and I; perhaps we can. I would not be afraid to ride sofar; we could do it in two days. " The more Ramona thought of this, themore it appeared to her the natural thing for them to do. "He will be onour side, I know he will, " she thought. "He always liked Alessandro, andhe loves me. "

It was strange how little bitterness toward the Senora was in the girl'smind; how comparatively little she thought of her. Her heart was toofull of Alessandro and of their future; and it had never been Ramona'shabit to dwell on the Senora in her thoughts. As from her childhood upshe had accepted the fact of the Senora's coldness toward her, so nowshe accepted her injustice and opposition as part of the nature ofthings, and not to be altered. 

During all these hours, during the coming and going of these crowdsof fears, sorrows, memories, anticipations in Ramona's heart, all thatthere was to be seen to the eye was simply a calm, quiet girl, sittingon the veranda, diligently working at her lace-frame. Even Felipe wasdeceived by her calmness, and wondered what it meant, --if it could bethat she was undergoing the change that his mother had thought possible, and designated as coming "to her senses. " Even Felipe did not know thesteadfast fibre of the girl's nature; neither did he realize what a bondhad grown between her and Alessandro. In fact, he sometimes wondered ofwhat this bond had been made. He had himself seen the greater partof their intercourse with each other; nothing could have been fartherremoved from anything like love-making. There had been no crisisof incident, or marked moments of experience such as in Felipe'simaginations of love were essential to the fulness of its growth. Thisis a common mistake on the part of those who have never felt love's truebonds. Once in those chains, one perceives that they are not of the sortfull forged in a day. They are made as the great iron cables are made, on which bridges are swung across the widest water-channels, --not ofsingle huge rods, or bars, which would be stronger, perhaps, to lookat, but of myriads of the finest wires, each one by itself so fine, sofrail, it would barely hold a child's kite in the wind: by hundreds, hundreds of thousands of such, twisted, re-twisted together, are madethe mighty cables, which do not any more swerve from their place in theair, under the weight and jar of the ceaseless traffic and tread of twocities, than the solid earth swerves under the same ceaseless weight andjar. Such cables do not break. 

Even Ramona herself would have found it hard to tell why she thus lovedAlessandro; how it began, or by what it grew. It had not been a suddenadoration, like his passion for her; it was, in the beginning, simplya response; but now it was as strong a love as his, --as strong, and asunchangeable. The Senora's harsh words had been like a forcing-house airto it, and the sudden knowledge of the fact of her own Indian descentseemed to her like a revelation, pointing out the path in which destinycalled her to walk. She thrilled with pleasure at the thought of the joywith which Alessandro would hear this, --the joy and the surprise. Sheimagined to herself, in hundreds of ways, the time, place, and phrase inwhich she would tell him. She could not satisfy herself as to the best;as to which would give keenest pleasure to him and to her. She wouldtell him, as soon as she saw him; it should be her first word ofgreeting. No! There would be too much of trouble and embarrassment then. She would wait till they were far away, till they were alone, in thewilderness; and then she would turn to him, and say, "Alessandro, mypeople are your people!" Or she would wait, and keep her secret untilshe had reached Temecula, and they had begun their life there, andAlessandro had been astonished to see how readily and kindly she tookto all the ways of the Indian village; and then, when he expressedsome such emotion, she would quietly say, "But I too am an Indian, Alessandro!"

Strange, sad bride's dreams these; but they made Ramona's heart beatwith happiness as she dreamed them. 

XIV

THE first day had gone, it was near night of the second, and not a wordhad passed between Felipe and Ramona, except in the presence of theSenora. It would have been beautiful to see, if it had not been so cruela thing, the various and devious methods by which the Senora had broughtthis about. Felipe, oddly enough, was more restive under it than Ramona. She had her dreams. He had nothing but his restless consciousness thathe had not done for her what he hoped; that he must seem to her to havebeen disloyal; this, and a continual wonder what she could be planningor expecting which made her so placid, kept Felipe in a fever of unrest, of which his mother noted every sign, and redoubled her vigilance. 

Felipe thought perhaps he could speak to Ramona in the night, throughher window. But the August heats were fierce now; everybody slept withwide-open windows; the Senora was always wakeful; if she should chanceto hear him thus holding secret converse with Ramona, it would indeedmake bad matters worse. Nevertheless, he decided to try it. At the firstsound of his footsteps on the veranda floor, "My son, are you ill? Can Ido anything?" came from the Senora's window. She had not been asleep atall. It would take more courage than Felipe possessed, to try that planagain; and he lay on his veranda bed, this afternoon, tossing about withsheer impatience at his baffled purpose. Ramona sat at the foot of thebed, taking the last stitches in the nearly completed altar-cloth. TheSenora sat in her usual seat, dozing, with her head thrown back. Itwas very hot; a sultry south-wind, with dust from the desert, had beenblowing all day, and every living creature was more or less prostratedby it. 

As the Senora's eyes closed, a sudden thought struck Felipe. Takingout a memorandum-book in which he kept his accounts, he began rapidlywriting. Looking up, and catching Ramona's eye, he made a sign to herthat it was for her. She glanced apprehensively at the Senora. She wasasleep. Presently Felipe, folding the note, and concealing it in hishand, rose, and walked towards Ramona's window, Ramona terrifiedlywatching him; the sound of Felipe's steps roused the Senora, who satup instantly, and gazed about her with that indescribable expressionpeculiar to people who hope they have not been asleep, but know theyhave. "Have I been asleep?" she asked. 

"About one minute, mother, " answered Felipe, who was leaning, as hespoke, against Ramona's open window, his arms crossed behind him. Stretching them out, and back and forth a few times, yawning idly, hesaid, "This heat is intolerable!" Then he sauntered leisurely down theveranda steps into the garden-walk, and seated himself on the benchunder the trellis there. 

The note had been thrown into Ramona's room. She was hot and cold withfear lest she might not be able to get it unobserved. What if theSenora were to go first into the room! She hardly dared look at her. Butfortune is not always on the side of tyrants. The Senora was fast dozingoff again, relieved that Felipe was out of speaking distance of Ramona. As soon as her eyes were again shut, Ramona rose to go. The Senoraopened her eyes. Ramona was crossing the threshold of the door; she wasgoing into the house. Good! Still farther away from Felipe. 

"Are you going to your room, Ramona?" said the Senor. 

"I was, " replied Ramona, alarmed. "Did you want me here?"

"No, " said the Senora; and she closed her eyes again. 

In a second more the note was safe in Ramona's hands. 

"Dear Ramona, " Felipe had written, "I am distracted because I cannotspeak with you alone. Can you think of any way? I want to explain thingsto you. I am afraid you do not understand. Don't be unhappy. Alessandrowill surely be back in four days. I want to help you all I can, but yousaw I could not do much. Nobody will hinder your doing what you please;but, dear, I wish you would not go away from us!"

Tearing the paper into small fragments, Ramona thrust them into herbosom, to be destroyed later. Then looking out of the window, and seeingthat the Senora was now in a sound sleep, she ventured to write a replyto Felipe, though when she would find a safe opportunity to give it tohim, there was no telling. "Thank you, dear Felipe. Don't be anxious. Iam not unhappy. I understand all about it. But I must go away as soon asAlessandro comes. " Hiding this also safe in her bosom, she went back tothe veranda. Felipe rose, and walked toward the steps. Ramona, suddenlybold, stooped, and laid her note on the second step. Again the tiredeyes of the Senora opened. They had not been shut five minutes; Ramonawas at her work; Felipe was coming up the steps from the garden. Henodded laughingly to his mother, and laid his finger on his lips. Allwas well. The Senora dozed again. Her nap had cost her more than shewould ever know. This one secret interchange between Felipe and Ramonathen, thus making, as it were, common cause with each other as againsther, and in fear of her, was a step never to be recalled, --a step whosesignificance could scarcely be overestimated. Tyrants, great andsmall, are apt to overlook such possibilities as this; to forget themomentousness which the most trivial incident may assume when forcedinto false proportions and relations. Tyranny can make liars and cheatsout of the honestest souls. It is done oftener than any except closestudents of human nature realize. When kings and emperors do this, theworld cries out with sympathy, and holds the plotters more innocent thanthe tyrant who provoked the plot. It is Russia that stands branded inmen's thoughts, and not Siberia. 

The Senora had a Siberia of her own, and it was there that Ramona wasliving in these days. The Senora would have been surprised to know howlittle the girl felt the cold. To be sure, it was not as if she had everfelt warmth in the Senora's presence; yet between the former chill andthis were many degrees, and except for her new life, and new love, andhope in the thought of Alessandro, Ramona could not have borne it for aday. 

The fourth day came; it seemed strangely longer than the others had. All day Ramona watched and listened. Felipe, too; for, knowing whatAlessandro's impatience would be, he had, in truth, looked for him onthe previous night. The horse he rode was a fleet one, and would havemade the journey with ease in half the time. But Felipe reflected thatthere might be many things for Alessandro to arrange at Temecula. Hewould doubtless return prepared to take Ramona back with him, in casethat proved the only alternative left them. Felipe grew wretched ashis fancy dwelt on the picture of Ramona's future. He had been in theTemecula village. He knew its poverty; the thought of Ramona there wasmonstrous, To the indolent, ease-loving Felipe it was incredible that agirl reared as Ramona had been, could for a moment contemplate leadingthe life of a poor laboring man's wife. He could not conceive of love'smaking one undertake any such life. Felipe had much to learn of love. Night came; no Alessandro. Till the darkness settled down, Ramona sat, watching the willows. When she could no longer see, she listened. TheSenora, noting all, also listened. She was uneasy as to the next stageof affairs, but she would not speak. Nothing should induce her to swervefrom the line of conduct on which she had determined. It was the full ofthe moon. When the first broad beam of its light came over the hill, andflooded the garden and the white front of the little chapel, just as ithad done on that first night when Alessandro watched with Felipe on theveranda, Ramona pressed her face against the window-panes, and gazed outinto the garden. At each flickering, motion of the shadows she saw theform of a man approaching. Again and again she saw it. Again and againthe breeze died, and the shadow ceased. It was near morning before, weary, sad, she crept to bed; but not to sleep. With wide-open, anxiouseyes, she still watched and listened. Never had the thought once crossedher mind that Alessandro might not come at the time Felipe had said. Inher childlike simplicity she had accepted this as unquestioningly asshe had accepted other facts in her life. Now that he did not come, unreasoning and unfounded terror took possession of her, and she askedherself continually, "Will he ever come! They sent him away; perhaps hewill be too proud to come back!" Then faith would return, and saying toherself, "He would never, never forsake me; he knows I have no one inthe whole world but him; he knows how I love him, " she would regaincomposure, and remind herself of the many detentions which might haveprevented his coming at the time set. Spite of all, however, she washeavy at heart; and at breakfast her anxious eyes and absent look weresad to see. They hurt Felipe. Too well he knew what it meant. He alsowas anxious. The Senora saw it in his face, and it vexed her. The girlmight well pine, and be mortified if her lover did not appear. But whyshould Felipe disquiet himself? The Senora disliked it. It was a badsymptom. There might be trouble ahead yet. There was, indeed, troubleahead, --of a sort the Senora's imaginings had not pictured. 

Another day passed; another night; another, and another. One week nowsince Alessandro, as he leaped on his horse, had grasped Felipe's hand, and said: "You will tell the Senorita; you will make sure that sheunderstands why I go; and in four days I will be back. " One week, and hehad not come. The three who were watching and wondering looked covertlyinto each other's faces, each longing to know what the others thought. 

Ramona was wan and haggard. She had scarcely slept. The idea had takenpossession of her that Alessandro was dead. On the sixth and seventhdays she had walked each afternoon far down the river road, by which hewould be sure to come; down the meadows, and by the cross-cut, outto the highway; at each step straining her tearful eyes into thedistance, --the cruel, blank, silent distance. She had come backafter dark, whiter and more wan than she went out. As she sat at thesupper-table, silent, making no feint of eating, only drinking glassafter glass of milk, in thirsty haste, even Margarita pitied her. Butthe Senora did not. She thought the best thing which could happen, wouldbe that the Indian should never come back. Ramona would recover from itin a little while; the mortification would be the worst thing, but eventhat, time would heal. She wondered that the girl had not more pridethan to let her wretchedness be so plainly seen. She herself would havedied before she would go about with such a woe-begone face, for a wholehousehold to see and gossip about. 

On the morning of the eighth day, Ramona, desperate, waylaid Felipe, ashe was going down the veranda steps. The Senora was in the garden, andsaw them; but Ramona did not care. "Felipe!" she cried, "I must, I mustspeak to you! Do you think Alessandro is dead? What else could keep himfrom coming?" Her lips were dry, her cheeks scarlet, her voice husky. A few more days of this, and she would be in a brain fever, Felipethought, as he looked compassionately at her. 

"Oh, no, no, dear! Do not think that!" he replied. "A thousand thingsmight have kept him. "

"Ten thousand things would not! Nothing could!" said Ramona. "I know heis dead. Can't you send a messenger, Felipe, and see?"

The Senora was walking toward them. She overheard the last words. Looking toward Felipe, no more regarding Ramona than if she had not beenwithin sight or hearing, the Senora said, "It seems to me that would notbe quite consistent with dignity. How does it strike you, Felipe' Ifyou thought best, we might spare a man as soon as the vintage is done, Isuppose. "

Ramona walked away. The vintage would not be over for a week. Therewere several vineyards yet which had not been touched; every hand on theplace was hard at work, picking the grapes, treading them out in tubs, emptying the juice into stretched raw-hides swung from cross-beams ina long shed. In the willow copse the brandy-still was in full blast; ittook one man to watch it; this was Juan Can's favorite work; for reasonsof his own he liked best to do it alone; and now that he could no longertread grapes in the tubs, he had a better chance for uninterrupted workat the still. "No ill but has its good, " he thought sometimes, as he laycomfortably stretched out in the shade, smoking his pipe day after day, and breathing the fumes of the fiery brandy. 

As Ramona disappeared in the doorway, the Senora, coming close toFelipe, and laying her hand on his arm, said in a confidential tone, nodding her head in the direction in which Ramona had vanished: "Shelooks badly, Felipe. I don't know what we can do. We surely cannot sendto summon back a lover we do not wish her to marry, can we? It is veryperplexing. Most unfortunate, every way. What do you think, my son?"There was almost a diabolical art in the manner in which the Senoracould, by a single phrase or question, plant in a person's mind theprecise idea she wished him to think he had originated himself. 

"No; of course we can't send for him, " replied Felipe, angrily; "unlessit is to send him to marry her; I wish he had never set foot on theplace. I am sure I don't know what to do. Ramona's looks frighten me. Ibelieve she will die. "

"I cannot wish Alessandro had never set foot on the place, " said theSenora, gently, "for I feel that I owe your life to him, my Felipe; andhe is not to blame for Ramona's conduct. You need not fear her dying, She may be ill; but people do not die of love like hers for Alessandro. "

"Of what kind do they die, mother?" asked Felipe, impatiently. 

The Senora looked reproachfully at him. "Not often of any, " she said;"but certainly not of a sudden passion for a person in every way beneaththem, in position, in education, in all points which are essential tocongeniality of tastes or association of life. "

The Senora spoke calmly, with no excitement, as if she were discussingan abstract case. Sometimes, when she spoke like this, Felipe forthe moment felt as if she were entirely right, as if it were really adisgraceful thing in Ramona to have thus loved Alessandro. It could notbe gainsaid that there was this gulf, of which she spoke. Alessandro wasundeniably Ramona's inferior in position, education, in all the externalmatters of life; but in nature, in true nobility of soul, no! Alessandrowas no man's inferior in these; and in capacity to love, --Felipesometimes wondered whether he had ever known Alessandro's equal in that. This thought had occurred to him more than once, as from his sick-bed hehad, unobserved, studied the expression with which Alessandro gazed atRamona. But all this made no difference in the perplexity of the presentdilemma, in the embarrassment of his and his mother's position now. Senda messenger to ask why Alessandro did not return! Not even if he hadbeen an accepted and publicly recognized lover, would Felipe do that!Ramona ought to have more pride. She ought of herself to know that. Andwhen Felipe, later in the day, saw Ramona again, he said as much to her. He said it as gently as he could; so gently that she did not at firstcomprehend his idea. It was so foreign, so incompatible with her faith, how could she?

When she did understand, she said slowly: "You mean that it will not doto send to find out if Alessandro is dead, because it will look as if Iwished him to marry me whether he wished it or not?" and she fixed hereyes on Felipe's, with an expression he could not fathom. 

"Yes, dear, " he answered, "something like that, though you put itharshly. "

"Is it not true, " she persisted, "that is what you mean?"

Reluctantly Felipe admitted that it was. 

Ramona was silent for some moments; then she said, speaking stillmore slowly, "If you feel like that, we had better never talk aboutAlessandro again. I suppose it is not possible that you should know, asI do, that nothing but his being dead would keep him from comingback. Thanks, dear Felipe;" and after this she did not speak again ofAlessandro. 

Days went by; a week. The vintage was over. The Senora wondered ifRamona would now ask again for a messenger to go to Temecula. Almosteven the Senora relented, as she looked into the girl's white and wastedface, as she sat silent, her hands folded in her lap, her eyes fixed onthe willows. The altar-cloth was done, folded and laid away. It wouldnever hang in the Moreno chapel. It was promised, in Ramona's mind, toFather Salvierderra. She had resolved to go to him; if he, a feeble oldman, could walk all the way between Santa Barbara and their home, shecould surely do the same. She would not lose the way. There were notmany roads; she could ask. The convent, the bare thought of whichhad been so terrible to Ramona fourteen days ago, when the Senora hadthreatened her with it, now seemed a heavenly refuge, the only sheltershe craved. There was a school for orphans attached to the convent atSan Juan Bautista, she knew; she would ask the Father to let her gothere, and she would spend the rest of her life in prayer, and inteaching the orphan girls. As hour after hour she sat revolving thisplan, her fancy projected itself so vividly into the future, that shelived years of her life. She felt herself middle-aged, old. She saw theprocession of nuns, going to vespers, leading the children by the hand;herself wrinkled and white-haired, walking between two of the littleones. The picture gave her peace. As soon as she grew a little stronger, she would set off on her journey to the Father; she could not go justyet, she was too weak; her feet trembled if she did but walk to the footof the garden. Alessandro was dead; there could be no doubt of that. He was buried in that little walled graveyard of which he had toldher. Sometimes she thought she would try to go there and see his grave, perhaps see his father; if Alessandro had told him of her, the old manwould be glad to see her; perhaps, after all, her work might lie there, among Alessandro's people. But this looked hard: she had not courage forit; shelter and rest were what she wanted, --the sound of the Church'sprayers, and the Father's blessing every day. The convent was the best. 

She thought she was sure that Alessandro was dead; but she was not, forshe still listened, still watched. Each day she walked out on the riverroad, and sat waiting till dusk. At last came a day when she could notgo; her strength failed her. She lay all day on her bed. To the Senora, who asked frigidly if she were ill, she answered: "No, Senora, I do notthink I am ill, I have no pain, but I cannot get up. I shall be betterto-morrow. "

"I will send you strong broth and a medicine, " the Senora said; and senther both by the hands of Margarita, whose hatred and jealousy broke downat the first sight of Ramona's face on the pillow; it looked so muchthinner and sharper there than it had when she was sitting up. "Oh, Senorita! Senorita!" she cried, in a tone of poignant grief, "are yougoing to die? Forgive me, forgive me!"

"I have nothing to forgive you, Margarita, " replied Ramona, raisingherself on her elbow, and lifting her eyes kindly to the girl's faceas she took the broth from her hands. "I do not know why you ask me toforgive you. "

Margarita flung herself on her knees by the bed, in a passion ofweeping. "Oh, but you do know, Senorita, you do know! Forgive me!"

"No, I know nothing, " replied Ramona; "but if you know anything, it isall forgiven. I am not going to die, Margarita. I am going away, " sheadded, after a second's pause. Her inmost instinct told her that shecould trust Margarita now. Alessandro being dead, Margarita would nolonger be her enemy, and Margarita could perhaps help her. "I am goingaway, Margarita, as soon as I feel a little stronger. I am going to aconvent; but the Senora does not know. You will not tell?"

"No, Senorita!" whispered Margarita, --thinking in her heart, "Yes, sheis going away, but it will be with the angels. "--"No, Senorita, I willnot tell. I will do anything you want me to. "

"Thanks, Margarita mia, " replied Ramona. "I thought you would;" and shelay back on her pillow, and closed her eyes, looking so much more likedeath than like life that Margarita's tears flowed faster than before, and she ran to her mother, sobbing out, "Mother, mother! the Senorita isill to death. I am sure she is. She has taken to her bed; and she is aswhite as Senor Felipe was at the worst of the fever. "

"Ay, " said old Marda, who had seen all this for days back; "ay, she haswasted away, this last week, like one in a fever, sure enough; I haveseen it. It must be she is starving herself to death. "

"Indeed, she has not eaten for ten days, --hardly since that day;"and Margarita and her mother exchanged looks. It was not necessary tofurther define the day. 

"Juan Can says he thinks he will never be seen here again, " continuedMargarita. 

"The saints grant it, then, " said Marda, hotly, "if it is he has costthe Senorita all this! I am that turned about in my head with it all, that I've no thoughts to think; but plain enough it is, he is mixed upwith whatever 'tis has gone wrong. "

"I could tell what it is, " said Margarita, her old pertness cominguppermost for a moment; "but I've got no more to say, now the Senorita'slying on her bed, with the face she's got. It's enough to break yourheart to look at her. I could just go down on my knees to her for allI've said; and I will, and to Saint Francis too! She's going to be withhim before long; I know she is. "

"No, " said the wiser, older Marda. "She is not so ill as you think. Sheis young. It's the heart's gone out of her; that's all. I've been thatway myself. People are, when they're young. "

"I'm young!" retorted Margarita. "I've never been that way. "

"There's many a mile to the end of the road, my girl, " said Marda, significantly; "and 'It's ill boasting the first day out, ' was a proverbwhen I was your age!"

Marda had never been much more than half-way fond of this own childof hers. Their natures were antagonistic. Traits which, in Margarita'sfather, had embittered many a day of Marda's early married life, wereperpetually cropping out in Margarita, making between the mother anddaughter a barrier which even parental love was not always strong enoughto surmount. And, as was inevitable, this antagonism was constantlyleading to things which seemed to Margarita, and in fact were, unjustand ill-founded. 

"She's always flinging out at me, whatever I do, " thought Margarita. "I know one thing; I'll never tell her what the Senorita's told me;never, --not till after she's gone. "

A sudden suspicion flashed into Margarita's mind. She seated herself onthe bench outside the kitchen door, to wrestle with it. What if it werenot to a convent at all, but to Alessandro, that the Senorita meant togo! No; that was preposterous. If it had been that, she would have gonewith him in the outset. Nobody who was plotting to run away with a loverever wore such a look as the Senorita wore now. Margarita dismissed thethought; yet it left its trace. She would be more observant for havinghad it; her resuscitated affection far her young mistress was not yetso strong that it would resist the assaults of jealousy, if that passionwere to be again aroused in her fiery soul. Though she had never beendeeply in love with Alessandro herself, she had been enough so, andshe remembered him vividly enough, to feel yet a sharp emotion ofdispleasure at the recollection of his devotion to the Senorita. Nowthat the Senorita seemed to be deserted, unhappy, prostrated, she had noroom for anything but pity for her; but let Alessandro come on the stageagain, and all would be changed. The old hostility would return. It wasbut a dubious sort of ally, after all, that Ramona had so unexpectedlysecured in Margarita. She might prove the sharpest of broken reeds. 

It was sunset of the eighteenth day since Alessandro's departure. Ramonahad lain for four days well-nigh motionless on her bed. She herselfbegan to think she must be going to die. Her mind seemed to be vacant ofall thought. She did not even sorrow for Alessandro's death; she seemedtorpid, body and soul. Such prostrations as these are Nature's enforcedrests. It is often only by help of them that our bodies tide overcrises, strains, in which, if we continued to battle, we should beslain. 

As Ramona lay half unconscious, --neither awake nor yet asleep, --on thisevening, she was suddenly aware of a vivid impression produced upon her;it was not sound, it was not sight. She was alone; the house was stillas death; the warm September twilight silence reigned outside, She satup in her bed, intent--half alarmed--half glad--bewildered--alive. Whathad happened? Still there was no sound, no stir. The twilight was fastdeepening; not a breath of air moving. Gradually her bewildered sensesand faculties awoke from their long-dormant condition; she looked aroundthe room; even the walls seemed revivified; she clasped her hands, andleaped from the bed. "Alessandro is not dead!" she said aloud; and shelaughed hysterically. "He is not dead!" she repeated. "He is not dead!He is somewhere near!"

With quivering hands she dressed, and stole out of the house. Afterthe first few seconds she found herself strangely strong; she did nottremble; her feet trod firm on the ground. "Oh, miracle!" she thought, as she hastened down the garden-walk; "I am well again! Alessandro isnear!" So vivid was the impression, that when she reached the willowsand found the spot silent, vacant, as when she had last sat there, hopeless, broken-hearted, she experienced a revulsion of disappointment. "Not here!" she cried; "not here!" and a swift fear shook her. "Am Imad? Is it this way, perhaps, people lose their senses, when they are asI have been!"

But the young, strong blood was running swift in her veins. No! thiswas no madness; rather a newly discovered power; a fulness of sense; arevelation. Alessandro was near. 

Swiftly she walked down the river road. The farther she went, the keenergrew her expectation, her sense of Alessandro's nearness. In her presentmood she would have walked on and on, even to Temecula itself, sure thatshe was at each step drawing nearer to Alessandro. 

As she approached the second willow copse, which lay perhaps a quarterof a mile west of the first, she saw the figure of a man, standing, leaning against one of the trees. She halted. It could not beAlessandro. He would not have paused for a moment so near the housewhere he was to find her. She was afraid to go on. It was late to meeta stranger in this lonely spot. The figure was strangely still; so stillthat, as she peered through the dusk, she half fancied it might be anoptical illusion. She advanced a few steps, hesitatingly, then stopped. As she did so, the man advanced a few steps, then stopped. As he cameout from the shadows of the trees, she saw that he was of Alessandro'sheight. She quickened her steps, then suddenly stopped again. What didthis mean? It could not be Alessandro. Ramona wrung her hands in agonyof suspense. An almost unconquerable instinct urged her forward; butterror held her back. After standing irresolute for some minutes, sheturned to walk back to the house, saying, "I must not run the risk ofits being a stranger. If it is Alessandro, he will come. "

But her feet seemed to refuse to move in the opposite direction. Slowerand slower she walked for a few paces, then turned again. The man hadreturned to his former place, and stood as at first, leaning against thetree. 

"It may be a messenger from him, " she said; "a messenger who has beentold not to come to the house until after dark. "

Her mind was made up. She quickened her pace to a run. A few momentsmore brought her so near that she could see distinctly. It was--yes, itwas Alessandro. He did not see her. His face was turned partially away, his head resting against the tree; he must be ill. Ramona flew, ratherthan ran. In a moment more, Alessandro had heard the light steps, turned, saw Ramona, and, with a cry, bounded forward, and they wereclasped in each other's arms before they had looked in each other'sfaces. Ramona spoke first. Disengaging herself gently, and lookingup, she began: "Alessandro--" But at the first sight of his face sheshrieked. Was this Alessandro, this haggard, emaciated, speechless man, who gazed at her with hollow eyes, full of misery, and no joy! "O God, "cried Ramona, "You have been ill! you are ill! My God, Alessandro, whatis it?"

Alessandro passed his hand slowly over his forehead, as if trying tocollect his thoughts before speaking, all the while keeping his eyesfixed on Ramona, with the same anguished look, convulsively holding bothher hands in his. 

"Senorita, " he said, "my Senorita!" Then he stopped. His tongue seemedto refuse him utterance; and this voice, --this strange, hard, unresonantvoice, --whose voice was it? Not Alessandro's. 

"My Senorita, " he began again, "I could not go without one sight of yourface; but when I was here, I had not courage to go near the house. Ifyou had not come, I should have gone back without seeing you. "

Ramona heard these words in fast-deepening terror, What did they mean?Her look seemed to suggest a new thought to Alessandro. 

"Heavens, Senorita!" he cried, "have you not heard? Do you not know whathas happened?"

"I know nothing, love, " answered Ramona. "I have heard nothing sinceyou went away. For ten days I have been sure you were dead; but to-nightsomething told me that you were near, and I came to meet you. "

At the first words of Ramona's sentence, Alessandro threw his armsaround her again. As she said "love, " his whole frame shook withemotion. 

"My Senorita!" he whispered, "my Senorita! how shall I tell you! Howshall I tell you!"

"What is there to tell, Alessandro?" she said. "I am afraid of nothing, now that you are here, and not dead, as I thought. "

But Alessandro did not speak. It seemed impossible. At last, strainingher closer to his breast, he cried: "Dearest Senorita! I feel as ifI should die when I tell you, --I have no home; my father is dead;my people are driven out of their village. I am only a beggar now, Senorita; like those you used to feed and pity in Los Angeles convent!"As he spoke the last words, he reeled, and, supporting himself againstthe tree, added: "I am not strong, Senorita; we have been starving. "

Ramona's face did not reassure him. Even in the dusk he could see itslook of incredulous horror. He misread it. 

"I only came to look at you once more, " he continued. "I will go now. May the saints bless you, my Senorita, always. I think the Virgin sentyou to me to-night. I should never have seen your face if you had notcome. "

While he was speaking, Ramona had buried her face in his bosom. Liftingit now, she said, "Did you mean to leave me to think you were dead, Alessandro?"

"I thought that the news about our village must have reached you, " hesaid, "and that you would know I had no home, and could not come, toseem to remind you of what you had said. Oh, Senorita, it was littleenough I had before to give you! I don't know how I dared to believethat you could come to be with me; but I loved you so much, I hadthought of many things I could do; and--" lowering his voice andspeaking almost sullenly--"it is the saints, I believe, who havepunished me thus for having resolved to leave my people, and take all Ihad for myself and you. Now they have left me nothing;" and he groaned. 

"Who?" cried Ramona. "Was there a battle? Was your father killed?" Shewas trembling with horror. 

"No, " answered Alessandro. "There was no battle. There would have been, if I had had my way; but my father implored me not to resist. He said itwould only make it worse for us in the end. The sheriff, too, he beggedme to let it all go on peaceably, and help him keep the people quiet. Hefelt terribly to have to do it. It was Mr. Rothsaker, from San Diego. Wehad often worked for him on his ranch. He knew all about us. Don't yourecollect, Senorita, I told you about him, --how fair he always was, andkind too? He has the biggest wheat-ranch in Cajon; we've harvested milesand miles of wheat for him. He said he would have rather died, almost, than have had it to do; but if we resisted, he would have to order hismen to shoot. He had twenty men with him. They thought there would betrouble; and well they might, --turning a whole village full of men andwomen and children out of their houses, and driving them off like foxes. If it had been any man but Mr. Rothsaker, I would have shot him dead, if I had hung for it; but I knew if he thought we must go, there was nohelp for us. "

"But, Alessandro, " interrupted Ramona, "I can't understand. Who was itmade Mr. Rothsaker do it? Who has the land now?"

"I don't know who they are, " Alessandro replied, his voice full ofanger and scorn. "They're Americans--eight or ten of them. They all gottogether and brought a suit, they call it, up in San Francisco; and itwas decided in the court that they owned all our land. That was all Mr. Rothsaker could tell about it. It was the law, he said, and nobody couldgo against the law. "

"Oh, " said Ramona, "that's the way the Americans took so much of theSenora's land away from her. It was in the court up in San Francisco;and they decided that miles and miles of her land, which the Generalhad always had, was not hers at all. They said it belonged to the UnitedStates Government. "

"They are a pack of thieves and liars, every one of them!" criedAlessandro. "They are going to steal all the land in this country; wemight all just as well throw ourselves into the sea, and let them haveit. My father had been telling me this for years. He saw it coming; butI did not believe him. I did not think men could be so wicked; but hewas right. I am glad he is dead. That is the only thing I have to bethankful for now. One day I thought he was going to get well, and Iprayed to the Virgin not to let him. I did not want him to live. Henever knew anything clear after they took him out of his house. That wasbefore I got there. I found him sitting on the ground outside. They saidit was the sun that had turned him crazy; but it was not. It was hisheart breaking in his bosom. He would not come out of his house, andthe men lifted him up and carried him out by force, and threw him on theground; and then they threw out all the furniture we had; and when hesaw them doing that, he put his hands up to his head, and called out, 'Alessandro! Alessandro!' and I was not there! Senorita, they said itwas a voice to make the dead hear, that he called with; and nobodycould stop him. All that day and all the night he kept on calling. God!Senorita, I wonder I did not die when they told me! When I got there, some one had built up a little booth of tule over his head, to keep thesun off. He did not call any more, only for water, water. That was whatmade them think the sun had done it. They did all they could; but it wassuch a dreadful time, nobody could do much; the sheriff's men were ingreat hurry; they gave no time. They said the people must all be off intwo days. Everybody was running hither and thither. Everything out ofthe houses in piles on the ground. The people took all the roofs offtheir houses too. They were made of the tule reeds; so they would doagain. Oh, Senorita, don't ask me to tell you any more! It is likedeath. I can't!"

Ramona was crying bitterly. She did not know what to say. What was love, in face of such calamity? What had she to give to a man stricken likethis. '

"Don't weep, Senorita, " said Alessandro, drearily. "Tears kill one, anddo no good. "

"How long did your father live?" asked Ramona, clasping her arms closeraround his neck. They were sitting on the ground now, and Ramona, yearning over Alessandro, as if she were the strong one and he the oneto be sheltered, had drawn his head to her bosom, caressing him as ifhe had been hers for years. Nothing could have so clearly shown hisenfeebled and benumbed condition, as the manner in which he receivedthese caresses, which once would have made him beside himself with joy. He leaned against her breast as a child might. 

"He! He died only four days ago. I stayed to bury him, and then I cameaway. I have been three days on the way; the horse, poor beast, isalmost weaker than I. The Americans took my horse, " Alessandro said. 

"Took your horse!" cried Ramona, aghast. "Is that the law, too?"

"So Mr. Rothsaker told me. He said the judge had said he must takeenough of our cattle and horses to pay all it had cost for the suit upin San Francisco. They didn't reckon the cattle at what they were worth, I thought; but they said cattle were selling very low now. There werenot enough in all the village to pay it, so we had to make it up inhorses; and they took mine. I was not there the day they drove thecattle away, or I would have put a ball into Benito's head before anyAmerican should ever have had him to ride. But I was over in Pachangawith my father. He would not stir a step for anybody but me; so I ledhim all the way; and then after he got there he was so ill I never lefthim a minute. He did not know me any more, nor know anything that hadhappened. I built a little hut of tule, and he lay on the ground till hedied. When I put him in his grave, I was glad. "

"In Temecula?" asked Ramona. 

"In Temecula. " exclaimed Alessandro, fiercely. "You don't seem tounderstand, Senorita. We have no right in Temecula, not even to ourgraveyard full of the dead. Mr. Rothsaker warned us all not to behanging about there; for he said the men who were coming in were arough set, and they would shoot any Indian at sight, if they saw himtrespassing on their property. "

"Their property!" ejaculated Ramona. 

"Yes; it is theirs, " said Alessandro, doggedly. "That is the law. They've got all the papers to show it. That is what my father alwayssaid, --if the Senor Valdez had only given him a paper! But they neverdid in those days. Nobody had papers. The American law is different. "

"It's a law of thieves!" cried Ramona. 

"Yes, and of murderers too, " said Alessandro. "Don't you call my fathermurdered just as much as if they had shot him? I do! and, O Senorita, my Senorita, there was Jose! You recollect Jose, who went for my violin?But, my beloved one, I am killing you with these terrible things! I willspeak no more. "

"No, no, Alessandro. Tell me all, all. You must have no grief I do notshare. Tell me about Jose, " cried Ramona, breathlessly. 

"Senorita, it will break your heart to hear. Jose was married a yearago. He had the best house in Temecula, next to my father's. It was theonly other one that had a shingled roof. And he had a barn too, and thatsplendid horse he rode, and oxen, and a flock of sheep. He was at homewhen the sheriff came. A great many of the men were away, grapepicking. That made it worse. But Jose was at home; for his wife had a little babyonly a few weeks old, and the child seemed sickly and not like to live, and Jose would not leave it. Jose was the first one that saw the sheriffriding into the village, and the band of armed men behind him, and Joseknew what it meant. He had often talked it over with me and with myfather, and now he saw that it had come; and he went crazy in oneminute, and fell on the ground all froth at his mouth. He had had a fitlike that once before; and the doctor said if he had another, he woulddie. But he did not. They picked him up, and presently he was better;and Mr. Rothsaker said nobody worked so well in the moving the firstday as Jose did. Most of the men would not lift a hand. They sat on theground with the women, and covered up their faces, and would not see. But Jose worked; and, Senorita, one of the first things he did, was torun with my father's violin to the store, to Mrs. Hartsel, and ask herto hide it for us; Jose knew it was worth money. But before noon thesecond day he had another fit, and died in it, --died right in his owndoor, carrying out some of the things; and after Carmena--that's hiswife's name--saw he was dead, she never spoke, but sat rocking backand forth on the ground, with the baby in her arms. She went over toPachanga at the same time I did with my father. It was a long processionof us. "

"Where is Pachanga?" asked Ramona. 

"About three miles from Temecula, a little sort of canon. I toldthe people they'd better move over there; the land did not belong toanybody, and perhaps they could make a living there. There isn't anywater; that's the worst of it. "

"No water!" cried Ramona. 

"No running water. There is one little spring, and they dug a well by itas soon as they got there; so there was water to drink, but that is all. I saw Carmena could hardly keep up, and I carried the baby for her onone arm, while I led my father with the other hand; but the baby cried, so she took it back. I thought then it wouldn't live the day out; butit did live till the morning of the day my father died. Just a few hoursbefore he died, Carmena came along with the baby rolled up in her shawl, and sat down by me on the ground, and did not speak. When I said, 'Howis the little one?' she opened her shawl and showed it to me, dead. 'Good, Carmena!' said I. 'It is good! My father is dying too. We willbury them together. ' So she sat by me all that morning, and at nightshe helped me dig the graves. I wanted to put the baby on my father'sbreast; but she said, no, it must have a little grave. So she dug itherself; and we put them in; and she never spoke, except that once. Shewas sitting there by the grave when I came away. I made a cross of twolittle trees with the boughs chopped off, and set it up by the graves. So that is the way our new graveyard was begun, --my father and thelittle baby; it is the very young and the very old that have the blessedfortune to die. I cannot die, it seems!"

"Where did they bury Jose?" gasped Ramona. 

"In Temecula, " said Alessandro. "Mr. Rothsaker made two of his men diga grave in our old graveyard for Jose. But I think Carmena will go atnight and bring his body away. I would! But, my Senorita, it is verydark, I can hardly see your beloved eyes. I think you must not staylonger. Can I go as far as the brook with you, safely, without beingseen? The saints bless you, beloved, for coming. I could not have lived, I think, without one more sight of your face;" and, springing to hisfeet, Alessandro stood waiting for Ramona to move. She remainedstill. She was in a sore strait. Her heart held but one impulse, onedesire, --to go with Alessandro; nothing was apparently farther fromhis thoughts than this. Could she offer to go? Should she risk laying aburden on him greater than he could bear? If he were indeed a beggar, ashe said, would his life be hindered or helped by her? She felt herselfstrong and able. Work had no terrors for her; privations she knewnothing of, but she felt no fear of them. 

"Alessandro!" she said, in a tone which startled him. 

"My Senorita!" he said tenderly. 

"You have never once called me Ramona. "

"I cannot, Senorita!" he replied. 

"Why not?"

"I do not know. I sometimes think 'Ramona, '" he added faintly; "but notoften. If I think of you by any other name than as my Senorita, it isusually by a name you never heard. "

"What is it?" exclaimed Ramona, wonderingly. 

"An Indian word, my dearest one, the name of the bird you are like, --thewood-dove. In the Luiseno tongue that is Majel; that was what I thoughtmy people would have called you, if you had come to dwell among us. Itis a beautiful name, Senorita, and is like you. "

Alessandro was still standing. Ramona rose; coming close to him, shelaid both her hands on his breast, and her head on her hands, and said:"Alessandro, I have something to tell you. I am an Indian. I belong toyour people. "

Alessandro's silence astonished her. "You are surprised, " she said. "Ithought you would be glad. "

"The gladness of it came to me long ago, my Senorita, " he said. "I knewit!"

"How?" cried Ramona. "And you never told me, Alessandro!"

"How could I?" he replied. "I dared not. Juan Canito, it was told me. "

"Juan Canito!" said Ramona, musingly. "How could he have known?" Then ina few rapid words she told Alessandro all that the Senora had told her. "Is that what Juan Can said?" she asked. 

"All except the father's name, " stammered Alessandro. 

"Who did he say was my father?" she asked. 

Alessandro was silent. 

"It matters not, " said Ramona. "He was wrong. The Senora, of course, knew. He was a friend of hers, and of the Senora Ortegna, to whom hegave me. But I think, Alessandro, I have more of my mother than of myfather. "

"Yes, you have, my Senorita, " replied Alessandro, tenderly. "After Iknew it, I then saw what it was in your face had always seemed to melike the faces of my own people. "

"Are you not glad, Alessandro?"

"Yes, my Senorita. "

What more should Ramona say? Suddenly her heart gave way; and withoutpremeditation, without resolve, almost without consciousness of whatshe was doing, she flung herself on Alessandro's breast, and cried: "Oh, Alessandro, take me with you! take me with you! I would rather die thanhave you leave me again!"

XV

ALESSANDRO'S first answer to this cry of Ramona's was a tightening ofhis arms around her; closer and closer he held her, till it was almostpain; she could hear the throbs of his heart, but he did not speak. Then, letting his arms fall, taking her hand in his, he laid it onhis forehead reverently, and said, in a voice which was so husky andtrembling she could barely understand his words: "My Senorita knows thatmy life is hers. She can ask me to go into the fire or into the sea, andneither the fire nor the sea would frighten me; they would but makeme glad for her sake. But I cannot take my Senorita's life to throw itaway. She is tender; she would die; she cannot lie on the earth for abed, and have no food to eat. My Senorita does not know what she says. "

His solemn tone; this third-person designation, as if he were speakingof her, not with her, almost as if he were thinking aloud to God ratherthan speaking to her, merely calmed and strengthened, did not deterRamona. "I am strong; I can work too, Alessandro. You do not know. Wecan both work. I am not afraid to lie on the earth; and God will give usfood, " she said. 

"That was what I thought, my Senorita, until now. When I rode awaythat morning, I had it in my thoughts, as you say, that if you were notafraid, I would not be; and that there would at least always be food, and I could make it that you should never suffer; but, Senorita, thesaints are displeased. They do not pray for us any more. It is as myfather said, they have forsaken us. These Americans will destroy us all. I do not know but they will presently begin to shoot us and poisonus, to get us all out of the country, as they do the rabbits and thegophers; it would not be any worse than what they have done. Would notyou rather be dead, Senorita, than be as I am to-day?"

Each word he spoke but intensified Ramona's determination to sharehis lot. "Alessandro, " she interrupted, "there are many men among yourpeople who have wives, are there not?"

"Yes, Senorita!" replied Alessandro, wonderingly. 

"Have their wives left them and gone away, now that this trouble hascome?"

"No, Senorita. " still more wonderingly; "how could they?"

"They are going to stay with them, help them to earn money, try to makethem happier, are they not?"

"Yes, Senorita. " Alessandro began to see whither these questions tended. It was not unlike the Senora's tactics, the way in which Ramona narrowedin her lines of interrogation. 

"Do the women of your people love their husbands very much?"

"Very much, Senorita. " A pause. It was very dark now. Alessandro couldnot see the hot currents running swift and red over Ramona's face; evenher neck changed color as she asked her last question. "Do you think anyone of them loves her husband more than I love you, Alessandro?"

Alessandro's arms were again around her, before the words were done. Were not such words enough to make a dead man live? Almost; but notenough to make such a love as Alessandro's selfish. Alessandro wassilent. 

"You know there is not one!" said Ramona, impetuously. 

"Oh, it is too much!" cried Alessandro, throwing his arms up wildly. Then, drawing her to him again, he said, the words pouring outbreathless: "My Senorita, you take me to the door of heaven, but I darenot go in. I know it would kill you, Senorita, to live the life we mustlive. Let me go, dearest Senorita; let me go! It had been better if youhad never seen me. "

"Do you know what I was going to do, Alessandro, if you had not come?"said Ramona. "I was going to run away from the Senora's house, allalone, and walk all the way to Santa Barbara, to Father Salvierderra, and ask him to put me in the convent at San Juan Bautista; and that iswhat I will do now if you leave me!"

"Oh, no, no, Senorita, my Senorita, you will not do that! My beautifulSenorita in the convent! No, no!" cried Alessandro, greatly agitated. 

"Yes, if you do not let me come with you, I shall do it. I shall set outto-morrow. "

Her words carried conviction to Alessandro's soul. He knew she would doas she said. "Even that would not be so dreadful as to be hunted like awild beast, Senorita; as you may be, if you come with me. "

"When I thought you were dead, Alessandro, I did not think the conventwould be dreadful at all. I thought it would be peace; and I could dogood, teaching the children. But if I knew you were alive, I could neverhave peace; not for one minute have peace, Alessandro! I would ratherdie, than not be where you are. Oh, Alessandro, take me with you!"

Alessandro was conquered. "I will take you, my most beloved Senorita, "he said gravely, --no lover's gladness in his tone, and his voice washollow; "I will take you. Perhaps the saints will have mercy on you, even if they have forsaken me and my people!"

"Your people are my people, dearest; and the saints never forsake anyone who does not forsake them. You will be glad all our lives long, Alessandro, " cried Ramona; and she laid her head on his breast in solemnsilence for a moment, as if registering a vow. 

Well might Felipe have said that he would hold himself fortunate if anywoman ever loved him as Ramona loved Alessandro. 

When she lifted her head, she said timidly, now that she was sure, "Thenyou will take your Ramona with you, Alessandro?"

"I will take you with me till I die; and may the Madonna guard you, myRamona, " replied Alessandro, clasping her to his breast, and bowinghis head upon hers. But there were tears in his eyes, and they were nottears of joy; and in his heart he said, as in his rapturous delight whenhe first saw Ramona bending over the brook under the willows he had saidaloud, "My God! what shall I do!"

It was not easy to decide on the best plan of procedure now. Alessandrowished to go boldly to the house, see Senor Felipe, and if need be theSenora. Ramona quivered with terror at the bare mention of it. "You donot know the Senora, Alessandro, " she cried, "or you would never thinkof it. She has been terrible all this time. She hates me so that shewould kill me if she dared. She pretends that she will do nothing toprevent my going away; but I believe at the last minute she would throwme in the well in the court-yard, rather than have me go with you. "

"I would never let her harm you, " said Alessandro. "Neither would SenorFelipe. "

"She turns Felipe round her finger as if he were soft wax, " answeredRamona. "She makes him of a hundred minds in a minute, and he can't helphimself. Oh, I think she is in league with the fiends, Alessandro! Don'tdare to come near the house; I will come here as soon as every one isasleep. We must go at once. "

Ramona's terrors overruled Alessandro's judgment, and he consented towait for her at the spot where they now stood. She turned back twice toembrace him again. "Oh, my Alessandro, promise me that you will not stirfrom this place till I come, " she said. 

"I will be here when you come, " he said. 

"It will not be more than two hours, " she said, "or three, at theutmost. It must be nine o'clock now. "

She did not observe that Alessandro had evaded the promise not to leavethe spot. That promise Alessandro would not have given. He had somethingto do in preparation for this unexpected flight of Ramona. In herinnocence, her absorption in her thoughts of Alessandro and of love, shehad never seemed to consider how she would make this long journey. As Alessandro had ridden towards Temecula, eighteen days ago, he hadpictured himself riding back on his fleet, strong Benito, and bringingAntonio's matchless little dun mare for Ramona to ride. Only eighteenshort days ago; and as he was dreaming that very dream, he had looked upand seen Antonio on the little dun mare, galloping towards him like thewind, the overridden creature's breath coming from her like pants ofa steam-engine, and her sides dripping blood, where Antonio, who lovedher, had not spared the cruel spurs; and Antonio, seeing him, haduttered a cry, and flinging himself off, came with a bound to his side, and with gasps between his words told him. Alessandro could not rememberthe words, only that after them he set his teeth, and dropping thebridle, laid his head down between Benito's ears, and whispered to him;and Benito never stopped, but galloped on all that day, till he cameinto Temecula; and there Alessandro saw the roofless houses, andthe wagons being loaded, and the people running about, the women andchildren wailing; and then they showed him the place where his fatherlay on the ground, under the tule, and jumping off Benito he let him go, and that was the last he ever saw of him. Only eighteen days ago! Andnow here he was, under the willows, --the same copse where he firsthalted, at his first sight of Ramona; and it was night, dark night, andRamona had been there, in his arms; she was his; and she was going backpresently to go away with him, --where! He had no home in the wide worldto which to take her, --and this poor beast he had ridden from Temecula, had it strength enough left to carry her? Alessandro doubted. He hadhimself walked more than half the distance, to spare the creature, andyet there had been good pasture all the way; but the animal had been toolong starved to recover quickly. In the Pachanga canon, where they hadfound refuge, the grass was burned up by the sun, and the few horsestaken over there had suffered wretchedly; some had died. But Alessandro, even while his arms were around Ramona, had revolved in his mind aproject he would not have dared to confide to her. If Baba, Ramona's ownhorse, was still in the corral, Alessandro could without difficultylure him out. He thought it would be no sin. At any rate, if it were, it could not be avoided. The Senorita must have a horse, and Baba hadalways been her own; had followed her about like a dog ever since hecould run; in fact, the only taming he had ever had, had been done byRamona, with bread and honey. He was intractable to others; but Ramonacould guide him by a wisp of his silky mane. Alessandro also had nearlyas complete control over him; for it had been one of his greatestpleasures, during the summer, when he could not see Ramona, to caressand fondle her horse, till Baba knew and loved him next to his youngmistress. If only Baba were in the corral, all would be well. As soon asthe sound of Ramona's footsteps had died away, Alessandro followed withquick but stealthy steps; keeping well down in the bottom, below thewillows, he skirted the terrace where the artichoke-patch and thesheepfolds lay, and then turned up to approach the corral from thefarther side. There was no light in any of the herdsmen's huts. Theywere all asleep. That was good. Well Alessandro knew how sound theyslept; many a night while he slept there with them he had walked twiceover their bodies as they lay stretched on skins on the floor, --outand in without rousing them. If only Baba would not give a loud whinny. Leaning on the corral-fence, Alessandro gave a low, hardly audiblewhistle. The horses were all in a group together at the farther end ofthe corral. At the sound there was a slight movement in the group; andone of them turned and came a pace or two toward Alessandro. 

"I believe that is Baba himself, " thought Alessandro; and he madeanother low sound. The horse quickened his steps; then halted, as if hesuspected some mischief. 

"Baba, " whispered Alessandro. The horse knew his name as well as anydog; knew Alessandro's voice too; but the sagacious creature seemedinstinctively to know that here was an occasion for secrecy and caution. If Alessandro whispered, he, Baba, would whisper back; and it was littlemore than a whispered whinny which he gave, as he trotted quickly to thefence, and put his nose to Alessandro's face, rubbing and kissing andgiving soft whinnying sighs. 

"Hush! hush! Baba, " whispered Alessandro, as if he were speaking to ahuman being. "Hush!" and he proceeded cautiously to lift off the upperrails and bushes of the fence. The horse understood instantly; and assoon as the fence was a little lowered, leaped over it and stood stillby Alessandro's side, while he replaced the rails, smiling to himself, spite of his grave anxiety, to think of Juan Can's wonder in the morningas to how Baba had managed to get out of the corral. 

This had taken only a few moments. It was better luck than Alessandrohad hoped for; emboldened by it, he began to wonder if he could not getthe saddle too. The saddles, harnesses, bridles, and all such thingshung on pegs in an open barn, such as is constantly to be seen inSouthern California; as significant a testimony, in matter of climate, as any Signal Service Report could be, --a floor and a roof; no walls, only corner posts to hold the roof. Nothing but summerhouses on a largescale are the South California barns. Alessandro stood musing. Thelonger he thought, the greater grew his desire for that saddle. 

"Baba, if only you knew what I wanted of you, you'd lie down on theground here and wait while I got the saddle. But I dare not risk leavingyou. Come, Baba!" and he struck down the hill again, the horse followinghim softly. When he got down below the terrace, he broke into a run, with his hand in Baba's mane, as if it were a frolic; and in a fewmoments they were safe in the willow copse, where Alessandro's poor ponywas tethered. Fastening Baba with the same lariat, Alessandro patted himon the neck, pressed his face to his nose, and said aloud, "Good Baba, stay here till the Senorita comes. " Baba whinnied. 

"Why shouldn't he know the Senorita's name! I believe he does!" thoughtAlessandro, as he turned and again ran swiftly back to the corral. Hefelt strong now, --felt like a new man. Spite of all the terror, joythrilled him. When he reached the corral, all was yet still. The horseshad not moved from their former position. Throwing himself flat on theground, Alessandro crept on his breast from the corral to the barn, several rods' distance. This was the most hazardous part of hisadventure; every other moment he paused, lay motionless for someseconds, then crept a few paces more. As he neared the corner whereRamona's saddle always hung, his heart beat. Sometimes, of a warm night, Luigo slept on the barn floor. If he were there to-night, all was lost. Groping in the darkness, Alessandro pulled himself up on the post, feltfor the saddle, found it, lifted it, and in a trice was flat on theground again, drawing the saddle along after him. Not a sound had hemade, that the most watchful of sheep-dogs could hear. 

"Ha, old Capitan, caught you napping this time!" said Alessandro tohimself, as at last he got safe to the bottom of the terrace, and, springing to his feet, bounded away with the saddle on his shoulders. It was a weight for a starving man to carry, but he felt it not, forthe rejoicing he had in its possession. Now his Senorita would go incomfort. To ride Baba was to be rocked in a cradle. If need be, Babawould carry them both, and never know it; and it might come to that, Alessandro thought, as he knelt by the side of his poor beast, which wasstretched out on the ground exhausted; Baba standing by, looking down inscornful wonder at this strange new associate. 

"The saints be praised!" thought Alessandro, as he seated himself towait. "This looks as if they would not desert my Senorita. "

Thoughts whirled in his brain. Where should they go first? What would bebest? Would they be pursued? Where could they hide? Where should he seeka new home?

It was bootless thinking, until Ramona was by his side. He must layeach plan before her. She must decide. The first thing was to get toSan Diego, to the priest, to be married. That would be three days' hardride; five for the exhausted Indian pony. What should they eat onthe ways Ah! Alessandro bethought him of the violin at Hartsel's. Mr. Hartsel would give him money on that; perhaps buy it. Then Alessandroremembered his own violin. He had not once thought of it before. It layin its case on a table in Senor Felipe's room when he came away, Was itpossible? No, of course it could not be possible that the Senorita wouldthink to bring it. What would she bring? She would be wise, Alessandrowas sure. 

How long the hours seemed as he sat thus plotting and conjecturing; moreand more thankful, as each hour went by, to see the sky still clouded, the darkness dense. "It must have been the saints, too, that brought meon a night when there was no moon, " he thought; and then he said again, devout and simple-minded man that he was. "They mean to protect mySenorita; they will let me take care of her. "

Ramona was threading a perilous way, through great difficulties. She hadreached her room unobserved, so far as she could judge. Luckily for her, Margarita was in bed with a terrible toothache, for which her mother hadgiven her a strong sleeping-draught. Margarita was disposed of. If shehad not been, Ramona would never have got away, for Margarita would haveknown that she had been out of the house for two hours, and would havewatched to see what it meant. 

Ramona came in through the court-yard; she dared not go by the veranda, sure that Felipe and his mother were sitting there still, for it was notlate. 

As she entered her room, she heard them talking. She closed one of herwindows, to let them know she was there. Then she knelt at the Madonna'sfeet, and in an inaudible whisper told her all she was going to do, andprayed that she would watch over her and Alessandro, and show them whereto go. 

"I know she will! I am sure she will!" whispered Ramona to herself asshe rose from her knees. 

Then she threw herself on her bed, to wait till the Senora and Felipeshould be asleep. Her brain was alert, clear. She knew exactly what shewished to do. She had thought that all out, more than two weeks ago, when she was looking for Alessandro hour by hour. 

Early in the summer Alessandro had given to her, as curiosities, twoof the large nets which the Indian women use for carrying all sorts ofburdens. They are woven out of the fibres of a flax-like plant, andare strong as iron. The meshes being large, they are very light; aregathered at each end, and fastened to a band which goes around theforehead. In these can be carried on the back, with comparative ease, heavier loads than could be lifted in any other way. Until Ramonarecollected these, she had been perplexed to know how she should carrythe things which she had made up her mind it would be right for her totake, --only a few; simply necessaries; one stuff gown and her shawls;the new altar-cloth, and two changes of clothes; that would not be agreat deal; she had a right to so much, she thought, now that shehad seen the jewels in the Senora's keeping. "I will tell FatherSalvierderra exactly what I took, " she thought, "and ask him if it wastoo much. " She did not like to think that all these clothes she musttake had been paid for with the Senora Moreno's money. 

And Alessandro's violin. Whatever else she left, that must go. Whatwould life be to Alessandro without a violin! And if they went to LosAngeles, he might earn money by playing at dances. Already Ramona haddevised several ways by which they could both earn money. 

There must be also food for the journey. And it must be good food, too;wine for Alessandro. Anguish filled her heart as she recalled how gaunthe looked. "Starving, " he said they had been. Good God! Starving! Andshe had sat down each day at loaded tables, and seen, each day, goodfood thrown to the dogs to eat. 

It was long before the Senora went to her room; and long after thatbefore Felipe's breathing had become so deep and regular that Ramonadared feel sure that he was asleep. At last she ventured out. All wasdark; it was past midnight. 

"The violin first!" she said; and creeping into the dining-room, andthrough the inner door to Felipe's room, she brought it out, rolled itin shawl after shawl, and put it in the net with her clothes. Then shestole out, with this net on her back, "like a true Indian woman as Iam, " she said, almost gayly, to herself, --through the court-yard, aroundthe southeast corner of the house, past the garden, down to the willows, where she laid down her load, and went back for the second. 

This was harder. Wine she was resolved to have and bread and coldmeat. She did not know so well where to put her hand on old Marda'spossessions as on her own, and she dared not strike a light. She madeseveral journeys to the kitchen and pantry before she had completed herstore. Wine, luckily, she found in the dining-room, --two full bottles;also milk, which she poured into a leathern flask which hung on the wallin the veranda. 

Now all was ready. She leaned from her window, and listened to Felipe'sbreathing. "How can I go without bidding him good-by?" she said. "Howcan I?" and she stood irresolute. 

"Dear Felipe! Dear Felipe! He has always been so good to me! He has doneall he could for me. I wish I dared kiss him. I will leave a note forhim. "

Taking a pencil and paper, and a tiny wax taper, whose lightwould hardly be seen across a room, she slipped once more into thedining-room, knelt on the floor behind the door, lighted her taper, andwrote:--

"DEAR FELIPE, --Alessandro has come, and I am going away with himto-night. Don't let anything be done to us, if you can help it. I don'tknow where we are going. I hope, to Father Salvierderra. I shall loveyou always. Thank you, dear Felipe, for all your kindness. 

"RAMONA. "

It had not taken a moment. She blew out her taper, and crept back intoher room. Felipe's bed was now moved close to the wall of the house. From her window she could reach its foot. Slowly, cautiously, shestretched out her arm and dropped the little paper on the coverlet, justover Felipe's feet. There was a risk that the Senora would come out inthe morning, before Felipe awaked, and see the note first; but that riskshe would take. 

"Farewell, dear Felipe!" she whispered, under her breath, as she turnedfrom the window. 

The delay had cost her dear. The watchful Capitan, from his bed at theupper end of the court, had half heard, half scented, something strangegoing on. As Ramona stepped out, he gave one short, quick bark, and camebounding down. 

"Holy Virgin, I am lost!" thought Ramona; but, crouching on the ground, she quickly opened her net, and as Capitan came towards her, gave him apiece of meat, fondling and caressing him. While he ate it, wagging histail, and making great demonstrations of joy, she picked up her loadagain, and still fondling him, said, "Come on, Capitan!" It was her lastchance. If he barked again, somebody would be waked; if he went by herside quietly, she might escape. A cold sweat of terror burst on herforehead as she took her first step cautiously. The dog followed. Shequickened her pace; he trotted along, still smelling the meat in thenet. When she reached the willows, she halted, debating whether sheshould give him a large piece of meat, and try to run away while he waseating it, or whether she should let him go quietly along. She decidedon the latter course; and, picking up her other net, walked on. She wassafe now. She turned, and looked back towards the house; all was darkand still. She could hardly see its outline. A great wave of emotionswept over her. It was the only home she had ever known. All shehad experienced of happiness, as well as of bitter pain, had beenthere, --Felipe, Father Salvierderra, the servants, the birds, thegarden, the dear chapel! Ah, if she could have once more prayed in thechapel! Who would put fresh flowers and ferns in the chapel now? HowFelipe would miss her, when he knelt before the altar! For fourteenyears she had knelt by his side. And the Senora, --the hard, cold Senora!She would alone be glad. Everybody else would be sorry. "They will allbe sorry I have gone, --all but the Senora! I wish it had been so that Icould have bidden them all good-by, and had them all bid me good-by, andwish us good fortune!" thought the gentle, loving girl, as she drew along sigh, and, turning her back on her home, went forward in the pathshe had chosen. 

She stooped and patted Capitan on the head. "Will you come with me, Capitan?" she said; and Capitan leaped up joyfully, giving two or threeshort, sharp notes of delight. "Good Capitan, come! They will notmiss him out of so many, " she thought, "and it will always seem likesomething from home, as long as I have Capitan. "

When Alessandro first saw Ramona's figure dimly in the gloom, drawingslowly nearer, he did not recognize it, and he was full of apprehensionat the sight. What stranger could it be, abroad in these lonely meadowsat this hour of the night? Hastily he led the horses farther back intothe copse, and hid himself behind a tree, to watch. In a few momentsmore he thought he recognized Capitan, bounding by the side of thisbent and slow-moving figure. Yet this was surely an Indian woman toilingalong under a heavy load. But what Indian woman would have so superb acollie as Capitan? Alessandro strained his eyes through the darkness. Presently he saw the figure halt, --drop part of its burden. 

"Alessandro!" came in a sweet, low call. 

He bounded like a deer, crying, "My Senorita! my Senorita! Can that beyou? To think that you have brought these heavy loads!"

Ramona laughed. "Do you remember the day you showed me how the Indianwomen carried so much on their backs, in these nets? I did not thinkthen I would use it so soon. But it hurts my forehead, Alessandro. Itisn't the weight, but the strings cut. I couldn't have carried them muchfarther!"

"Ah, you had no basket to cover the head, " replied Alessandro, as hethrew up the two nets on his shoulders as if they had been feathers. Indoing so, he felt the violin-case. 

"Is it the violin?" he cried. "My blessed one, where did you get it?"

"Off the table in Felipe's room, " she answered. "I knew you would ratherhave it than anything else. I brought very little, Alessandro; it seemednothing while I was getting it; but it is very heavy to carry. Willit be too much for the poor tired horse? You and I can walk. And see, Alessandro, here is Capitan. He waked up, and I had to bring him, tokeep him still. Can't he go with us?"

Capitan was leaping up, putting his paws on Alessandro's breast, licking his face, yelping, doing all a dog could do, to show welcome andaffection. 

Alessandro laughed aloud. Ramona had not more than two or three timesheard him do this. It frightened her. "Why do you laugh, Alessandro?"she said. 

"To think what I have to show you, my Senorita, " he said. "Look here;"and turning towards the willows, he gave two or three low whistles, atthe first note of which Baba came trotting out of the copse to the endof his lariat, and began to snort and whinny with delight as soon as heperceived Ramona. 

Ramona burst into tears. The surprise was too great. 

"Are you not glad, Senorita?" cried Alessandro, aghast. "Is it not yourown horse? If you do not wish to take him, I will lead him back. My ponycan carry you, if we journey very slowly. But I thought it would be joyto you to have Baba. "

"Oh, it is! it is!" sobbed Ramona, with her head on Baba's neck. "It isa miracle, --a miracle. How did he come here? And, the saddle too!" shecried, for the first time observing that. "Alessandro, " in an awe-struckwhisper, "did the saints send him? Did you find him here?" It would haveseemed to Ramona's faith no strange thing, had this been so. 

"I think the saints helped me to bring him, " answered Alessandro, seriously, "or else I had not done it so easily. I did but call, nearthe corral-fence, and he came to my hand, and leaped over the rails atmy word, as quickly as Capitan might have done. He is yours, Senorita. It is no harm to take him?"

"Oh, no!" answered Ramona. "He is more mine than anything else I had;for it was Felipe gave him to me when he could but just stand on hislegs; he was only two days old; and I have fed him out of my hand everyday till now; and now he is five. Dear Baba, we will never be parted, never!" and she took his head in both her hands, and laid her cheekagainst it lovingly. 

Alessandro was busy, fastening the two nets on either side of thesaddle. "Baba will never know he has a load at all; they are not soheavy as my Senorita thought, " he said. "It was the weight on theforehead, with nothing to keep the strings from the skin, which gave herpain. "

Alessandro was making all haste. His hands trembled. "We must make allthe speed we can, dearest Senorita, " he said, "for a few hours. Then wewill rest. Before light, we will be in a spot where we can hide safelyall day. We will journey only by night, lest they pursue us. "

"They will not, " said Ramona. "There is no danger. The Senora said sheshould do nothing. 'Nothing!'" she repeated, in a bitter tone. "That iswhat she made Felipe say, too. Felipe wanted to help us. He would haveliked to have you stay with us; but all he could get was, that she woulddo 'nothing!' But they will not follow us. They will wish never to hearof me again. I mean, the Senora will wish never to hear of me. Felipewill be sorry. Felipe is very good, Alessandro. "

They were all ready now, --Ramona on Baba, the two packed nets swingingfrom her saddle, one on either side. Alessandro, walking, led his tiredpony. It was a sad sort of procession for one going to be wed, butRamona's heart was full of joy. 

"I don't know why it is, Alessandro, " she said; "I should think Iwould be afraid, but I have not the least fear, --not the least; not ofanything that can come, Alessandro, " she reiterated with emphasis. "Isit not strange?"

"Yes, Senorita, " he replied solemnly, laying his hand on hers as hewalked close at her side. "It is strange. I am afraid, --afraid for you, my Senorita! But it is done, and we will not go back; and perhaps thesaints will help you, and will let me take care of you. They must loveyou, Senorita; but they do not love me, nor my people. "

"Are you never going to call me by my name?" asked Ramona. "I hate yourcalling me Senorita. That was what the Senora always called me when shewas displeased. "

"I will never speak the word again!" cried Alessandro. "The saintsforbid I should speak to you in the words of that woman!"

"Can't you say Ramona?" she asked. 

Alessandro hesitated. He could not have told why it seemed to himdifficult to say Ramona. 

"What was that other name, you said you always thought of me by?" shecontinued. "The Indian name, --the name of the dove?"

"Majel, " he said. "It is by that name I have oftenest thought of yousince the night I watched all night for you, after you had kissed me, and two wood-doves were calling and answering each other in the dark;and I said to myself, that is what my love is like, the wood-dove: thewood-dove's voice is low like hers, and sweeter than any other sound inthe earth; and the wood-dove is true to one mate always--" He stopped. 

"As I to you, Alessandro, " said Ramona, leaning from her horse, andresting her hand on Alessandro's shoulder. 

Baba stopped. He was used to knowing by the most trivial signs what hismistress wanted; he did not understand this new situation; no one hadever before, when Ramona was riding him, walked by his side so closethat he touched his shoulders, and rested his hand in his mane. If ithad been anybody else than Alessandro, Baba would not have permitted iteven now. But it must be all right, since Ramona was quiet; and now shehad stretched out her hand and rested it on Alessandro's shoulder. Did that mean halt for a moment? Baba thought it might, and actedaccordingly; turning his head round to the right, and looking back tosee what came of it. 

Alessandro's arms around Ramona, her head bent down to his, their lipstogether, --what could Baba think? As mischievously as if he had beena human being or an elf, Baba bounded to one side and tore the loversapart. They both laughed, and cantered on, --Alessandro running; the poorIndian pony feeling the contagion, and loping as it had not done formany a day. 

"Majel is my name, then, " said Ramona, "is it? It is a sweet sound, butI would like it better Majella. Call me Majella. "

"That will be good, " replied Alessandro, "for the reason that neverbefore had any one the same name. It will not be hard for me to sayMajella. I know not why your name of Ramona has always been hard to mytongue. "

"Because it was to be that you should call me Majella, " said Ramona. "Remember, I am Ramona no longer. That also was the name the Senoracalled me by--and dear Felipe too, " she added thoughtfully. "He wouldnot know me by my new name. I would like to have him always callme Ramona. But for all the rest of the world I am Majella, now, --Alessandro's Majel!"

XVI

AFTER they reached the highway, and had trotted briskly on for a mile, Alessandro suddenly put out his hand, and taking Baba by the rein, beganturning him round and round in the road. 

"We will not go any farther in the road, " he said, "but I must concealour tracks here. We will go backwards for a few paces. " The obedientBaba backed slowly, half dancing, as if he understood the trick; theIndian pony, too, curvetted awkwardly, then by a sudden bound underAlessandro's skilful guidance, leaped over a rock to the right, andstood waiting further orders. Baba followed, and Capitan; and there wasno trail to show where they had left the road. 

After trotting the pony round and round again in ever-widening circles, cantering off in one direction after another, then backing over thetracks for a few moments, Ramona docilely following, though muchbewildered as to what it all meant, Alessandro said: "I think now theywill never discover where we left the road. They will ride along, seeingour tracks plain, and then they will be so sure that we would have keptstraight on, that they will not notice for a time; and when they do, they will never be able to see where the trail ended. And now my Majellahas a very hard ride before her. Will she be afraid?"

"Afraid. " laughed Ramona. "Afraid, --on Baba, and with you!"

But it was indeed a hard ride. Alessandro had decided to hide forthe day in a canon he knew, from which a narrow trail led direct toTemecula, --a trail which was known to none but Indians. Once in thiscanon, they would be safe from all possible pursuit. Alessandro did notin the least share Ramona's confidence that no effort would be made toovertake them. To his mind, it appeared certain that the Senora wouldnever accept the situation without making an attempt to recover at leastthe horse and the dog. "She can say, if she chooses, that I have stolenone of her horses, " he thought to himself bitterly; "and everybody wouldbelieve her. Nobody would believe us, if we said it was the Senorita'sown horse. "

The head of the canon was only a couple of miles from the road; but itwas in a nearly impenetrable thicket of chaparral, where young oaks hadgrown up so high that their tops made, as it were, a second stratum ofthicket. Alessandro had never ridden through it; he had come up on footonce from the other side, and, forcing his way through the tangle hadfound, to his surprise, that he was near the highway. It was from thiscanon that he had brought the ferns which it had so delighted Ramonato arrange for the decoration of the chapel. The place was filled withthem, growing almost in tropical luxuriance; but this was a mile or sofarther down, and to reach that spot from above, Alessandro had had tolet himself down a sheer wall of stone. The canon at its head was littlemore than a rift in the rocks, and the stream which had its rise init was only a trickling spring at the beginning. It was this preciouswater, as well as the inaccessibility of the spot, which had decidedAlessandro to gain the place at all hazards and costs. But a wall ofgranite would not have seemed a much more insuperable obstacle than didthis wall of chaparral, along which they rode, vainly searching for abreak in it. It appeared to Alessandro to have thickened and knit evensince the last spring. At last they made their way down a small sidecanon, --a sort of wing to the main canon; a very few rods down this, andthey were as hidden from view from above as if the earth had swallowedthem. The first red tints of the dawn were coming. From the easternhorizon to the zenith, the whole sky was like a dappled crimson fleece. 

"Oh, what a lovely place. " exclaimed Ramona. "I am sure this was not ahard ride at all, Alessandro! Is this where we are to stay?"

Alessandro turned a compassionate look upon her. "How little does thewood-dove know of rough places!" he said. "This is only the beginning;hardly is it even the beginning. "

Fastening his pony to a bush, he reconnoitred the place, disappearingfrom sight the moment he entered the chaparral in any direction. Returning at last, with a grave face, he said, "Will Majella let meleave her here for a little time? There is a way, but I can find it onlyon foot. I will not be gone long. I know it is near. "

Tears came into Ramona's eyes. The only thing she dreaded was the losingsight of Alessandro. He gazed at her anxiously. "I must go, Majella, " hesaid with emphasis. "We are in danger here. "

"Go! go! Alessandro, " she cried. "But, oh, do not be long!"

As he disappeared in the thicket, the tough boughs crackling andsnapping before him, it seemed to Ramona that she was again alone in theworld. Capitan, too, bounded after Alessandro, and did not return at hercall. All was still. Ramona laid her head on Baba's neck. The momentsseemed hours. At last, just as the yellow light streamed across thesky, and the crimson fleeces turned in one second to gold, she heardAlessandro's steps, the next moment saw his face. It was aglow with joy. 

"I have found the trail!" he exclaimed; "but we must climb up again outof this; and it is too light. I like it not. "

With fear and trembling they urged their horses up and out into the openagain, and galloped a half-mile farther west, still keeping as closeto the chaparral thicket as possible. Here Alessandro, who led the way, suddenly turned into the very thicket itself; no apparent opening; butthe boughs parted and closed, and his head appeared above them;still the little pony was trotting bravely along. Baba snortedwith displeasure as he plunged into the same bristling pathway. Thethick-set, thorny branches smote Ramona's cheeks. What was worse, theycaught the nets swung on Baba's sides; presently these were held fast, and Baba began to rear and kick. Here was a real difficulty. Alessandrodismounted, cut the strings, and put both the packages securely on theback of his own pony. "I will walk, " he said. "It was only a little waylonger I would have ridden. I shall lead Baba, where it is narrow. "

"Narrow, " indeed. It was from sheer terror, soon, that Ramona shut hereyes. A path, it seemed to her only a hand's-breadth wide, --a stony, crumbling path, --on the side of a precipice, down which the stonesrolled, and rolled, and rolled, echoing, far out of sight, as theypassed; at each step the beasts took, the stones rolled and fell. Onlythe yucca-plants, with their sharp bayonet-leaves, had made shift tokeep foothold on this precipice. Of these there were thousands; andtheir tall flower-stalks, fifteen, twenty feet high, set thick with theshining, smooth seed-cups, glistened like satin chalices in the sun. Below--hundreds of feet below--lay the canon bottom, a solid bed ofchaparral, looking soft and even as a bed of moss. Giant sycamore-treeslifted their heads, at intervals, above this; and far out in the plainglistened the loops of the river, whose sources, unknown to the world, seen of but few human eyes, were to be waters of comfort to thesefugitives this day. 

Alessandro was cheered. The trail was child's play to him. At the firsttread of Baba's dainty steps on the rolling stones, he saw that thehorse was as sure-footed as an Indian pony. In a few short hours, now, they would be all at rest. He knew where, under a sycamore-clump, therewas running water, clear as crystal, and cold, --almost colder than onecould drink, --and green grass too; plenty for two days' feed for thehorses, or even three; and all California might be searched over in vainfor them, once they were down this trail. His heart full of joy at thesethoughts, he turned, to see Ramona pallid, her lips parted, her eyesfull of terror. He had forgotten that her riding had hitherto beenonly on the smooth ways of the valley and the plain, There she was sofearless, that he had had no misgiving about her nerves here; but shehad dropped the reins, was clutching Baba's mane with both hands, andsitting unsteadily in her saddle. She had been too proud to cry out; butshe was nearly beside herself with fright. Alessandro halted so suddenlythat Baba, whose nose was nearly on his shoulder, came to so sharp astop that Ramona uttered a cry. She thought he had lost his footing. 

Alessandro looked at her in dismay. To dismount on that perilous trailwas impossible; moreover, to walk there would take more nerve than toride. Yet she looked as if she could not much longer keep her seat. 

"Carita, " he cried, "I was stupid not to have told you how narrow theway is; but it is safe. I can run in it. I ran all this way with theferns on my back I brought for you. "

"Oh, did you?" gasped Ramona, diverted, for the moment, from hercontemplation of the abyss, and more reassured by that change of herthoughts than she could have been by anything else. "Did you? It isfrightful, Alessandro. I never heard of such a trail. I feel as if Iwere on a rope in the air. If I could get down and go on my hands andknees, I think I would like it better. Could I?"

"I would not dare to have you get off, just here, Majella, " answeredAlessandro, sorrowfully. "It is dreadful to me to see you suffer so; Iwill go very slowly. Indeed, it is safe; we all came up here, the wholeband, for the sheep-shearing, --old Fernando on his horse all the way. "

"Really, " said Ramona, taking comfort at each word, "I will try not tobe so silly. Is it far, dearest Alessandro?"

"Not much more as steep as this, dear, nor so narrow; but it will be anhour yet before we stop. "

But the worst was over for Ramona now, and long before they reached thebottom of the precipice she was ready to laugh at her fears; only, as she looked back at the zigzag lines of the path over which she hadcome, --little more than a brown thread, they seemed, flung along therock, --she shuddered. 

Down in the bottom of the canon it was still the dusky gloaming whenthey arrived. Day came late to this fairy spot. Only at high noon didthe sun fairly shine in. As Ramona looked around her, she uttered anexclamation of delight, which satisfied Alessandro. "Yes, " he said, "when I came here for the ferns, I wished to myself many times that youcould see it. There is not in all this country so beautiful a place. This is our first home, my Majella, " he added, in a tone almost solemn;and throwing his arms around her, he drew her to his breast, with thefirst feeling of joy he had experienced. 

"I wish we could live here always, " cried Ramona. 

"Would Majella be content?" said Alessandro. 

"Very, " she answered. 

He sighed. "There would not be land enough, to live here, " he said. "If there were, I too would like to stay here till I died, Majella, andnever see the face of a white man again!" Already the instinct of thehunted and wounded animal to seek hiding, was striving in Alessandro'sblood. "But there would be no food. We could not live here. " Ramona'sexclamation had set Alessandro to thinking, however. "Would Majella becontent to stay here three days now?" he asked. "There is grass enoughfor the horses for that time. We should be very safe here; and I fearvery much we should not be safe on any road. I think, Majella, theSenora will send men after Baba. "

"Baba!" cried Ramona, aghast at the idea. "My own horse! She would notdare to call it stealing a horse, to take my own Baba!" But even asshe spoke, her heart misgave her. The Senora would dare anything; wouldmisrepresent anything; only too well Ramona knew what the very mentionof the phrase "horse-stealing" meant all through the country. She lookedpiteously at Alessandro. He read her thoughts. 

"Yes, that is it, Majella, " he said. "If she sent men after Baba, thereis no knowing what they might do. It would not do any good for you tosay he was yours. They would not believe you; and they might take metoo, if the Senora had told them to, and put me into Ventura jail. "

"She's just wicked enough to do it!" cried Ramona. "Let us not stir outof this spot, Alessandro, --not for a week! Couldn't we stay a week? Bythat time she would have given over looking for us. "

"I am afraid not a week. There is not feed for the horses; and I do notknow what we could eat. I have my gun, but there is not much, now, tokill. "

"But I have brought meat and bread, Alessandro, " said Ramona, earnestly, "and we could eat very little each day, and make it last!" She was likea child, in her simplicity and eagerness. Every other thought was forthe time being driven out of her mind by the terror of being pursued. Pursuit of her, she knew, would not be in the Senora's plan; but thereclaiming of Baba and Capitan, that was another thing. The more Ramonathought of it, the more it seemed to her a form of vengeance which wouldbe likely to commend itself to the Senora's mind. Felipe might possiblyprevent it. It was he who had given Baba to her. He would feel thatit would be shameful to recall or deny the gift. Only in Felipe layRamona's hope. 

If she had thought to tell Alessandro that in her farewell noteto Felipe she had said that she supposed they were going to FatherSalvierderra, it would have saved both her and Alessandro muchdisquietude. Alessandro would have known that men pursuing them, on thatsupposition, would have gone straight down the river road to the sea, and struck northward along the coast. But it did not occur to Ramona tomention this; in fact, she hardly recollected it after the first day. Alessandro had explained to her his plan, which was to go by way ofTemecula to San Diego, to be married there by Father Gaspara, the priestof that parish, and then go to the village or pueblo of San Pasquale, about fifteen miles northwest of San Diego. A cousin of Alessandro'swas the head man of this village, and had many times begged him to comethere to live; but Alessandro had steadily refused, believing it tobe his duty to remain at Temecula with his father. San Pasquale wasa regularly established pueblo, founded by a number of the Indianneophytes of the San Luis Rey Mission at the time of the breaking upof that Mission. It was established by a decree of the Governor ofCalifornia, and the lands of the San Pasquale Valley given to it. Apaper recording this establishment and gift, signed by the Governor'sown hand, was given to the Indian who was the first Alcalde of thepueblo. He was Chief Pablo's brother. At his death the authority passedinto the hands of his son, Ysidro, the cousin of whom Alessandro hadspoken. 

"Ysidro has that paper still, " Alessandro said, "and he thinks itwill keep them their village. Perhaps it will; but the Americans arebeginning to come in at the head of the valley, and I do not believe, Majella, there is any safety anywhere. Still, for a few years we canperhaps stay there. There are nearly two hundred Indians in the valley;it is much better than Temecula, and Ysidro's people are much better offthan ours were. They have splendid herds of cattle and horses, and largewheat-fields. Ysidro's house stands under a great fig-tree; they say itis the largest fig-tree in the country. "

"But, Alessandro, " cried Ramona, "why do you think it is not safe there, if Ysidro has the paper? I thought a paper made it all right. "

"I don't know, " replied Alessandro. "Perhaps it may be; but I have gotthe feeling now that nothing will be of any use against the Americans. Idon't believe they will mind the paper. "

"They didn't mind the papers the Senora had for all that land of hersthey took away, " said Ramona, thoughtfully. "But Felipe said that wasbecause Pio Pico was a bad man, and gave away lands he had no right togive away. "

"That's just it, " said Alessandro. "Can't they say that same thing aboutany governor, especially if he has given lands to us? If the Senoracouldn't keep hers, with Senor Felipe to help her, and he knows allabout the law, and can speak the American language, what chance is therefor us? We can't take care of ourselves any better than the wild beastscan, my Majella. Oh, why, why did you come with me? Why did I let you?"

After such words as these, Alessandro would throw himself on the ground, and for a few moments not even Ramona's voice would make him look up. Itwas strange that the gentle girl, unused to hardship, or to the thoughtof danger, did net find herself terrified by these fierce glooms andapprehensions of her lover. But she was appalled by nothing. Saved fromthe only thing in life she had dreaded, sure that Alessandro lived, andthat he would not leave her, she had no fears. This was partly fromher inexperience, from her utter inability to conceive of the thingsAlessandro's imagination painted in colors only too true; but it wasalso largely due to the inalienable loyalty and quenchless courage ofher soul, --qualities in her nature never yet tested; qualities ofwhich she hardly knew so much as the name, but which were to bear hersteadfast and buoyant through many sorrowful years. 

Before nightfall of this their first day in the wilderness, Alessandrohad prepared for Ramona a bed of finely broken twigs of the manzanitaand ceanothus, both of which grew in abundance all through the canon. Above these he spread layers of glossy ferns, five and six feet long;when it was done, it was a couch no queen need have scorned. As Ramonaseated herself on it, she exclaimed: "Now I shall see how it feels tolie and look up at the stars at night! Do you recollect, Alessandro, the night you put Felipe's bed on the veranda, when you told me howbeautiful it was to lie at night out of doors and look up at the stars?"

Indeed did Alessandro remember that night, --the first moment he had everdared to dream of the Senorita Ramona as his own. "Yes, I remember it, my Majella, " he answered slowly; and in a moment more added, "That wasthe day Juan Can had told me that your mother was of my people; and thatwas the night I first dared in my thoughts to say that perhaps you mightsome day love me. "

"But where are you going to sleep, Alessandro?" said Ramona, seeing thathe spread no more boughs. "You have made yourself no bed. "

Alessandro laughed. "I need no bed, " he said. "We think it is on ourmother's lap we lie, when we lie on the ground. It is not hard, Majella. It is soft, and rests one better than beds. But to-night I shall notsleep. I will sit by this tree and watch. "

"Why, what are you afraid of?" asked Ramona. 

"It may grow so cold that I must make a fire for Majella, " he answered. "It sometimes gets very cold before morning in these canons; so I shallfeel safer to watch to-night. "

This he said, not to alarm Ramona. His real reason for watching was, that he had seen on the edge of the stream tracks which gave himuneasiness. They were faint and evidently old; but they looked like thetracks of a mountain lion. As soon as it was dark enough to prevent thecurl of smoke from being seen from below, he would light a fire, andkeep it blazing all night, and watch, gun in hand, lest the beastreturn. 

"But you will be dead, Alessandro, if you do not sleep. You are notstrong, " said Ramona, anxiously. 

"I am strong now, Majella, " answered Alessandro. And indeed he didalready look like a renewed man, spite of all his fatigue and anxiety. "I am no longer weak; and to-morrow I will sleep, and you shall watch. "

"Will you lie on the fern-bed then?" asked Ramona, gleefully. 

"I would like the ground better, " said honest Alessandro. 

Ramona looked disappointed. "That is very strange, " she said. "It isnot so soft, this bed of boughs, that one need fear to be made tender bylying on it, " she continued, throwing herself down; "but oh, how sweet, how sweet it smells!"

"Yes, there is spice-wood in it, " he answered. "I put it in at the head, for Majella's pillow. "

Ramona was very tired, and she was happy. All night long she sleptlike a child. She did not hear Alessandro's steps. She did not hearthe crackling of the fire he lighted. She did not hear the barking ofCapitan, who more than once, spite of all Alessandro could do to quiethim, made the canon echo with sharp, quick notes of warning, as he heardthe stealthy steps of wild creatures in the chaparral. Hour after hourshe slept on. And hour after hour Alessandro sat leaning against a hugesycamore-trunk, and watched her. As the fitful firelight played over herface, he thought he had never seen it so beautiful, Its expression ofcalm repose insensibly soothed and strengthened him. She looked like asaint, he thought; perhaps it was as a saint of help and guidance, theVirgin was sending her to him and his people. The darkness deepened, became blackness; only the red gleams from the fire broke it, in swayingrifts, as the wind makes rifts in black storm-clouds in the heavens. With the darkness, the stillness also deepened. Nothing broke that, except an occasional motion of Baba or the pony, or an alert signal fromCapitan; then all seemed stiller than ever. Alessandro felt as if Godhimself were in the canon. Countless times in his life before he hadlain in lonely places under the sky and watched the night through, buthe never felt like this. It was ecstasy, and yet it was pain. What wasto come on the morrow, and the next morrow, and the next, and the next, all through the coming years? What was to come to this beloved andloving woman who lay there sleeping, so confident, so trustful, guardedonly by him, --by him, Alessandro, the exile, fugitive, homeless man?

Before the dawn, wood-doves began their calling. The canon was fullof them, no two notes quite alike, it seemed to Alessandro's sharpenedsense; pair after pair, he fancied that he recognized, speaking andreplying, as did the pair whose voices had so comforted him the night hewatched under the geranium hedge by the Moreno chapel, --"Love?" "Here!""Love?" "Here!" They comforted him still more now. "They too have onlyeach other, " he thought, as he bent his eyes lovingly on Ramona's face. 

It was dawn, and past dawn, on the plains, before it was yet morningtwilight in the canon; but the birds in the upper boughs' of thesycamores caught the tokens of the coming day, and began to twitter inthe dusk. Their notes fell on Ramona's sleeping ear, like the familiarsound of the linnets in the veranda-thatch at home, and waked herinstantly. Sitting up bewildered, and looking about her, she exclaimed, "Oh, is it morning already, and so dark? The birds can see more sky thanwe! Sing, Alessandro, " and she began the hymn:--

"'Singers at dawn From the heavens above People all regions; Gladly wetoo sing. '"

Never went up truer invocation, from sweeter spot. 

"Sing not so loud, my Majel, " whispered Alessandro, as her voice wentcarolling like a lark's in the pure ether. "There might be hunters nearwho would hear;" and he joined in with low and muffled tones. 

As she dropped her voice at this caution, it seemed even sweeter thanbefore:--

 "'Come, O sinners, Come, and we will sing Tender hymns To our refuge, '"

"Ah, Majella, there is no sinner here, except me!" said Alessandro. "MyMajella is like one of the Virgin's own saints. " And indeed he mighthave been forgiven the thought as he gazed at Ramona, sitting there inthe shimmering light, her face thrown out into relief by the gray wallof fern-draped rock behind her; her splendid hair, unbound, falling intangled masses to her waist; her cheeks flushed, her face radiant withdevout and fervent supplication, her eyes uplifted to the narrow belt ofsky overhead, where filmy vapors were turning to gold, touched by a sunshe could not see. 

"Hush, my love, " she breathed rather than said. "That would be a sin, ifyou really thought it. 

 'O beautiful Queen, Princess of Heaven, '"

she continued, repeating the first lines of the song; and then, sinkingon her knees, reached out one hand for Alessandro's, and glided, almostwithout a break in the melodious sound, into a low recitative of themorning-prayers. Her rosary was of fine-chased gold beads, with an ivorycrucifix; a rare and precious relic of the Missions' olden times. Ithad belonged to Father Peyri himself, was given by him to FatherSalvierderra, and by Father Salvierderra to the "blessed child, " Ramona, at her confirmation. A warmer token of his love and trust he could nothave bestowed upon her, and to Ramona's religious and affectionateheart it had always seemed a bond and an assurance, not only of FatherSalvierderra's love, but of the love and protection of the now saintedPeyri. 

As she pronounced the last words of her trusting prayer, and slipped thelast of the golden beads along on its string, a thread of sunlightshot into the canon through a deep narrow gap in its rocky easterncrest, --shot in for a second, no more; fell aslant the rosary, lightedit; by a flash as if of fire, across the fine-cut facets of the beads, on Ramona's hands, and on the white face of the ivory Christ. Only aflash, and it was gone! To both Ramona and Alessandro it came like anomen, --like a message straight from the Virgin. Could she choose bettermessenger, --she, the compassionate one, the loving woman in heaven;mother of the Christ to whom they prayed, through her, --mother, forwhose sake He would regard their least cry, --could she choose bettermessenger, or swifter, than the sunbeam, to say that she heard and wouldhelp them in these sore straits. 

Perhaps there were not, in the whole great world, at that moment to befound, two souls who were experiencing so vivid a happiness as thrilledthe veins of these two friendless ones, on their knees, alone in thewilderness, gazing half awe-stricken at the shining rosary. 

XVII

BEFORE the end of their second day in the canon, the place had become toRamona so like a friendly home, that she dreaded to leave its shelter. Nothing is stronger proof of the original intent of Nature to do morefor man than the civilization in its arrogance will long permit her todo, than the quick and sure way in which she reclaims his affection, when by weariness, idle chance, or disaster, he is returned, for aninterval, to her arms. How soon he rejects the miserable subterfuges ofwhat he had called habits; sheds the still more miserable pretences ofsuperiority, makeshifts of adornment, and chains of custom! "Whom thegods love, die young, " has been too long carelessly said. It is nottrue, in the sense in which men use the words. Whom the gods love, dwellwith nature; if they are ever lured away, return to her before they areold. Then, however long they live before they die, they die young. Whomthe gods love, live young--forever. 

With the insight of a lover added to the instinct of the Indian, Alessandro saw how, hour by hour, there grew in Ramona's eyes the wontedlook of one at home; how she watched the shadows, and knew what theymeant. 

"If we lived here, the walls would be sun-dials for us, would they not?"she said, in a tone of pleasure. "I see that yon tall yucca has gone inshadow sooner than it did yesterday. "

And, "What millions of things grow here, Alessandro! I did not knowthere were so many. Have they all names? The nuns taught us some names;but they were hard, and I forgot them, We might name them for ourselves, if we lived here. They would be our relations. "

And, "For one year I should lie and look up at the sky, my Alessandro, and do nothing else. It hardly seems as if it would be a sin to donothing for a year, if one gazed steadily at the sky all the while. "

And, "Now I know what it is I have always seen in your face, Alessandro. It is the look from the sky. One must be always serious and not unhappy, but never too glad, I think, when he lives with nothing between him andthe sky, and the saints can see him every minute. "

And, "I cannot believe that it is but two days I have lived in theair, Alessandro. This seems to me the first home I have ever had. Is itbecause I am Indian, Alessandro, that it gives me such joy?"

It was strange how many more words Ramona spoke than Alessandro, yet howfull she felt their intercourse to be. His silence was more than silent;it was taciturn. Yet she always felt herself answered. A monosyllableof Alessandro's, nay, a look, told what other men took long sentences tosay, and said less eloquently. 

After long thinking over this, she exclaimed, "You speak as the treesspeak, and like the rock yonder, and the flowers, without sayinganything!"

This delighted Alessandro's very heart. "And you, Majella, " heexclaimed; "when you say that, you speak in the language of our people;you are as we are. "

And Ramona, in her turn, was made happy by his words, --happier than shewould have been made by any other praise or fondness. 

Alessandro found himself regaining all his strength as if by a miracle. The gaunt look had left his face. Almost it seemed that its contour wasalready fuller. There is a beautiful old Gaelic legend of a Fairy whowooed a Prince, came again and again to him, and, herself invisible toall but the Prince, hovered in the air, sang loving songs to draw himaway from the crowd of his indignant nobles, who heard her voice andsummoned magicians to rout her by all spells and enchantments at theircommand. Finally they succeeded in silencing her and driving her off;but as she vanished from the Prince's sight she threw him an apple, --amagic golden apple. Once having tasted of this, he refused all otherfood. Day after day, night after night, he ate only this golden apple;and yet, morning after morning, evening after evening, there lay thegolden fruit, still whole and shining, as if he had not fed upon it;and when the Fairy came the next time, the Prince leaped into her magicboat, sailed away with her, and never was seen in his kingdom again. Itwas only an allegory, this legend, --a beautiful allegory, and true, --oflove and lovers. The food on which Alessandro was, hour by hour, nowgrowing strong, was as magic and invisible as Prince Connla's apple, andjust as strength-giving. 

"My Alessandro, how is it you look so well, so soon?" said Ramona, studying his countenance with loving care. "I thought that night youwould die. Now you look nearly strong as ever; your eyes shine, and yourhand is not hot! It is the blessed air; it has cured you, as it curedFelipe of the fever. "

"If the air could keep me well, I had not been ill, Majella, " repliedAlessandro. "I had been under no roof except the tule-shed, till I sawyou. It is not the air;" and he looked at her with a gaze that said therest. 

At twilight of the third day, when Ramona saw Alessandro leading upBaba, saddled ready for the journey, the tears filled her eyes. At noonAlessandro had said to her: "To-night, Majella, we must go. There is notgrass enough for another day. We must go while the horses are strong. Idare not lead them any farther down the canon to graze, for there isa ranch only a few miles lower. To-day I found one of the man's cowsfeeding near Baba. "

Ramona made no remonstrance. The necessity was too evident; but thelook on her face gave Alessandro a new pang. He, too, felt as if exiledafresh in leaving the spot. And now, as he led the horses slowly up, andsaw Ramona sitting in a dejected attitude beside the nets in which wereagain carefully packed their small stores, his heart ached anew. Againthe sense of his homeless and destitute condition settled like anunbearable burden on his soul. Whither and to what was he leading hisMajella?

But once in the saddle, Ramona recovered cheerfulness. Baba was insuch gay heart, she could not be wholly sad. The horse seemed fairlyrollicking with satisfaction at being once more on the move. Capitan, too, was gay. He had found the canon dull, spite of its refreshingshade and cool water. He longed for sheep. He did not understand thisinactivity. The puzzled look on his face had made Ramona laugh more thanonce, as he would come and stand before her, wagging his tail and fixinghis eyes intently on her face, as if he said in so many words, "Whatin the world are you about in this canon, and do not you ever intend toreturn home? Or if you will stay here, why not keep sheep? Do you notsee that I have nothing to do?"

"We must ride all night, Majella, " said Alessandro, "and lose no time. It is a long way to the place where we shall stay to-morrow. "

"Is it a canon?" asked Ramona, hopefully. 

"No, " he replied, "not a canon; but there are beautiful oak-trees. Itis where we get our acorns for the winter. It is on the top of a highhill. "

"Will it be safe there?" she asked. 

"I think so, " he replied; "though not so safe as here. There is no suchplace as this in all the country. "

"And then where shall we go next?" she asked. 

"That is very near Temecula, " he said. "We must go into Temecula, dearMajella. I must go to Mr. Hartsel's. He is friendly. He will give memoney for my father's violin. If it were not for that, I would never gonear the place again. "

"I would like to see it, Alessandro, " she said gently. 

"Oh, no, no, Majella!" he cried; "you would not. It is terrible; thehouses all unroofed, --all but my father's and Jose's. They wereshingled roofs; they will be just the same; all the rest are only walls. Antonio's mother threw hers down; I don't know how the old woman everhad the strength; they said she was like a fury. She said nobody shouldever live in those walls again; and she took a pole, and made a greathole in one side, and then she ran Antonio's wagon against it with allher might, till it fell in. No, Majella. It will be dreadful. "

"Wouldn't you like to go into the graveyard again, Alessandro?" she saidtimidly. 

"The saints forbid!" he said solemnly. "I think it would make me amurderer to stand in that graveyard! If I had not you, my Majel, Ishould kill some white man when I came out. Oh, do not speak of it!" headded, after a moment's silence; "it takes the strength all out of myblood again, Majella. It feels as if I should die!"

And the word "Temecula" was not mentioned between them again until duskthe next day, when, as they were riding slowly along between low, woodedhills, they suddenly came to an opening, a green, marshy place, witha little thread of trickling water, at which their horses stopped, anddrank thirstily; and Ramona, looking ahead, saw lights twinkling in thedistance. "Lights, Alessandro, lights!" she exclaimed, pointing to them. 

"Yes, Majella, " he replied, "it is Temecula, " and springing off his ponyhe came to her side, and putting both his hands on hers, said: "I havebeen thinking, for a long way back, Carita, what is to be done here. Ido not know. What does Majella think will be wise? If men have been sentout to pursue us, they may be at Hartsel's. His store is the place whereeverybody stops, everybody goes. I dare not have you go there, Majella;yet I must go. The only way I can get any money is from Mr. Hartsel. "

"I must wait somewhere while you go!" said Ramona, her heart beating asshe gazed ahead into the blackness of the great plain. It looked vast asthe sea. "That is the only safe thing, Alessandro. "

"I think so too, " he said; "but, oh, I am afraid for you; and will notyou be afraid?"

"Yes, " she replied, "I am afraid. But it is not so dangerous as theother. "

"If anything were to happen to me, and I could not come back to you, Majella, if you give Baba his reins he will take you safe home, --he andCapitan. "

Ramona shrieked aloud. She had not thought of this possibility. Alessandro had thought of everything. "What could happen?" she cried. 

"I mean if the men were there, and if they took me for stealing thehorse, " he said. 

"But you would not have the horse with you, " she said. "How could theytake you?"

"That mightn't make any difference, " replied Alessandro. "They mighttake me, to make me tell where the horse was. "

"Oh, Alessandro, " sobbed Ramona, "what shall we do!" Then in anothersecond, gathering her courage, she exclaimed, "Alessandro, I know whatI will do. I will stay in the graveyard. No one will come there. Shall Inot be safest there?"

"Holy Virgin! would my Majel stay there?" exclaimed Alessandro. 

"Why not?" she said. "It is not the dead that will harm us. They wouldall help us if they could. I have no fear. I will wait there while yougo; and if you do not come in an hour, I will come to Mr. Hartsel'safter you. If there are men of the Senora's there, they will know me;they will not dare to touch me. They will know that Felipe would punishthem. I will not be afraid. And if they are ordered to take Baba, theycan have him; we can walk when the pony is tired. "

Her confidence was contagious. "My wood-dove has in her breast the heartof the lion, " said Alessandro, fondly. "We will do as she says. Sheis wise;" and he turned their horses' heads in the direction of thegraveyard. It was surrounded by a low adobe wall, with one small gateof wooden paling. As they reached it, Alessandro exclaimed, "The thieveshave taken the gate!"

"What could they have wanted with that?" said Ramona

"To burn, " he said doggedly, "It was wood; but it was very little. Theymight have left the graves safe from wild beasts and cattle!"

As they entered the enclosure, a dark figure rose from one of thegraves. Ramona started. 

"Fear nothing, " whispered Alessandro. "It must be one of our people. Iam glad; now you will not be alone. It is Carmena, I am sure. That wasthe corner where they buried Jose. I will speak to her;" and leavingRamona at the gate, he went slowly on, saying in a low voice, inthe Luiseno language, "Carmena, is that you? Have no fear. It is I, Alessandro!"

It was Carmena. The poor creature, nearly crazed with grief, wasspending her days by her baby's grave in Pachanga, and her nights by herhusband's in Temecula. She dared not come to Temecula by day, for theAmericans were there, and she feared them. After a short talk with her, Alessandro returned, leading her along. Bringing her to Ramona's side, he laid her feverish hand in Ramona's, and said: "Majella, I have toldher all. She cannot speak a word of Spanish, but she is very glad, shesays, that you have come with me, and she will stay close by your sidetill I come back. "

Ramona's tender heart ached with desire to comfort the girl; but allshe could do was to press her hand in silence. Even in the darkness shecould see the hollow, mournful eyes and the wasted cheek. Words are lessneedful to sorrow than to joy. Carmena felt in every fibre how Ramonawas pitying her. Presently she made a gentle motion, as if to draw herfrom the saddle. Ramona bent down and looked inquiringly into her face. Again she drew her gently with one hand, and with the other pointed tothe corner from which she had come. Ramona understood. "She wants toshow me her husband's grave, " she thought. "She does not like to be awayfrom it. I will go with her. "

Dismounting, and taking Baba's bridle over her arm, she bowed her headassentingly, and still keeping firm hold of Carmena's hand, followedher. The graves were thick, and irregularly placed, each mound markedby a small wooden cross. Carmena led with the swift step of one who kneweach inch of the way by heart. More than once Ramona stumbled and nearlyfell, and Baba was impatient and restive at the strange inequalitiesunder his feet. When they reached the corner, Ramona saw the fresh-piledearth of the new grave. Uttering a wailing cry, Carmena, drawing Ramonato the edge of it, pointing down with her right hand, then laid bothhands on her heart, and gazed at Ramona piteously. Ramona burst intoweeping, and again clasping Carmena's hand, laid it on her own breast, to show her sympathy. Carmena did not weep. She was long past that;and she felt for the moment lifted out of herself by the sweet, suddensympathy of this stranger, --this girl like herself, yet so different, so wonderful, so beautiful, Carmena was sure she must be. Had the saintssent her from heaven to Alessandro? What did it mean? Carmena's bosomwas heaving with the things she longed to say and to ask; but all shecould do was to press Ramona's hand again and again, and occasionallylay her soft cheek upon it. 

"Now, was it not the saints that put it into my head to come to thegraveyard?" thought Ramona. "What a comfort to this poor heart-brokenthing to see Alessandro! And she keeps me from all fear. Holy Virgin!but I had died of terror here all alone. Not that the dead would harmme; but simply from the vast, silent plain, and the gloom. "

Soon Carmena made signs to Ramona that they would return to the gate. Considerate and thoughtful, she remembered that Alessandro would expectto find them there. But it was a long and weary watch they had, waitingfor Alessandro to come. 

After leaving them, and tethering his pony, he had struck off at aquick run for Hartsel's, which was perhaps an eighth of a mile from thegraveyard. His own old home lay a little to the right. As he drew near, he saw a light in its windows. He stopped as if shot. "A light in ourhouse!" he exclaimed; and he clenched his hands. "Those cursed robbershave gone into it to live already!" His blood seemed turning to fire. Ramona would not have recognized the face of her Alessandro now. It wasfull of implacable vengeance. Involuntarily he felt for his knife. Itwas gone. His gun he had left inside the graveyard, leaning against thewall. Ah! in the graveyard! Yes, and there also was Ramona waiting forhim. Thoughts of vengeance fled. The world held now but one work, onehope, one passion, for him. But he would at least see who were thesedwellers in his father's house. A fierce desire to see their facesburned within him. Why should he thus torture himself? Why, indeed? Buthe must. He would see the new home-life already begun on the grave ofhis. Stealthily creeping under the window from which the light shone, helistened. He heard children's voices; a woman's voice; at intervals thevoice of a man, gruff and surly; various household sounds also. It wasevidently the supper-hour. Cautiously raising himself till his eyes wereon a level with the lowest panes in the window, he looked in. 

A table was set in the middle of the floor, and there were sitting at ita man, woman, and two children. The youngest, little more than a baby, sat in its high chair, drumming with a spoon on the table, impatient forits supper. The room was in great confusion, --beds made on the floor, open boxes half unpacked, saddles and harness thrown down in thecorners; evidently there were new-comers into the house. The windowwas open by an inch. It had warped, and would not shut down. BitterlyAlessandro recollected how he had put off from day to day the planingof that window to make it shut tight. Now, thanks to the crack, he couldhear all that was said. The woman looked weary and worn. Her face was asensitive one, and her voice kindly; but the man had the countenanceof a brute, --of a human brute. Why do we malign the so-called brutecreation, making their names a unit of comparison for base traits whichnever one of them possessed?

"It seems as if I never should get to rights in this world!" said thewoman. Alessandro understood enough English to gather the meaning ofwhat she said. He listened eagerly. "When will the next wagon get here?"

"I don't know, " growled her husband. "There's been a slide in thatcursed canon, and blocked the road. They won't be here for several daysyet. Hain't you got stuff enough round now? If you'd clear up what'shere now, then 'twould be time enough to grumble because you hadn't goteverything. "

"But, John, " she replied, "I can't clear up till the bureau comes, toput the things away in, and the bedstead. I can't seem to do anything. "

"You can grumble, I take notice, " he answered. "That's about all youwomen are good for, anyhow. There was a first-rate raw-hide bedsteadin here. If Rothsaker hadn't been such a fool's to let those dogs ofIndians carry off all their truck, we might have had that!"

The woman looked at him reproachfully, but did not speak for a moment. Then her cheeks flushed, and seeming unable to repress the speech, sheexclaimed, "Well, I'm thankful enough he did let the poor things taketheir furniture. I'd never have slept a wink an that bedstead, I know, if it had ha' been left here. It's bad enough to take their houses thisway!"

"Oh, you shut up your head for a blamed fool, will you!" cried the man. He was half drunk, his worst and most dangerous state. She glanced athim half timorously, half indignantly, and turning to the children, began feeding the baby. At that second the other child looked up, andcatching sight of the outline of Alessandro's head, cried out, "There'sa man there! There, at the window!"

Alessandro threw himself flat on the ground, and held his breath. Hadhe imperilled all, brought danger on himself and Ramona, by yielding tothis mad impulse to look once more inside the walls of his home? Witha fearful oath, the half-drunken man exclaimed, "One of those damnedIndians, I expect. I've seen several hangin' round to-day. We'll have toshoot two or three of 'em yet, before we're rid of 'em!" and he took hisgun down from the pegs above the fireplace, and went to the door with itin his hand. 

"Oh, don't fire, father, don't. " cried the woman. "They'll come andmurder us all in our sleep if you do! Don't fire!" and she pulled himback by the sleeve. 

Shaking her off, with another oath, he stepped across the threshold, andstood listening, and peering into the darkness. Alessandro's heart beatlike a hammer in his breast. Except for the thought of Ramona, he wouldhave sprung on the man, seized his gun, and killed him. 

"I don't believe it was anybody, after all, father, " persisted thewoman. "Bud's always seein' things. I don't believe there was anybodythere. Come in; supper's gettin' all cold. "

"Well, I'll jest fire, to let 'em know there's powder 'n shot roundhere, " said the fiend. "If it hits any on 'em roamin' round, he won'tknow what hurt him;" and levelling his gun at random, with his drunken, unsteady hand he fired. The bullet whistled away harmlessly intothe empty darkness. Hearkening a few moments, and hearing no cry, hehiccuped, "Mi-i-issed him that time, " and went in to his supper. 

Alessandro did not dare to stir for a long time. How he cursed his ownfolly in having brought himself into this plight! What needless pain ofwaiting he was inflicting on the faithful one, watching for him in thatdesolate and fearful place of graves! At last he ventured, --slidingalong on his belly a few inches at a time, till, several rods from thehouse, he dared at last to spring to his feet and bound away at fullspeed for Hartsel's. 

Hartsel's was one of those mongrel establishments to be seen nowhereexcept in Southern California. Half shop, half farm, half tavern, itgathered up to itself all the threads of the life of the whole region. Indians, ranchmen, travellers of all sorts, traded at Hartsel's, drankat Hartsel's, slept at Hartsel's. It was the only place of its kindwithin a radius of twenty miles; and it was the least bad place of itskind within a much wider radius. 

Hartsel was by no means a bad fellow--when he was sober; but as thatcondition was not so frequent as it should have been, he sometimes camenear being a very bad fellow indeed. At such times everybody was afraidof him, --wife, children, travellers, ranchmen, and all. "It was only aquestion of time and occasion, " they said, "Hartsel's killing somebodysooner or later;" and it looked as if the time were drawing nearfast. But, out of his cups, Hartsel was kindly, and fairly truthful;entertaining, too, to a degree which held many a wayfarer chained to hischair till small hours of the morning, listening to his landlord's talk. How he had drifted from Alsace to San Diego County, he could hardly havetold in minute detail himself, there had been so many stages and phasesof the strange journey; but he had come to his last halt now. Here, inthis Temecula, he would lay his bones. He liked the country. He likedthe wild life, and, for a wonder, he liked the Indians. Many a good wordhe spoke for them to travellers who believed no good of the race, andevidently listened with polite incredulity when he would say, as heoften did: "I've never lost a dollar off these Indians yet. They do alltheir trading with me. There's some of them I trust as high's a hundreddollars. If they can't pay this year, they'll pay next; and if they die, their relations will pay their debts for them, a little at a time, tillthey've got it all paid off. They'll pay in wheat, or bring a steer, maybe, or baskets or mats the women make; but they'll pay. They'rehonester 'n the general run of Mexicans about paying; I mean Mexicansthat are as poor's they are. "

Hartsel's dwelling-house was a long, low adobe building, with stilllower flanking additions, in which were bedrooms for travellers, thekitchen, and storerooms. The shop was a separate building, of roughplanks, a story and a half high, the loft of which was one greatdormitory well provided with beds on the floor, but with no otherarticle of bedroom furniture. They who slept in this loft had nofastidious standards of personal luxury. These two buildings, with somehalf-dozen out-houses of one sort and another, stood in an enclosuresurrounded by a low white picket fence, which gave to the place acertain home-like look, spite of the neglected condition of the ground, which was bare sand, or sparsely tufted with weeds and wild grass. A fewplants, parched and straggling, stood in pots and tin cans around thedoor of the dwelling-house. One hardly knew whether they made the placelook less desolate or more so. But they were token of a woman'shand, and of a nature which craved something more than the unredeemedwilderness around her afforded. 

A dull and lurid light streamed out from the wide-open door of thestore. Alessandro drew cautiously near. The place was full of men, andhe heard loud laughing and talking. He dared not go in. Stealing aroundto the rear, he leaped the fence, and went to the other house and openedthe kitchen door. Here he was not afraid. Mrs. Hartsel had never any butIndian servants in her employ. The kitchen was lighted only by onedim candle. On the stove were sputtering and hissing all the pots andfrying-pans it would hold. Much cooking was evidently going on for themen who were noisily rollicking in the other house. 

Seating himself by the fire, Alessandro waited. In a few moments Mrs. Hartsel came hurrying back to her work. It was no uncommon experience tofind an Indian quietly sitting by her fire. In the dim light she did notrecognize Alessandro, but mistook him, as he sat bowed over, his head inhis hands, for old Ramon, who was a sort of recognized hanger-on of theplace, earning his living there by odd jobs of fetching and carrying, and anything else he could do. 

"Run, Ramon, " she said, "and bring me more wood; this cotton wood is sodry, it burns out like rotten punk; I'm off my feet to-night, with allthese men to cook for;" then turning to the table, she began cuttingher bread, and did not see how tall and unlike Ramon was the man whosilently rose and went out to do her bidding. When, a few moments later, Alessandro re-entered, bringing a huge armful of wood, which it wouldhave cost poor old Ramon three journeys at least to bring, and throwingit down, on the hearth, said, "Will that be enough, Mrs. Hartsel?"she gave a scream of surprise, and dropped her knife. "Why, who--" shebegan; then, seeing his face, her own lighting up with pleasure, shecontinued, "Alessandro! Is it you? Why, I took you in the dark for oldRamon! I thought you were in Pachanga. "

"In Pachanga!" Then as yet no one had come from the Senora Moreno's toHartsel's in search of him and the Senorita Ramona! Alessandro's heartfelt almost light in his bosom, From the one immediate danger he haddreaded, they were safe; but no trace of emotion showed on his face, andhe did not raise his eyes as he replied; "I have been in Pachanga. Myfather is dead. I have buried him there. "

"Oh, Alessandro! Did he die?" cried the kindly woman, coming closer toAlessandro, and laying her hand on his shoulder. "I heard he was sick. "She paused; she did not know what to say. She had suffered so at thetime of the ejectment of the Indians, that it had made her ill. For twodays she had kept her doors shut and her windows close curtained, thatshe need not see the terrible sights. She was not a woman of many words. She was a Mexican, but there were those who said that some Indian bloodran in her veins. This was not improbable; and it seemed more than everprobable now, as she stood still by Alessandro's side, her hand on hisshoulder, her eyes fixed in distress on his face. How he had altered!How well she recollected his lithe figure, his alert motion, his superbbearing, his handsome face, when she last saw him in the spring!

"You were away all summer, Alessandro?" she said at last, turning backto her work. 

"Yes, " he said: "at the Senora Moreno's. "

"So I heard, " she said. "That is a fine great place, is it not? Is herson grown a fine man? He was a lad when I saw him. He went through herewith a drove of sheep once. "

"Ay, he is a man now, " said Alessandro, and buried his face in his handsagain. 

"Poor fellow! I don't wonder he does not want to speak, " thought Mrs. Hartsel. "I'll just let him alone;" and she spoke no more for somemoments. 

Alessandro sat still by the fire. A strange apathy seemed to have seizedhim; at last he said wearily: "I must be going now. I wanted to see Mr. Hartsel a minute, but he seems to be busy in the store. "

"Yes, " she said, "a lot of San Francisco men; they belong to the companythat's coming in here in the valley; they've been here two days. Oh, Alessandro, " she continued, bethinking herself, "Jim's got your violinhere; Jose brought it. "

"Yes, I know it, " answered Alessandro. "Jose told me; and that was onething I stopped for. "

"I'll run and get it, " she exclaimed. 

"No, " said Alessandro, in a slow, husky voice. "I do not want it. Ithought Mr. Hartsel might buy it. I want some money. It was not mine; itwas my father's. It is a great deal better than mine. My father said itwould bring a great deal of money. It is very old. "

"Indeed it is, " she replied; "one of those men in there was looking atit last night. He was astonished at it, and he would not believe Jimwhen he told him about its having come from the Mission. "

"Does he play? Will he buy it?" cried Alessandro. 

"I don't know; I'll call Jim, " she said; and running out she looked inat the other door, saying, "Jim! Jim!"

Alas, Jim was in no condition to reply. At her first glance in his face, her countenance hardened into an expression of disgust and defiance. Returning to the kitchen, she said scornfully, disdaining all disguises, "Jim's drunk. No use your talking to him to-night. Wait till morning. "

"Till morning!" A groan escaped from Alessandro, in spite of himself. "Ican't!" he cried. "I must go on to-night. "

"Why, what for?" exclaimed Mrs. Hartsel, much astonished. For one briefsecond Alessandro revolved in his mind the idea of confiding everythingto her; only for a second, however. No; the fewer knew his secret andRamona's, the better. 

"I must be in San Diego to-morrow, " he said. 

"Got work there?" she said. 

"Yes; that is, in San Pasquale, " he said; "and I ought to have beenthere three days ago. "

Mrs. Hartsel mused. "Jim can't do anything to-night, " she said; "that'scertain. You might see the man yourself, and ask him if he'd buy it. "

Alessandro shook his head. An invincible repugnance withheld him. He could not face one of these Americans who were "coming in" to hisvalley. Mrs. Hartsel understood. 

"I'll tell you, Alessandro, " said the kindly woman, "I'll give you whatmoney you need to-night, and then, if you say so, Jim'll sell the violinto-morrow, if the man wants it, and you can pay me back out of that, andwhen you're along this way again you can have the rest. Jim'll make asgood a trade for you's he can. He's a real good friend to all of you, Alessandro, when he's himself. "

"I know it, Mrs. Hartsel. I'd trust Mr. Hartsel more than any other manin this country, " said Alessandro. "He's about the only white man I dotrust!"

Mrs. Hartsel was fumbling in a deep pocket in her under-petticoat. Gold-piece after gold-piece she drew out. "Humph! Got more'n I thoughtI had, " she said. "I've kept all that's been paid in here to-day, for Iknew Jim'd be drunk before night. "

Alessandro's eyes fastened on the gold. How he longed for an abundanceof those little shining pieces for his Majella! He sighed as Mrs. Hartsel counted them out on the table, --one, two, three, four, brightfive-dollar pieces. 

"That is as much as I dare take, " said Alessandro, when she put downthe fourth. "Will you trust me for so much?" he added sadly. "You know Ihave nothing left now. Mrs. Hartsel, I am only a beggar, till I get somework to do. "

The tears came into Mrs. Hartsel's eyes. "It's a shame!" she said, --"ashame, Alessandro! Jim and I haven't thought of anything else, since ithappened. Jim says they'll never prosper, never. Trust you? Yes, indeed. Jim and I'd trust you, or your father, the last day of our lives. "

"I'm glad he is dead, " said Alessandro, as he knotted the gold intohis handkerchief and put it into his bosom. "But he was murdered, Mrs. Hartsel, --murdered, just as much as if they had fired a bullet intohim. "

"That's true. " she exclaimed vehemently. "I say so too; and so was Jose. That's just what I said at the time, --that bullets would not be half soinhuman!"

The words had hardly left her lips, when the door from the dining-roomburst open, and a dozen men, headed by the drunken Jim, came stumbling, laughing, reeling into the kitchen. 

"Where's supper! Give us our supper! What are you about with your Indianhere? I'll teach you how to cook ham!" stammered Jim, making a lurchtowards the stove. The men behind caught him and saved him. Eyeing thegroup with scorn, Mrs. Hartsel, who had not a cowardly nerve in herbody, said: "Gentlemen, if you will take your seats at the table, I willbring in your supper immediately. It is all ready. "

One or two of the soberer ones, shamed by her tone, led the rest backinto the dining-room, where, seating themselves, they began to pound thetable and swing the chairs, swearing, and singing ribald songs. 

"Get off as quick as you can, Alessandro, " whispered Mrs. Hartsel, asshe passed by him, standing like a statue, his eyes, full of hatred andcontempt, fixed on the tipsy group. "You'd better go. There's no knowingwhat they'll do next. "

"Are you not afraid?" he said in a low tone. 

"No!" she said. "I'm used to it. I can always manage Jim. And Ramon'sround somewhere, --he and the bull-pups; if worse comes to worse, I cancall the dogs. These San Francisco fellows are always the worst to getdrunk. But you'd better get out of the way!"

"And these are the men that have stolen our lands, and killed my father, and Jose, and Carmena's baby!" thought Alessandro, as he ran swiftlyback towards the graveyard. "And Father Salvierderra says, God is good. It must be the saints no longer pray to Him for us!"

But Alessandro's heart was too full of other thoughts, now, to dwelllong on past wrongs, however bitter. The present called him tooloudly. Putting his hand in his bosom, and feeling the soft, knottedhandkerchief, he thought: "Twenty dollars! It is not much! But it willbuy food for many days for my Majella and for Baba!"

XVIII

EXCEPT for the reassuring help of Carmena's presence by her side, Ramonawould never have had courage to remain during this long hour in thegraveyard. As it was, she twice resolved to bear the suspense no longer, and made a movement to go. The chance of Alessandro's encountering atHartsel's the men sent in pursuit of him and of Baba, loomed in herthoughts into a more and more frightful danger each moment she reflectedupon it. It was a most unfortunate suggestion for Alessandro to havemade. Her excited fancy went on and on, picturing the possible sceneswhich might be going on almost within stone's-throw of where she wassitting, helpless, in the midnight darkness, --Alessandro seized, tied, treated as a thief, and she, Ramona, not there to vindicate him, toterrify the men into letting him go. She could not bear it; she wouldride boldly to Hartsel's door. But when she made a motion as if shewould go, and said in the soft Spanish, of which Carmena knew no word, but which yet somehow conveyed Ramona's meaning, "I must go! It is toolong! I cannot wait here!" Carmena had clasped her hand tighter, andsaid in the San Luiseno tongue, of which Ramona knew no word, but whichyet somehow conveyed Carmena's meaning, "O beloved lady, you must notgo! Waiting is the only safe thing. Alessandro said, to wait here. Hewill come. " The word "Alessandro" was plain. Yes, Alessandro had said, wait; Carmena was right. She would obey, but it was a fearful ordeal. Itwas strange how Ramona, who felt herself preternaturally brave, afraidof nothing, so long as Alessandro was by her side, became timorous andwretched the instant he was lost to her sight. When she first heard hissteps coming, she quivered with terror lest they might not be his. Thenext second she knew; and with a glad cry, "Alessandro! Alessandro!" shebounded to him, dropping Baba's reins. 

Sighing gently, Carmena picked up the reins, and stood still, holdingthe horse, while the lovers clasped each other with breathless words. "How she loves Alessandro!" thought the widowed Carmena. "Will theyleave him alive to stay with her? It is better not to love!" But therewas no bitter envy in her mind for the two who were thus blest while shewent desolate. All of Pablo's people had great affection for Alessandro. They had looked forward to his being over them in his father's place. They knew his goodness, and were proud of his superiority to themselves. 

"Majella, you tremble, " said Alessandro, as he threw his arms aroundher. "You have feared! Yet you were not alone. " He glanced at Carmena'smotionless figure, standing by Baba. 

"No, not alone, dear Alessandro, but it was so long!" replied Ramona;"and I feared the men had taken you, as you feared. Was there any onethere?"

"No! No one has heard anything. All was well. They thought I had justcome from Pachanga, " he answered. 

"Except for Carmena, I should have ridden after you half an hour ago, "continued Ramona. "But she told me to wait. "

"She told you!" repeated Alessandro. "How did you understand herspeech?"

"I do not know. Was it not a strange thing?" replied Ramona. "She spokein your tongue, but I thought I understood her, Ask her if she did notsay that I must not go; that it was safer to wait; that you had so said, and you would soon come. "

Alessandro repeated the words to Carmena. "Did you say that?" he asked. 

"Yes, " answered Carmena. 

"You see, then, she has understood the Luiseno words, " he saiddelightedly. "She is one of us. "

"Yes, " said Carmena, gravely, "she is one of us. " Then, taking Ramona'shand in both of her own for farewell, she repeated, in a tone as of direprophecy, "One of us, Alessandro! one of us!" And as she gazed aftertheir retreating forms, almost immediately swallowed and lost in thedarkness, she repeated the words again to herself, --"One of us! one ofus! Sorrow came to me; she rides to meet it!" and she crept back to herhusband's grave, and threw herself down, to watch till the dawn. 

The road which Alessandro would naturally have taken would carry themdirectly by Hartsel's again. But, wishing to avoid all risk of meetingor being seen by any of the men on the place, he struck well out tothe north, to make a wide circuit around it. This brought them pastthe place where Antonio's house had stood. Here Alessandro halted, andputting his hand on Baba's rein, walked the horses close to the pile ofruined walls. "This was Antonio's house, Majella, " he whispered. "I wishevery house in the valley had been pulled down like this. Old Juana wasright. The Americans are living in my father's house, Majella, " he wenton, his whisper growing thick with rage. "That was what kept me so long. I was looking in at the window at them eating their supper. I thought Ishould go mad, Majella. If I had had my gun, I should have shot them alldead!"

An almost inarticulate gasp was Ramona's first reply to this. "Living inyour house!" she said. "You saw them?"

"Yes, " he said; "the man, and his wife, and two little children; and theman came out, with his gun, on the doorstep, and fired it. They thoughtthey heard something moving, and it might be an Indian; so he fired. That was what kept me so long. "

Just at this moment Baba tripped over some small object on the ground. A few steps farther, and he tripped again. "There is something caughtround his foot, Alessandro, " said Ramona. "It keeps moving. "

Alessandro jumped off his horse, and kneeling down, exclaimed, "It's astake, --and the lariat fastened to it. Holy Virgin! what--" The rest ofhis ejaculation was inaudible. The next Ramona knew, he had run swiftlyon, a rod or two. Baba had followed, and Capitan and the pony; and therestood a splendid black horse, as big as Baba, and Alessandro talkingunder his breath to him, and clapping both his hands over the horse'snose, to stop him, as often as he began whinnying; and it seemed hardlya second more before he had his saddle off the poor little Indian pony, and striking it sharply on its sides had turned it free, had saddledthe black horse, and leaping on his back, said, with almost a sob in hisvoice: "My Majella, it is Benito, my own Benito. Now the saints indeedhave helped us! Oh, the ass, the idiot, to stake out Benito with such astake as that! A jack rabbit had pulled it up. Now, my Majella, we willgallop! Faster! faster! I will not breathe easy till we are out of thiscursed valley. When we are once in the Santa Margarita Canon, I know atrail they will never find!"

Like the wind galloped Benito, --Alessandro half lying on his back, stroking his forehead, whispering to him, the horse snorting with joy:which were gladder of the two, horse or man, could not be said. Andneck by neck with Benito came Baba. How the ground flew away under theirfeet! This was companionship, indeed, worthy of Baba's best powers. Not in all the California herds could be found two superber horsesthan Benito and Baba. A wild, almost reckless joy took possession ofAlessandro. Ramona was half terrified as she heard him still talking, talking to Benito. For an hour they did not draw rein. Both Benitoand Alessandro knew every inch of the ground. Then, just as they haddescended into the deepest part of the canon, Alessandro suddenly reinedsharply to the left, and began climbing the precipitous wall. "Can youfollow, dearest Majella?" he cried. 

"Do you suppose Benito can do anything that Baba cannot?" she retorted, pressing on closely. 

But Baba did not like it. Except for the stimulus of Benito ahead, hewould have given Ramona trouble. 

"There is only a little, rough like this, dear, " called Alessandro, ashe leaped a fallen tree, and halted to see how Baba took it. "Good!" hecried, as Baba jumped it like a deer. "Good! Majella! We have got thetwo best horses in the country. You'll see they are alike, when daylightcomes. I have often wondered they were so much alike. They would gotogether splendidly. "

After a few rods of this steep climbing they came out on the top ofthe canon's south wall, in a dense oak forest comparatively free fromunderbrush. "Now, " said Alessandro, "I can go from here to San Diego bypaths that no white man knows. We will be near there before daylight. "

Already the keen salt air of the ocean smote their faces. Ramona drankit in with delight. "I taste salt in the air, Alessandro, " she cried. 

"Yes, it is the sea, " he said. "This canon leads straight to the sea. Iwish we could go by the shore, Majella. It is beautiful there. When itis still, the waves come as gently to the land as if they were in play;and you can ride along with your horse's feet in the water, and thegreen cliffs almost over your head; and the air off the water is likewine in one's head. "

"Cannot we go there?" she said longingly. "Would it not be safe?"

"I dare not, " he answered regretfully. "Not now, Majella; for on theshore-way, at all times, there are people going and coming. "

"Some other time, Alessandro, we can come, after we are married, andthere is no danger?" she asked. 

"Yes, Majella, " he replied; but as he spoke the words, he thought, "Willa time ever come when there will be no danger?"

The shore of the Pacific Ocean for many miles north of San Diego is asuccession of rounding promontories, walling the mouths of canons, downmany of which small streams make to the sea. These canons are green andrich at bottom, and filled with trees, chiefly oak. Beginning as littlemore than rifts in the ground, they deepen and widen, till at theirmouths they have a beautiful crescent of shining beach from an eighth toa quarter of a mile long, The one which Alessandro hoped to reachbefore morning was not a dozen miles from the old town of San Diego, andcommanded a fine view of the outer harbor. When he was last in it, hehad found it a nearly impenetrable thicket of young oak-trees. Here, hebelieved, they could hide safely all day, and after nightfall ride intoSan Diego, be married at the priest's house, and push on to San Pasqualethat same night. "All day, in that canon, Majella can look at the sea, "he thought; "but I will not tell her now, for it may be the trees havebeen cut down, and we cannot be so close to the shore. "

It was near sunrise when they reached the place. The trees had not beencut down. Their tops, seen from above, looked like a solid bed of mossfilling in the canon bottom. The sky and the sea were both red. AsRamona looked down into this soft green pathway, it seemed, leading outto the wide and sparkling sea, she thought Alessandro had brought herinto a fairy-land. 

"What a beautiful world!" she cried; and riding up so close to Benitothat she could lay her hand on Alessandro's, she said solemnly: "Do younot think we ought to be very happy, Alessandro, in such a beautifulworld as this? Do you think we might sing our sunrise hymn here?"

Alessandro glanced around. They were alone on the breezy open; it wasnot yet full dawn; great masses of crimson vapor were floating upwardfrom the hills behind San Diego. The light was still burning in thelight-house on the promontory walling the inner harbor, but in a fewmoments more it would be day. "No, Majella, not here. " he said. "We mustnot stay. As soon as the sun rises, a man or a horse may be seen on thisupper coast-line as far as eye can reach. We must be among the treeswith all the speed we can make. "

It was like a house with a high, thick roof of oak tree-tops, theshelter they found. No sun penetrated it; a tiny trickle of water stillremained, and some grass along its rims was still green, spite of thelong drought, --a scanty meal for Baba and Benito, but they ate it withrelish in each other's company. 

"They like each other, those two, " said Ramona, laughing, as she watchedthem. "They will be friends. "

"Ay, " said Alessandro, also smiling. "Horses are friends, like men, andcan hate each other, like men, too. Benito would never see Antonio'smare, the little yellow one, that he did not let fly his heels at her;and she was as afraid, at sight of him, as a cat is at a dog. Many atime I have laughed to see it. "

"Know you the priest at San Diego?" asked Ramona. 

"Not well, " replied Alessandro. "He came seldom to Temecula when I wasthere; but he is a friend of Indians. I know he came with the men fromSan Diego at the time when there was fighting, and the whites were ingreat terror; and they said, except for Father Gaspara's words, therewould not have been a white man left alive in Pala. My father had sentall his people away before that fight began. He knew it was coming, buthe would have nothing to do with it. He said the Indians were all crazy. It was no use. They would only be killed themselves. That is the worstthing, my Majella. The stupid Indians fight and kill, and then what canwe do? The white men think we are all the same. Father Gaspara has neverbeen to Pala, I heard, since that time. There goes there now theSan Juan Capistrano priest. He is a bad man. He takes money from thestarving poor. "

"A priest!" ejaculated Ramona, horror-stricken. 

"Ay! a priest!" replied Alessandro. "They are not all good, --not likeFather Salvierderra. "

"Oh, if we could but have gone to Father Salvierderra!" exclaimedRamona, involuntarily. 

Alessandro looked distressed. "It would have been much more danger, Majella, " he said, "and I had no knowledge of work I could do there. "

His look made Ramona remorseful at once. How cruel to lay onefeather-weight of additional burden on this loving man. "Oh, this ismuch better, really, " she said. "I did not mean what I said. It is onlybecause I have always loved Father Salvierderra so. And the Senora willtell him what is not true. Could we not send him a letter, Alessandro?"

"There is a Santa Inez Indian I know, " replied Alessandro, "who comesdown with nets to sell, sometimes, to Temecula. I know not if he goesto San Diego. If I could get speech with him, he would go up from SantaInez to Santa Barbara for me, I am sure; for once he lay in my father'shouse, sick for many weeks, and I nursed him, and since then he isalways begging me to take a net from him, whenever he comes. It is nottwo days from Santa Inez to Santa Barbara. "

"I wish it were the olden time now, Alessandro, " sighed Ramona, "whenthe men like Father Salvierderra had all the country. Then there wouldbe work for all, at the Missions. The Senora says the Missions were likepalaces, and that there were thousands of Indians in every one of them;thousands and thousands, all working so happy and peaceful. "

"The Senora does not know all that happened at the Missions, " repliedAlessandro. "My father says that at some of them were dreadful things, when bad men had power. Never any such things at San Luis Rey. FatherPeyri was like a father to all his Indians. My father says that theywould all of them lie down in a fire for him, if he had commanded it. And when he went away, to leave the country, when his heart was broken, and the Mission all ruined, he had to fly by night, Majella, just as youand I have done; for if the Indians had known it, they would have risenup to keep him. There was a ship here in San Diego harbor, to sail forMexico, and the Father made up his mind to go in it; and it was overthis same road we have come, my Majella, that he rode, and by night; andmy father was the only one he trusted to know it. My father came withhim; they took the swiftest horses, and they rode all night, and myfather carried in front of him, on the horse, a box of the sacred thingsof the altar, very heavy. And many a time my father has told me thestory, how they got to San Diego at daybreak, and the Father was rowedout to the ship in a little boat; and not much more than on board washe, my father standing like one dead on the shore, watching, he lovedhim so, when, lo! he heard a great crying, and shouting, and tramplingof horses' feet, and there came galloping down to the water's edge threehundred of the Indians from San Luis Rey, who had found out that theFather had gone to San Diego to take ship, and they had ridden all nighton his track, to fetch him back. And when my father pointed to the ship, and told them he was already on board, they set up a cry fit to bringthe very sky down; and some of them flung themselves into the sea, andswam out to the ship, and cried and begged to be taken on board and gowith him. And Father Peyri stood on the deck, blessing them, andsaying farewell, with the tears running on his face; and one of theIndians--how they never knew--made shift to climb up on the chainsand ropes, and got into the ship itself; and they let him stay, andhe sailed away with the Father. And my father said he was all his lifesorry that he himself had not thought to do the same thing; but hewas like one dumb and deaf and with no head, he was so unhappy at theFather's going. "

"Was it here, in this very harbor?" asked Ramona, in breathlessinterest, pointing out towards the blue water of which they could see abroad belt framed by their leafy foreground arch of oak tops. 

"Ay, just there he sailed, --as that ship goes now, " he exclaimed, as awhite-sailed schooner sailed swiftly by, going out to sea. "But the shiplay at first inside the bar; you cannot see the inside harbor from here. It is the most beautiful water I have ever seen, Majella. The two highlands come out like two arms to hold it and keep it safe, as if theyloved it. "

"But, Alessandro, " continued Ramona, "were there really bad men at theother Missions? Surely not the Franciscan Fathers?"

"Perhaps not the Fathers themselves, but the men under them. It wastoo much power, Majella. When my father has told me how it was, it hasseemed to me I should not have liked to be as he was. It is not rightthat one man should have so much power. There was one at the San GabrielMission; he was an Indian. He had been set over the rest; and when awhole band of them ran away one time, and went back into the mountains, he went after them; and he brought back a piece of each man's ear; thepieces were strung on a string; and he laughed, and said that was toknow them by again, --by their clipped ears. An old woman, a Gabrieleno, who came over to Temecula, told me she saw that. She lived at theMission herself. The Indians did not all want to come to the Missions;some of them preferred to stay in the woods, and live as they alwayshad lived; and I think they had a right to do that if they preferred, Majella. It was stupid of them to stay and be like beasts, and not knowanything; but do you not think they had the right?"

"It is the command to preach the gospel to every creature, " replied thepious Ramona. "That is what Father Salvierderra said was the reasonthe Franciscans came here. I think they ought to have made the Indianslisten. But that was dreadful about the ears, Alessandro. Do you believeit?"

"The old woman laughed when she told it, " he answered. "She said it wasa joke; so I think it was true. I know I would have killed the man whotried to crop my ears that way. "

"Did you ever tell that to Father Salvierderra?" asked Ramona. 

"No, Majella. It would not be polite, " said Alessandro. 

"Well, I don't believe it, " replied Ramona, in a relieved tone. "I don'tbelieve any Franciscan ever could have permitted such things. "

The great red light in the light-house tower had again blazed out, and had been some time burning before Alessandro thought it prudent toresume their journey. The road on which they must go into old San Diego, where Father Gaspara lived, was the public road from San Diego to SanLuis Rey, and they were almost sure to meet travellers on it. 

But their fleet horses bore them so well, that it was not late when theyreached the town. Father Gaspara's house was at the end of a long, lowadobe building, which had served no mean purpose in the old Presidiodays, but was now fallen into decay; and all its rooms except thoseoccupied by the Father, had been long uninhabited. On the oppositeside of the way, in a neglected, weedy open, stood his chapel, --apoverty-stricken little place, its walls imperfectly whitewashed, decorated by a few coarse pictures and by broken sconces oflooking-glass, rescued in their dilapidated condition from theMission buildings, now gone utterly to ruin. In these had been puthandle-holders of common tin, in which a few cheap candles dimly lightedthe room. Everything about it was in unison with the atmosphere of theplace, --the most profoundly melancholy in all Southern California. Herewas the spot where that grand old Franciscan, Padre Junipero Serra, began his work, full of the devout and ardent purpose to reclaim thewilderness and its peoples to his country and his Church; on this verybeach he went up and down for those first terrible weeks, nursingthe sick, praying with the dying, and burying the dead, from thepestilence-stricken Mexican ships lying in the harbor. Here he baptizedhis first Indian converts, and founded his first Mission. And the onlytraces now remaining of his heroic labors and hard-won successes were apile of crumbling ruins, a few old olive-trees and palms; in less thananother century even these would be gone; returned into the keeping ofthat mother, the earth, who puts no head-stones at the sacredest of hergraves. 

Father Gaspara had been for many years at San Diego. Although not aFranciscan, having, indeed, no especial love for the order, he had beenfrom the first deeply impressed by the holy associations of the place. He had a nature at once fiery and poetic; there were but three things hecould have been, --a soldier, a poet, or a priest. Circumstances had madehim a priest; and the fire and the poetry which would have wielded thesword or kindled the verse, had he found himself set either to fight orto sing, had all gathered into added force in his priestly vocation. The look of a soldier he had never quite lost, --neither the look nor thetread; and his flashing dark eyes, heavy black hair and beard, andquick elastic step, seemed sometimes strangely out of harmony with hispriest's gown. And it was the sensitive soul of the poet in him whichhad made him withdraw within himself more and more, year after year, ashe found himself comparatively powerless to do anything for the hundredsof Indians that he would fain have seen gathered once more, as of old, into the keeping of the Church. He had made frequent visits to them intheir shifting refuges, following up family after family, band afterband, that he knew; he had written bootless letter after letter to theGovernment officials of one sort and another, at Washington. He had madeequally bootless efforts to win some justice, some protection for them, from officials nearer home; he had endeavored to stir the Church itselfto greater efficiency in their behalf. Finally, weary, disheartened, and indignant with that intense, suppressed indignation which the poetictemperament alone can feel, he had ceased, --had said, "It is of no use;I will speak no word; I am done; I can bear no more!" and settling downinto the routine of his parochial duties to the little Mexican and Irishcongregation of his charge in San Diego, he had abandoned all effort todo more for the Indians than visit their chief settlements once or twicea year, to administer the sacraments. When fresh outrages were broughtto his notice, he paced his room, plucked fiercely at his black beard, with ejaculations, it is to be feared, savoring more of the camp thanthe altar; but he made no effort to do anything. Lighting his pipe, hewould sit down on the old bench in his tile-paved veranda, and smokeby the hour, gazing out on the placid water of the deserted harbor, brooding, ever brooding, over the wrongs he could not redress. 

A few paces off from his door stood the just begun walls of a finebrick church, which it had been the dream and pride of his heart tosee builded, and full of worshippers. This, too, had failed. With SanDiego's repeatedly vanishing hopes and dreams of prosperity had gonethis hope and dream of Father Gaspara's. It looked, now, as if itwould be indeed a waste of money to build a costly church on this site. Sentiment, however sacred and loving towards the dead, must yield tothe demands of the living. To build a church on the ground where FatherJunipero first trod and labored, would be a work to which no Catholiccould be indifferent; but there were other and more pressing claims tobe met first. This was right. Yet the sight of these silent walls, onlya few feet high, was a sore one to Father Gaspara, --a daily cross, whichhe did not find grow lighter as he paced up and down his veranda, yearin and year out, in the balmy winter and cool summer of that magicclimate. 

"Majella, the chapel is lighted; but that is good!" exclaimedAlessandro, as they rode into the silent plaza. "Father Gaspara mustbe there;" and jumping off his horse, he peered in at the uncurtainedwindow. "A marriage, Majella, --a marriage!" he cried, hastily returning. "This, too, is good fortune. We need not to wait long. "

When the sacristan whispered to Father Gaspara that an Indian couple hadjust come in, wishing to be married, the Father frowned. His supper waswaiting; he had been out all day, over at the old Mission olive-orchard, where he had not found things to his mind; the Indian man and wife whomhe hired to take care of the few acres the Church yet owned there hadbeen neglecting the Church lands and trees, to look after their own. TheFather was vexed, tired, and hungry, and the expression with which heregarded Alessandro and Ramona, as they came towards him, was one of theleast prepossessing of which his dark face was capable. Ramona, who hadnever knelt to any priest save the gentle Father Salvierderra, and whohad supposed that all priests must look, at least, friendly, was shockedat the sight of the impatient visage confronting her. But, as his firstglance fell on Ramona, Father Gaspara's expression changed. 

"What is all this!" he thought; and as quick as he thought it, heexclaimed, in a severe tone, looking at Ramona, "Woman, are you anIndian?"

"Yes, Father, " answered Ramona, gently. "My mother was an Indian. "

"Ah! half-breed!" thought Father Gaspara. "It is strange how sometimesone of the types will conquer, and sometimes another! But this is nocommon creature;" and it was with a look of new interest and sympathyon his face that he proceeded with the ceremony, --the other couple, amiddle-aged Irishman, with his more than middle-aged bride, standingquietly by, and looking on with a vague sort of wonder in their ugly, impassive faces, as if it struck them oddly that Indians should marry. 

The book of the marriage-records was kept in Father Gaspara's own rooms, locked up and hidden even from his old housekeeper. He had had bitterreason to take this precaution. It had been for more than one man'sinterest to cut leaves out of this old record, which dated back to 1769, and had many pages written full in the hand of Father Junipero himself. 

As they came out of the chapel, Father Gaspara leading the way, theIrish couple shambling along shamefacedly apart from each other, Alessandro, still holding Ramona's hand in his, said, "Will you ride, dear? It is but a step. "

"No, thanks, dear Alessandro, I would rather walk, " she replied; andAlessandro slipping the bridles of the two horses over his left arm, they walked on. Father Gaspara heard the question and answer, and wasstill more puzzled. 

"He speaks as a gentleman speaks to a lady, " he mused. "What does itmean? Who are they?"

Father Gaspara was a well-born man, and in his home in Spain had beenused to associations far superior to any which he had known in hisCalifornian life, A gentle courtesy of tone and speech, such as thatwith which Alessandro had addressed Ramona, was not often heard inhis parish. When they entered his house, he again regarded them bothattentively. Ramona wore on her head the usual black shawl of theMexican women. There was nothing distinctive, to the Father's eye, inher figure or face. In the dim light of the one candle, --Father Gasparaallowed himself no luxuries, --the exquisite coloring of her skin and thedeep blue of her eyes were not to be seen. Alessandro's tall figureand dignified bearing were not uncommon. The Father had seen many asfine-looking Indian men. But his voice was remarkable, and he spokebetter Spanish than was wont to be heard from Indians. 

"Where are you from?" said the Father, as he held his pen poised inhand, ready to write their names in the old raw-hide-bound book. 

"Temecula, Father, " replied Alessandro. 

Father Gaspara dropped his pen. "The village the Americans drove out theother day?" he cried. 

"Yes, Father. "

Father Gaspara sprang from his chair, took refuge from his excitement, as usual, in pacing the floor. "Go! go! I'm done with you! It's allover, " he said fiercely to the Irish bride and groom, who had given himtheir names and their fee, but were still hanging about irresolute, notknowing if all were ended or not. "A burning shame! The most dastardlything I have seen yet in this land forsaken of God!" cried the Father. "I saw the particulars of it in the San Diego paper yesterday. " Then, coming to a halt in front of Alessandro, he exclaimed: "The paper saidthat the Indians were compelled to pay all the costs of the suit; thatthe sheriff took their cattle to do it. Was that true?"

"Yes, Father, " replied Alessandro. 

The Father strode up and down again, plucking at his beard. "What areyou going to do?" he said. "Where have you all gone? There were twohundred in your village the last time I was there. "

"Some have gone over into Pachanga, " replied Alessandro, "some to SanPasquale, and the rest to San Bernardino. "

"Body of Jesus! man! But you take it with philosophy!" stormed FatherGaspara. 

Alessandro did not understand the word "philosophy, " but he knew whatthe Father meant. "Yes, Father, " he said doggedly. "It is now twenty-onedays ago. I was not so at first. There is nothing to be done. "

Ramona held tight to Alessandro's hand. She was afraid of this fierce, black-bearded priest, who dashed back and forth, pouring out angryinvectives. 

"The United States Government will suffer for it!" he continued. "It isa Government of thieves and robbers! God will punish them. You will see;they will be visited with a curse, --a curse in their borders; their sonsand their daughters shall be desolate! But why do I prate in these vainwords? My son, tell me your names again;" and he seated himself oncemore at the table where the ancient marriage-record lay open. 

After writing Alessandro's name, he turned to Ramona. "And the woman's?"he said. 

Alessandro looked at Ramona. In the chapel he had said simply, "Majella. " What name should he give more?

Without a second's hesitation, Ramona answered, "Majella. Majella Phailis my name. "

She pronounced the word "Phail, " slowly. It was new to her. She hadnever seen it written; as it lingered on her lips, the Father, towhom also it was a new word, misunderstood it, took it to be in twosyllables, and so wrote it. 

The last step was taken in the disappearance of Ramona. How should anyone, searching in after years, find any trace of Ramona Ortegna, in thewoman married under the name of "Majella Fayeel"?

"No, no! Put up your money, son, " said Father Gaspara, as Alessandrobegan to undo the knots of the handkerchief in which his gold was tied. "Put up your money. I'll take no money from a Temecula Indian. I wouldthe Church had money to give you. Where are you going now?"

"To San Pasquale, Father. "

"Ah! San Pasquale! The head man there has the old pueblo paper, " saidFather Gaspara. "He was showing it to me the other day. That will, itmay be, save you there. But do not trust to it, son. Buy yourself apiece of land as the white man buys his. Trust to nothing. "

Alessandro looked anxiously in the Father's face. "How is that, Father?"he said. "I do not know. "

"Well, their rules be thick as the crabs here on the beach, " repliedFather Gaspara; "and, faith, they appear to me to be backwards of motionalso, like the crabs: but the lawyers understand. When you have pickedout your land, and have the money, come to me, and I will go with youand see that you are not cheated in the buying, so far as I can tell;but I myself am at my wit's ends with their devices. Farewell, son!Farewell, daughter!" he said, rising from his chair. Hunger was againgetting the better of sympathy in Father Gaspara, and as he sat downto his long-deferred supper, the Indian couple faded from his mind; butafter supper was over, as he sat smoking his pipe on the veranda, theyreturned again, and lingered in his thoughts, --lingered strangely, itseemed to him; he could not shake off the impression that there wassomething unusual about the woman. "I shall hear of them again, someday, " he thought. And he thought rightly. 

XIX

AFTER leaving Father Gaspara's door, Alessandro and Ramona rode slowlythrough the now deserted plaza, and turned northward, on the river road, leaving the old Presidio walls on their right. The river was low, andthey forded it without difficulty. 

"I have seen this river so high that there was no fording it for manydays, " said Alessandro; "but that was in spring. "

"Then it is well we came not at that time, " said Ramona, "All the timeshave fallen out well for us, Alessandro, --the dark nights, and thestreams low; but look! as I say it, there comes the moon!" and shepointed to the fine threadlike arc of the new moon, just visible in thesky. "Not big enough to do us any harm, however, " she added. "But, dearAlessandro, do you not think we are safe now?"

"I know not, Majella, if ever we may be safe; but I hope so. I have beenall day thinking I had gone foolish last night, when I told Mrs. Hartselthat I was on my way to San Pasquale. But if men should come thereasking for us, she would understand, I think, and keep a still tongue. She would keep harm from us if she could. "

Their way from San Diego to San Pasquale lay at first along a high mesa, or table-land, covered with low shrub growths; after some ten or twelvemiles of this, they descended among winding ridges, into a narrowvalley, --the Poway valley. It was here that the Mexicans made one oftheir few abortive efforts to repel the American forces. 

"Here were some Americans killed, in a fight with the Mexicans, Majella, " said Alessandro. "I myself have a dozen bullets which I pickedup in the ground about here. Many a time I have looked at them andthought if there should come another war against the Americans, Iwould fire them again, if I could. Does Senor Felipe think there isany likelihood that his people will rise against them any more? If theywould, they would have all the Indians to help them, now. It would be amercy if they might be driven out of the land, Majella. "

"Yes, " sighed Majella. "But there is no hope. I have heard the Senoraspeak of it with Felipe. There is no hope. They have power, and greatriches, she said. Money is all that they think of. To get money, theywill commit any crime, even murder. Every day there comes the news oftheir murdering each other for gold. Mexicans kill each other only forhate, Alessandro, --for hate, or in anger; never for gold. "

"Indians, also, " replied Alessandro. "Never one Indian killed another, yet, for money. It is for vengeance, always. For money! Bah! Majella, they are dogs!"

Rarely did Alessandro speak with such vehemence; but this last outrageon his people had kindled in his veins a fire of scorn and hatredwhich would never die out. Trust in an American was henceforth to himimpossible. The name was a synonym for fraud and cruelty. 

"They cannot all be so bad, I think, Alessandro, " said Ramona. "Theremust be some that are honest; do you not think so?"

"Where are they, then, " he cried fiercely, --"the ones who are good?Among my people there are always some that are bad; but they are indisgrace. My father punished them, the whole people punished them. Ifthere are Americans who are good, who will not cheat and kill, why dothey not send after these robbers and punish them? And how is it thatthey make laws which cheat? It was the American law which took Temeculaaway from us, and gave it to those men! The law was on the side of thethieves. No, Majella, it is a people that steals! That is their name, --apeople that steals, and that kills for money. Is not that a good namefor a great people to bear, when they are like the sands in the sea, they are so many?"

"That is what the Senora says, " answered Ramona. "She says they are allthieves; that she knows not, each day, but that on the next will comemore of them, with new laws, to take away more of her land. She had oncemore than twice what she has now, Alessandro. "

"Yes, " he replied; "I know it. My father has told me. He was with FatherPeyri at the place, when General Moreno was alive. Then all was his tothe sea, --all that land we rode over the second night, Majella. "

"Yes, " she said, "all to the sea! That is what the Senora is eversaying: 'To the sea!' Oh, the beautiful sea! Can we behold it from SanPasquale, Alessandro?"

"No, my Majella, it is too far. San Pasquale is in the valley; it hashills all around it like walls. But it is good. Majella will love it;and I will build a house, Majella. All the people will help me. That isthe way with our people. In two days it will be done. But it will be apoor place for my Majella, " he said sadly. Alessandro's heart was ill atease. Truly a strange bride's journey was this; but Ramona felt no fear. 

"No place can be so poor that I do not choose it, if you are there, rather than the most beautiful place in the world where you are not, Alessandro, " she said. 

"But my Majella loves things that are beautiful, " said Alessandro. "Shehas lived like a queen. "

"Oh, Alessandro, " merrily laughed Ramona, "how little you know ofthe way queens live! Nothing was fine at the Senora Moreno's, onlycomfortable; and any house you will build, I can make as comfortableas that was; it is nothing but trouble to have one so large as theSenora's. Margarita used to be tired to death, sweeping all thoserooms in which nobody lived except the blessed old San Luis Rey saints. Alessandro, if we could have had just one statue, either Saint Francisor the Madonna, to bring back to our house! That is what I would likebetter than all other things in the world. It is beautiful to sleep withthe Madonna close to your bed. She speaks often to you in dreams. "

Alessandro fixed serious, questioning eyes on Ramona as she utteredthese words. When she spoke like this, he felt indeed as if a being ofsome other sphere had come to dwell by his side. "I cannot find how tofeel towards the saints as you do, my Majella, " he said. "I am afraid ofthem. It must be because they love you, and do not love us. That is whatI believe, Majella. I believe they are displeased with us, and no longermake mention of us in heaven. That is what the Fathers taught that thesaints were ever doing, --praying to God for us, and to the Virgin andJesus. It is not possible, you see, that they could have been prayingfor us, and yet such things have happened, as happened in Temecula. I donot know how it is my people have displeased them. "

"I think Father Salvierderra would say that it is a sin to be afraid ofthe saints, Alessandro, " replied Ramona, earnestly. "He has often toldme that it was a sin to be unhappy; and that withheld me many times frombeing wretched because the Senora would not love me. And, Alessandro, "she went on, growing more and more fervent in tone, "even if nothing butmisfortune comes to people, that does not prove that the saints do notlove them; for when the saints were on earth themselves, look what theysuffered: martyrs they were, almost all of them. Look at what holySaint Catharine endured, and the blessed Saint Agnes. It is not by whathappens to us here in this world that we can tell if the saints love us, or if we will see the Blessed Virgin. "

"How can we tell, then?" he asked. 

"By what we feel in our hearts, Alessandro, " she replied; "just as Iknew all the time, when you did not come, --I knew that you loved me. I knew that in my heart; and I shall always know it, no matter whathappens. If you are dead, I shall know that you love me. And you, --youwill know that I love you, the same. "

"Yes, " said Alessandro, reflectively, "that is true. But, Majella, it isnot possible to have the same thoughts about a saint as about a personthat one has seen, and heard the voice, and touched the hand. "

"No, not quite, " said Ramona; "not quite, about a saint; but one canfor the Blessed Virgin, Alessandro! I am sure of that. Her statue, in myroom at the Senora's, has been always my mother. Ever since I was littleI have told her all I did. It was she helped me to plan what I shouldbring away with us. She reminded me of many things I had forgotten, except for her. "

"Did you hear her speak?" said Alessandro, awe-stricken. 

"Not exactly in words; but just the same as in words, " replied Ramona, confidently. "You see when you sleep in the room with her, it is verydifferent from what it is if you only see her in a chapel. Oh, I couldnever be very unhappy with her in my room!"

"I would almost go and steal it for you, Majella, " cried Alessandro, with sacrilegious warmth. 

"Holy Virgin!" cried Ramona, "never speak such a word. You would bestruck dead if you laid your hand on her! I fear even the thought was asin. "

"There was a small figure of her in the wall of our house, " saidAlessandro. "It was from San Luis Rey. I do not know what became ofit, --if it were left behind, or if they took it with my father's thingsto Pachanga. I did not see it there. When I go again, I will look. "

"Again!" cried Ramona. "What say you? You go again to Pachanga? You willnot leave me, Alessandro?"

At the bare mention of Alessandro's leaving her, Ramona's courage alwaysvanished. In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, she was transformedfrom the dauntless, confident, sunny woman, who bore him up as it wereon wings of hope and faith, to a timid, shrinking, despondent child, crying out in alarm, and clinging to the hand. 

"After a time, dear Majella, when you are wonted to the place, I mustgo, to fetch the wagon and the few things that were ours. There is theraw-hide bed which was Father Peyri's, and he gave to my father. Majellawill like to lie on that. My father believed it had great virtue. "

"Like that you made for Felipe?" she asked. 

"Yes; but it is not so large. In those days the cattle were not solarge as they are now: this is not so broad as Senor Felipe's. Thereare chairs, too, from the Mission, three of them, one almost as fineas those on your veranda at home. They were given to my father. Andmusic-books, --beautiful parchment books! Oh, I hope those are not lost, Majella! If Jose had lived, he would have looked after it all. But inthe confusion, all the things belonging to the village were thrown intowagons together, and no one knew where anything was. But all the peopleknew my father's chairs and the books of the music. If the Americans didnot steal them, everything will be safe. My people do not steal. There was never but one thief in our village, and my father had him sowhipped, he ran away and never came back. I heard he was living in SanJacinto, and was a thief yet, spite of all that whipping he had. I thinkif it is in the blood to be a thief, not even whipping will take it out, Majella. "

"Like the Americans, " she said, half laughing, but with tears in thevoice. "Whipping would not cure them. "

It wanted yet more than an hour of dawn when they reached the crest ofthe hill from which they looked down on the San Pasquale valley. Twosuch crests and valleys they had passed; this was the broadest of thethree valleys, and the hills walling it were softer and rounder ofcontour than any they had yet seen. To the east and northeast lay rangesof high mountains, their tops lost in the clouds. The whole sky wasovercast and gray. 

"If it were spring, this would mean rain, " said Alessandro; "but itcannot rain, I think, now. "

"No!" laughed Ramona, "not till we get our house done. Will it be ofadobe, Alessandro?"

"Dearest Majella, not yet! At first it must be of the tule. They arevery comfortable while it is warm, and before winter I will build one ofadobe. "

"Two houses! Wasteful Alessandro! If the tule house is good, I shall notlet you, Alessandro, build another. "

Ramona's mirthful moments bewildered Alessandro. To his slowertemperament and saddened nature they seemed preternatural; as if shewere all of a sudden changed into a bird, or some gay creature outsidethe pale of human life, --outside and above it. 

"You speak as the birds sing, my Majella, " he said slowly. "It was wellto name you Majel; only the wood-dove has not joy in her voice, as youhave. She says only that she loves and waits. "

"I say that, too, Alessandro!" replied Ramona, reaching out both herarms towards him. 

The horses were walking slowly, and very close side by side. Baba andBenito were now such friends they liked to pace closely side by side;and Baba and Benito were by no means without instinctive recognitions ofthe sympathy between their riders. Already Benito knew Ramona's voice, and answered it with pleasure; and Baba had long ago learned to stopwhen his mistress laid her hand on Alessandro's shoulder. He stoppednow, and it was long minutes before he had the signal to go on again. 

"Majella! Majella!" cried Alessandro, as, grasping both her hands inhis, he held them to his cheeks, to his neck, to his mouth, "if thesaints would ask Alessandro to be a martyr for Majella's sake, likethose she was telling of, then she would know if Alessandro loved her!But what can Alessandro do now? What, oh, what? Majella gives all;Alessandro gives nothing!" and he bowed his forehead on her hands, before he put them back gently on Baba's neck. 

Tears filled Ramona's eyes. How should she win this saddened man, thisdistrusting lover, to the joy which was his desert? "Alessandro cando one thing, " she said, insensibly falling into his mode ofspeaking, --"one thing for his Majella: never, never say that he hasnothing to give her. When he says that, he makes Majella a liar; forshe has said that he is all the world to her, --he himself all the worldwhich she desires. Is Majella a liar?"

But it was even now with an ecstasy only half joy, the other halfanguish, that Alessandro replied: "Majella cannot lie. Majella is likethe saints. Alessandro is hers. "

When they rode down into the valley, the whole village was astir. Thevintage-time had nearly passed; everywhere were to be seen large, flatbaskets of grapes drying in the sun. Old women and children were turningthese, or pounding acorns in the deep stone bowls; others were beatingthe yucca-stalks, and putting them to soak in water; the oldest womenwere sitting on the ground, weaving baskets. There were not many men inthe village now; two large bands were away at work, --one at the autumnsheep-shearing, and one working on a large irrigating ditch at SanBernardino. 

In different directions from the village slow-moving herds of goats orof cattle could be seen, being driven to pasture on the hills; some menwere ploughing; several groups were at work building houses of bundlesof the tule reeds. 

"These are some of the Temecula people, " said Alessandro; "theyare building themselves new houses here. See those piles of bundlesdarker-colored than the rest. Those are their old roofs they broughtfrom Temecula. There, there comes Ysidro!" he cried joyfully, as a man, well-mounted, who had been riding from point to point in the village, came galloping towards them. As soon as Ysidro recognized Alessandro, heflung himself from his horse. Alessandro did the same, and both runningswiftly towards each other till they met, they embraced silently. Ramona, riding up, held out her hand, saying, as she did so, "Ysidro?"

Pleased, yet surprised, at this confident and assured greeting, Ysidrosaluted her, and turning to Alessandro, said in their own tongue, "Whois this woman whom you bring, that has heard my name?"

"My wife!" answered Alessandro, in the same tongue. "We were marriedlast night by Father Gaspara. She comes from the house of the SenoraMoreno. We will live in San Pasquale, if you have land for me, as youhave said. "

What astonishment Ysidro felt, he showed none. Only a grave andcourteous welcome was in his face and in his words as he said, "Itis well. There is room. You are welcome. " But when he heard the softSpanish syllables in which Ramona spoke to Alessandro, and Alessandro, translating her words to him, said, "Majel speaks only in the Spanishtongue, but she will learn ours, " a look of disquiet passed over hiscountenance. His heart feared for Alessandro, and he said, "Is she, then, not Indian? Whence got she the name of Majel?"

A look of swift intelligence from Alessandro reassured him. "Indian onthe mother's side!" said Alessandro, "and she belongs in heart to ourpeople. She is alone, save for me. She is one blessed of the Virgin, Ysidro. She will help us. The name Majel I have given her, for she islike the wood-dove; and she is glad to lay her old name down forever, tobear this new name in our tongue. "

And this was Ramona's introduction to the Indian village, --this and hersmile; perhaps the smile did most. Even the little children were notafraid of her. The women, though shy, in the beginning, at sight of hernoble bearing, and her clothes of a kind and quality they associatedonly with superiors, soon felt her friendliness, and, what was more, saw by her every word, tone, look, that she was Alessandro's. IfAlessandro's, theirs. She was one of them. Ramona would have beenprofoundly impressed and touched, could she have heard them speakingamong themselves about her; wondering how it had come about that she, so beautiful, and nurtured in the Moreno house, of which they all knew, should be Alessandro's loving wife. It must be, they thought in theirsimplicity, that the saints had sent it as an omen of good to the Indianpeople. Toward night they came, bringing in a hand-barrow the most agedwoman in the village to look at her. She wished to see the beautifulstranger before the sun went down, they said, because she was now so oldshe believed each night that before morning her time would come to die. They also wished to hear the old woman's verdict on her. When Alessandrosaw them coming, he understood, and made haste to explain it to Ramona. While he was yet speaking, the procession arrived, and the aged woman inher strange litter was placed silently on the ground in front of Ramona, who was sitting under Ysidro's great fig-tree. Those who had borne herwithdrew, and seated themselves a few paces off. Alessandro spokefirst. In a few words he told the old woman of Ramona's birth, of theirmarriage, and of her new name of adoption; then he said, "Take her hand, dear Majella, if you feel no fear. "

There was something scarcely human in the shrivelled arm and handoutstretched in greeting; but Ramona took it in hers with tenderreverence: "Say to her for me, Alessandro, " she said, "that I bow downto her great age with reverence, and that I hope, if it is the will ofGod that I live on the earth so long as she has, I may be worthy of suchreverence as these people all feel for her. "

Alessandro turned a grateful look on Ramona as he translated thisspeech, so in unison with Indian modes of thought and feeling. A murmurof pleasure rose from the group of women sitting by. The aged woman madeno reply; her eyes still studied Ramona's face, and she still held herhand. 

"Tell her, " continued Ramona, "that I ask if there is anything I can dofor her. Say I will be her daughter if she will let me. "

"It must be the Virgin herself that is teaching Majella what to say, "thought Alessandro, as he repeated this in the San Luiseno tongue. 

Again the women murmured pleasure, but the old woman spoke not. "And saythat you will be her son, " added Ramona. 

Alessandro said it. It was perhaps for this that the old woman hadwaited. Lifting up her arm, like a sibyl, she said: "It is well; I amyour mother. The winds of the valley shall love you, and the grass shalldance when you come. The daughter looks on her mother's face each day. Iwill go;" and making a sign to her bearers, she was lifted, and carriedto her house. 

The scene affected Ramona deeply. The simplest acts of these peopleseemed to her marvellously profound in their meanings. She was notherself sufficiently educated or versed in life to know why she was somoved, --to know that such utterances, such symbolisms as these, amongprimitive peoples, are thus impressive because they are truly andgrandly dramatic; but she was none the less stirred by them, because shecould not analyze or explain them. 

"I will go and see her every day, " she said; "she shall be like mymother, whom I never saw. "

"We must both go each day, " said Alessandro. "What we have said is asolemn promise among my people; it would not be possible to break it. "

Ysidro's home was in the centre of the village, on a slightly risingground; it was a picturesque group of four small houses, three of tulereeds and one of adobe, --the latter a comfortable little house of tworooms, with a floor and a shingled roof, both luxuries in San Pasquale. The great fig-tree, whose luxuriance and size were noted far and nearthroughout the country, stood half-way down the slope; but its boughsshaded all three of the tule houses. On one of its lower branches wasfastened a dove-cote, ingeniously made of willow wands, plastered withadobe, and containing so many rooms that the whole tree seemed sometimesa-flutter with doves and dovelings. Here and there, between the houses, were huge baskets, larger than barrels, woven of twigs, as the eagleweaves its nest, only tighter and thicker. These were the outdoorgranaries; in these were kept acorns, barley, wheat, and corn. Ramonathought them, as well she might, the prettiest things she ever saw. 

"Are they hard to make?" she asked. "Can you make them, Alessandro? Ishall want many. "

"All you want, my Majella, " replied Alessandro. "We will go together toget the twigs; I can, I dare say, buy some in the village. It is onlytwo days to make a large one. "

"No. Do not buy one, " she exclaimed. "I wish everything in our houseto be made by ourselves. " In which, again, Ramona was unconsciouslystriking one of the keynotes of pleasure in the primitive harmonies ofexistence. 

The tule house which stood nearest to the dove-cote was, by a luckychance, now empty. Ysidro's brother Ramon, who had occupied it, havinggone with his wife and baby to San Bernardino, for the winter, to work;this house Ysidro was but too happy to give to Alessandro till his ownshould be done. It was a tiny place, though it was really two housesjoined together by a roofed passage-way. In this passage-way the tidyJuana, Ramon's wife, kept her few pots and pans, and a small stove. It looked to Ramona like a baby-house. Timidly Alessandro said: "CanMajella live in this small place for a time? It will not be very long;there are adobes already made. "

His countenance cleared as Ramona replied gleefully, "I think it will bevery comfortable, and I shall feel as if we were all doves together inthe dove-cote!"

"Majel!" exclaimed Alessandro; and that was all he said. 

Only a few rods off stood the little chapel; in front of it swung ona cross-bar from two slanting posts an old bronze bell which had oncebelonged to the San Diego Mission. When Ramona read the date, "1790, " onits side, and heard that it was from the San Diego Mission church it hadcome, she felt a sense of protection in its presence. 

"Think, Alessandro, " she said; "this bell, no doubt, has rung many timesfor the mass for the holy Father Junipero himself. It is a blessing tothe village. I want to live where I can see it all the time. It will belike a saint's statue in the house. "

With every allusion that Ramona made to the saints' statues, Alessandro's desire to procure one for her deepened. He said nothing;but he revolved it in his mind continually. He had once gone with hisshearers to San Fernando, and there he had seen in a room of the oldMission buildings a dozen statues of saints huddled in dusty confusion. The San Fernando church was in crumbled ruins, and such of the churchproperties as were left there were in the keeping of a Mexican notover-careful, and not in the least devout. It would not trouble him topart with a saint or two, Alessandro thought, and no irreverence tothe saint either; on the contrary, the greatest of reverence, sincethe statue was to be taken from a place where no one cared for it, andbrought into one where it would be tenderly cherished, and worshippedevery day. If only San Fernando were not so far away, and the woodensaints so heavy! However, it should come about yet. Majella shouldhave a saint; nor distance nor difficulty should keep Alessandro fromprocuring for his Majel the few things that lay within his power. But heheld his peace about it. It would be a sweeter gift, if she did not knowit beforehand. He pleased himself as subtly and secretly as if he hadcome of civilized generations, thinking how her eyes would dilate, ifshe waked up some morning and saw the saint by her bedside; and how sureshe would be to think, at first, it was a miracle, --his dear, devoutMajella, who, with all her superior knowledge, was yet more credulousthan he. All her education had not taught her to think, as he, untaught, had learned, in his solitude with nature. 

Before Alessandro had been two days in San Pasquale, he had heard of apiece of good-fortune which almost passed his belief, and which startledhim for once out of his usual impassive demeanor. 

"You know I have a herd of cattle of your father's, and near a hundredsheep?" said Ysidro. 

"Holy Virgin!" cried Alessandro, "you do not mean that! How is that?They told me all our stock was taken by the Americans. "

"Yes, so it was, all that was in Temecula, " replied Ysidro; "but in thespring your father sent down to know if I would take a herd for him upinto the mountains, with ours, as he feared the Temecula pasture wouldfall short, and the people there, who could not leave, must have theircattle near home; so he sent a herd over, --I think, near fifty head;and many of the cows have calved; and he sent, also, a little flock ofsheep, --a hundred, Ramon said; he herded them with ours all summer, andhe left a man up there with them. They will be down next week. It istime they were sheared. "

Before he had finished speaking, Alessandro had vanished, bounding likea deer. Ysidro stared after him; but seeing him enter the doorway of thelittle tule hut, he understood, and a sad smile passed over his face. Hewas not yet persuaded that this marriage of Alessandro's would turn outa blessing. "What are a handful of sheep to her!" he thought. 

Breathless, panting, Alessandro burst into Ramona's presence. "Majella!my Majella! There are cattle--and sheep, " he cried. "The saints bepraised! We are not like the beggars, as I said. "

"I told you that God would give us food, dear Alessandro, " repliedRamona, gently. 

"You do not wonder! You do not ask!" he cried, astonished at her calm. "Does Majella think that a sheep or a steer can come down from theskies?"

"Nay, not as our eyes would see, " she answered; "but the holy ones wholive in the skies can do anything they like on the earth. Whence camethese cattle, and how are they ours?"

When he told her, her face grew solemn. "Do you remember that night inthe willows, " she said, "when I was like one dying, because you wouldnot bring me with you? You had no faith that there would be food. AndI told you then that the saints never forsook those who loved them, andthat God would give food. And even at that moment, when you did not knowit, there were your cattle and your sheep feeding in the mountains, in the keeping of God! Will my Alessandro believe after this?" and shethrew her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

"It is true, " said Alessandro. "I will believe, after this, that thesaints love my Majella. "

But as he walked at a slower pace back to Ysidro, he said to himself:"Majella did not see Temecula. What would she have said about thesaints, if she had seen that, and seen the people dying for want offood? It is only for her that the saints pray. They are displeased withmy people. "

XX

ONE year, and a half of another year, had passed. Sheep-shearings andvintages had been in San Pasquale; and Alessandro's new house, havingbeen beaten on by the heavy spring rains, looked no longer new. It stoodon the south side of the valley, --too far, Ramona felt, from the blessedbell; but there had not been land enough for wheat-fields any nearer, and she could see the chapel, and the posts, and, on a clear day, thebell itself. The house was small. "Small to hold so much joy, " she said, when Alessandro first led her to it, and said, deprecatingly, "It issmall, Majella, --too small;" and he recollected bitterly, as he spoke, the size of Ramona's own room at the Senora's house. "Too small, " herepeated. 

"Very small to hold so much joy, my Alessandro, " she laughed; "but quitelarge enough to hold two persons. "

It looked like a palace to the San Pasquale people, after Ramona hadarranged their little possessions in it; and she herself felt rich asshe looked around her two small rooms. The old San Luis Rey chairsand the raw-hide bedstead were there, and, most precious of all, thestatuette of the Madonna. For this Alessandro had built a niche in thewall, between the head of the bed and the one window. The niche was deepenough to hold small pots in front of the statuette; and Ramona keptconstantly growing there wild-cucumber plants, which wreathed andre-wreathed the niche till it looked like a bower. Below it hung hergold rosary and the ivory Christ; and many a woman of the village, whenshe came to see Ramona, asked permission to go into the bedroom and sayher prayers there; so that it finally came to be a sort of shrine forthe whole village. 

A broad veranda, as broad as the Senora's, ran across the front of thelittle house. This was the only thing for which Ramona had asked. Shecould not quite fancy life without a veranda, and linnets in the thatch. But the linnets had not yet come. In vain Ramona strewed food for them, and laid little trains of crumbs to lure them inside the posts; theywould not build nests inside. It was not their way in San Pasquale. Theylived in the canons, but this part of the valley was too bare of treesfor them. "In a year or two more, when we have orchards, they willcome, " Alessandro said. 

With the money from that first sheep-shearing, and from the sale of partof his cattle, Alessandro had bought all he needed in the way of farmingimplements, --a good wagon and harnesses, and a plough. Baba and Benito, at first restive and indignant, soon made up their minds to work. Ramonahad talked to Baba about it as she would have talked to a brother. Infact, except for Ramona's help, it would have been a question whethereven Alessandro could have made Baba work in harness. "Good Baba!"Ramona said, as she slipped piece after piece of the harness over hisneck, --"Good Baba, you must help us; we have so much work to do, andyou are so strong! Good Baba, do you love me?" and with one hand in hismane, and her cheek, every few steps, laid close to his, she led Baba upand down the first furrows he ploughed. 

"My Senorita!" thought Alessandro to himself, half in pain, half inpride, as, running behind with the unevenly jerked plough, he watchedher laughing face and blowing hair, --"my Senorita!"

But Ramona would not run with her hand in Baba's mane this winter. Therewas a new work for her, indoors. In a rustic cradle, which Alessandrohad made, under her directions, of the woven twigs, like the greatoutdoor acorn-granaries, only closer woven, and of an oval shape, andlifted from the floor by four uprights of red manzanita stems, --inthis cradle, on soft white wool fleeces, covered with white homespunblankets, lay Ramona's baby, six months old, lusty, strong, andbeautiful, as only children born of great love and under healthfulconditions can be. This child was a girl, to Alessandro's delight; toRamona's regret, --so far as a loving mother can feel regret connectedwith her firstborn. Ramona had wished for an Alessandro; but thedisappointed wish faded out of her thoughts, hour by hour, as she gazedinto her baby-girl's blue eyes, --eyes so blue that their color was thefirst thing noticed by each person who looked at her. 

"Eyes of the sky, " exclaimed Ysidro, when he first saw her. 

"Like the mother's, " said Alessandro; on which Ysidro turned anastonished look upon Ramona, and saw for the first time that her eyes, too, were blue. 

"Wonderful!" he said. "It is so. I never saw it;" and he wondered in hisheart what father it had been, who had given eyes like those to one bornof an Indian mother. 

"Eyes of the sky, " became at once the baby's name in the village; andAlessandro and Ramona, before they knew it, had fallen into the way ofso calling her. But when it came to the christening, they demurred. Thenews was brought to the village, one Saturday, that Father Gaspara wouldhold services in the valley the next day, and that he wished all thenew-born babes to be brought for christening. Late into the night, Alessandro and Ramona sat by their sleeping baby and discussed whatshould be her name. Ramona wondered that Alessandro did not wish to nameher Majella. 

"No! Never but one Majella, " he said, in a tone which gave Ramona asense of vague fear, it was so solemn. 

They discussed "Ramona, " "Isabella. " Alessandro suggested Carmena. Thishad been his mother's name. 

At the mention of it Ramona shuddered, recollecting the scene inthe Temecula graveyard. "Oh, no, no! Not that!" she cried. "It isill-fated;" and Alessandro blamed himself for having forgotten her onlyassociation with the name. 

At last Alessandro said: "The people have named her, I think, Majella. Whatever name we give her in the chapel, she will never be calledanything but 'Eyes of the Sky, ' in the village. "

"Let that name be her true one, then, " said Ramona. And so it wassettled; and when Father Gaspara took the little one in his arms, and made the sign of the cross on her brow, he pronounced with somedifficulty the syllables of the Indian name, which meant "Blue Eyes, " or"Eyes of the Sky. "

Heretofore, when Father Gaspara had come to San Pasquale to say mass, hehad slept at Lomax's, the store and post-office, six miles away, in theBernardo valley. But Ysidro, with great pride, had this time ridden tomeet him, to say that his cousin Alessandro, who had come to live in thevalley, and had a good new adobe house, begged that the Father would dohim the honor to stay with him. 

"And indeed, Father, " added Ysidro, "you will be far better lodged andfed than in the house of Lomax. My cousin's wife knows well how allshould be done. "

"Alessandro! Alessandro!" said the Father, musingly. "Has he been longmarried?"

"No, Father, " answered Ysidro. "But little more than two years. Theywere married by you, on their way from Temecula here. "

"Ay, ay. I remember, " said Father Gaspara. "I will come;" and it waswith no small interest that he looked forward to meeting again thecouple that had so strongly impressed him. 

Ramona was full of eager interest in her preparations for entertainingthe priest. This was like the olden time; and as she busied herself withher cooking and other arrangements, the thought of Father Salvierderrawas much in her mind. She could, perhaps, hear news of him from FatherGaspara. It was she who had suggested the idea to Alessandro; and whenhe said, "But where will you sleep yourself, with the child, Majella, if we give our room to the Father? I can lie on the floor outside; butyou?"--"I will go to Ysidro's, and sleep with Juana, " she replied. "Fortwo nights, it is no matter; and it is such shame to have the Fathersleep in the house of an American, when we have a good bed like this!"

Seldom in his life had Alessandro experienced such a sense ofgratification as he did when he led Father Gaspara into his and Ramona'sbedroom. The clean whitewashed walls, the bed neatly made, with broadlace on sheets and pillows, hung with curtains and a canopy of brightred calico, the old carved chairs, the Madonna shrine in its bower ofgreen leaves, the shelves on the walls, the white-curtained window, --allmade up a picture such as Father Gaspara had never before seen inhis pilgrimages among the Indian villages. He could not restrain anejaculation of surprise. Then his eye falling on the golden rosary, heexclaimed, "Where got you that?"

"It is my wife's, " replied Alessandro, proudly. "It was given to her byFather Salvierderra. "

"Ah!" said the Father. "He died the other day. "

"Dead! Father Salvierderra dead!" cried Alessandro. "That will be aterrible blow. Oh, Father, I implore you not to speak of it in herpresence. She must not know it till after the christening. It will makeher heart heavy, so that she will have no joy. "

Father Gaspara was still scrutinizing the rosary and crucifix. "To besure, to be sure, " he said absently; "I will say nothing of it; but thisis a work of art, this crucifix; do you know what you have here? Andthis, --is this not an altar-cloth?" he added, lifting up the beautifulwrought altar-cloth, which Ramona, in honor of his coming, had pinned onthe wall below the Madonna's shrine. 

"Yes, Father, it was made for that. My wife made it. It was to be apresent to Father Salvierderra; but she has not seen him, to give it tohim. It will take the light out of the sun for her, when first she hearsthat he is dead. "

Father Gaspara was about to ask another question, when Ramona appearedin the doorway, flushed with running. She had carried the baby over toJuana's and left her there, that she might be free to serve the Father'ssupper. 

"I pray you tell her not, " said Alessandro, under his breath; but itwas too late. Seeing the Father with her rosary in his hand, Ramonaexclaimed:--

"That, Father, is my most sacred possession. It once belonged to FatherPeyri, of San Luis Rey, and he gave it to Father Salvierderra, who gaveit to me, Know you Father Salvierderra? I was hoping to hear news of himthrough you. "

"Yes, I knew him, --not very well; it is long since I saw him, " stammeredFather Gaspara. His hesitancy alone would not have told Ramonathe truth; she would have set that down to the secular priest'sindifference, or hostility, to the Franciscan order; but looking atAlessandro, she saw terror and sadness on his face. No shadow thereever escaped her eye. "What is it, Alessandro?" she exclaimed. "Is itsomething about Father Salvierderra? Is he ill?"

Alessandro shook his head. He did not know what to say. Looking fromone to the other, seeing the confused pain in both their faces, Ramona, laying both her hands on her breast, in the expressive gesture she hadlearned from the Indian women, cried out in a piteous tone: "You willnot tell me! You do not speak! Then he is dead!" and she sank on herknees. 

"Yes, my daughter, he is dead, " said Father Gaspara, more tenderly thanthat brusque and warlike priest often spoke. "He died a month ago, atSanta Barbara. I am grieved to have brought you tidings to give yousuch sorrow. But you must not mourn for him. He was very feeble, and helonged to die, I heard. He could no longer work, and he did not wish tolive. "

Ramona had buried her face in her hands. The Father's words were onlya confused sound in her ears. She had heard nothing after the words, "amonth ago. " She remained silent and motionless for some moments; thenrising, without speaking a word, or looking at either of the men, shecrossed the room and knelt down before the Madonna. By a common impulse, both Alessandro and Father Gaspara silently left the room. As they stoodtogether outside the door, the Father said, "I would go back to Lomax'sif it were not so late. I like not to be here when your wife is in suchgrief. "

"That would but be another grief, Father, " said Alessandro. "She hasbeen full of happiness in making ready for you. She is very strong ofsoul. It is she who makes me strong often, and not I who give strengthto her. "

"My faith, but the man is right, " thought Father Gaspara, a half-hourlater, when, with a calm face, Ramona summoned them to supper. He didnot know, as Alessandro did, how that face had changed in the half-hour. It wore a look Alessandro had never seen upon it. Almost he dreaded tospeak to her. 

When he walked by her side, later in the evening, as she went across thevalley to Fernando's house, he ventured to mention Father Salvierderra'sname. Ramona laid her hand on his lips. "I cannot talk about him yet, dear, " she said. "I never believed that he would die without giving ushis blessing. Do not speak of him till to-morrow is over. "

Ramona's saddened face smote on all the women's hearts as they met herthe next morning. One by one they gazed, astonished, then turned away, and spoke softly among themselves. They all loved her, and half reveredher too, for her great kindness, and readiness to teach and to helpthem. She had been like a sort of missionary in the valley ever sinceshe came, and no one had ever seen her face without a smile. Now shesmiled not. Yet there was the beautiful baby in its white dress, readyto be christened; and the sun shone, and the bell had been ringingfor half an hour, and from every corner of the valley the people weregathering, and Father Gaspara, in his gold and green cassock, waspraying before the altar; it was a joyous day in San Pasquale. Why didAlessandro and Ramona kneel apart in a corner, with such heart-strickencountenances, not even looking glad when their baby laughed, and reachedup her hands? Gradually it was whispered about what had happened. Someone had got it from Antonio, of Temecula, Alessandro's friend. Thenall the women's faces grew sad too. They all had heard of FatherSalvierderra, and many of them had prayed to the ivory Christ inRamona's room, and knew that he had given it to her. 

As Ramona passed out of the chapel, some of them came up to her, andtaking her hand in theirs, laid it on their hearts, speaking no word. The gesture was more than any speech could have been. 

When Father Gaspara was taking leave, Ramona said, with quivering lips, "Father, if there is anything you know of Father Salvierderra's lasthours, I would be grateful to you for telling me. "

"I heard very little, " replied the Father, "except that he had beenfeeble for some weeks; yet he would persist in spending most of thenight kneeling on the stone floor in the church, praying. "

"Yes, " interrupted Ramona; "that he always did. "

"And the last morning, " continued the Father, "the Brothers found himthere, still kneeling on the stone floor, but quite powerless to move;and they lifted him, and carried him to his room, and there they found, to their horror, that he had had no bed; he had lain on the stones; andthen they took him to the Superior's own room, and laid him in the bed, and he did not speak any more, and at noon he died. "

"Thank you very much, Father, " said Ramona, without lifting her eyesfrom the ground; and in the same low, tremulous tone, "I am glad that Iknow that he is dead. "

"Strange what a hold those Franciscans got on these Indians!" musedFather Gaspara, as he rode down the valley. "There's none of them wouldlook like that if I were dead, I warrant me! There, " he exclaimed, "Imeant to have asked Alessandro who this wife of his is! I don't believeshe is a Temecula Indian. Next time I come, I will find out. She's hadsome schooling somewhere, that's plain. She's quite superior to thegeneral run of them. Next time I come, I will find out about her. "

"Next time!" In what calendar are kept the records of those next timeswhich never come? Long before Father Gaspara visited San Pasquale again, Alessandro and Ramona were far away, and strangers were living in theirhome. 

It seemed to Ramona in after years, as she looked back over this life, that the news of Father Salvierderra's death was the first note ofthe knell of their happiness. It was but a few days afterward, whenAlessandro came in one noon with an expression on his face thatterrified her; seating himself in a chair, he buried his face in hishands, and would neither look up nor speak; not until Ramona was nearcrying from his silence, did he utter a word. Then, looking at her witha ghastly face, he said in a hollow voice, "It has begun!" and buriedhis face again. Finally Ramona's tears wrung from him the followingstory:

Ysidro, it seemed, had the previous year rented a canon, at the head ofthe valley, to one Doctor Morong. It was simply as bee-pasture that theDoctor wanted it, he said. He put his hives there, and built a sort ofhut for the man whom he sent up to look after the honey. Ysidro did notneed the land, and thought it a good chance to make a little money. Hehad taken every precaution to make the transaction a safe one; had goneto San Diego, and got Father Gaspara to act as interpreter for him, inthe interview with Morong; it had been a written agreement, and the rentagreed upon had been punctually paid. Now, the time of the lease havingexpired, Ysidro had been to San Diego to ask the Doctor if he wishedto renew it for another year; and the Doctor had said that the land washis, and he was coming out there to build a house, and live. 

Ysidro had gone to Father Gaspara for help, and Father Gaspara had hadan angry interview with Doctor Morong; but it had done no good. TheDoctor said the land did not belong to Ysidro at all, but to the UnitedStates Government; and that he had paid the money for it to the agentsin Los Angeles, and there would very soon come papers from Washington, to show that it was his. Father Gaspara had gone with Ysidro to a lawyerin San Diego, and had shown to his lawyer Ysidro's paper, --the old onefrom the Mexican Governor of California, establishing the pueblo of SanPasquale, and saying how many leagues of land the Indians were to have;but the lawyer had only laughed at Father Gaspara for believing thatsuch a paper as that was good for anything. He said that was all verywell when the country belonged to Mexico, but it was no good now; thatthe Americans owned it now; and everything was done by the American lawnow, not by the Mexican law any more. 

"Then we do not own any land in San Pasquale at all, " said Ysidro. "Isthat what it means?"

And the lawyer had said, he did not know how it would be with thecultivated land, and the village where the houses were, --he couldnot tell about that; but he thought it all belonged to the men atWashington. 

Father Gaspara was in such rage, Ysidro said, that he tore open his gownon his breast, and he smote himself, and he said he wished he were asoldier, and no priest, that he might fight this accursed United StatesGovernment; and the lawyer laughed at him, and told him to look aftersouls, --that was his business, --and let the Indian beggars alone! "Yes, that was what he said, --'the Indian beggars!' and so they would be allbeggars, presently. "

Alessandro told this by gasps, as it were; at long intervals. His voicewas choked; his whole frame shook. He was nearly beside himself withrage and despair. 

"You see, it is as I said, Majella. There is no place safe. We can donothing! We might better be dead!"

"It is a long way off, that canon Doctor Morong had, " said Ramona, piteously. "It wouldn't do any harm, his living there, if no more came. "

"Majella talks like a dove, and not like a woman, " said Alessandro, fiercely. "Will there be one to come, and not two? It is the beginning. To-morrow may come ten more, with papers to show that the land istheirs. We can do nothing, any more than the wild beasts. They arebetter than we. "

From this day Alessandro was a changed man. Hope had died in his bosom. In all the village councils, --and they were many and long now, for thelittle community had been plunged into great anxiety and distressby this Doctor Morong's affair, --Alessandro sat dumb and gloomy. Towhatever was proposed, he had but one reply: "It is of no use. We can donothing. "

"Eat your dinners to-day, to-morrow we starve, " he said one night, bitterly, as the council broke up. When Ysidro proposed to him thatthey should journey to Los Angeles, where Father Gaspara had said theheadquarters of the Government officers were, and where they could learnall about the new laws in regard to land, Alessandro laughed at him. "What more is it, then, which you wish to know, my brother, about theAmerican laws?" he said. "Is it not enough that you know they have madea law which will take the land from Indians; from us who have ownedit longer than any can remember; land that our ancestors are buriedin, --will take that land and give it to themselves, and say it istheirs? Is it to hear this again said in your face, and to see the manlaugh who says it, like the lawyer in San Diego, that you will journeyto Los Angeles? I will not go!"

And Ysidro went alone. Father Gaspara gave him a letter to the LosAngeles priest, who went with him to the land-office, patientlyinterpreted for him all he had to say, and as patiently interpretedall that the officials had to say in reply. They did not laugh, asAlessandro in his bitterness had said. They were not inhuman, andthey felt sincere sympathy for this man, representative of two hundredhard-working, industrious people, in danger of being turned out of houseand home. But they were very busy; they had to say curtly, and in fewwords, all there was to be said: the San Pasquale district was certainlythe property of the United States Government, and the lands were inmarket, to be filed on, and bought, according to the homestead laws, These officials had neither authority nor option in the matter. Theywere there simply to carry out instructions, and obey orders. 

Ysidro understood the substance of all this, though the details werebeyond his comprehension. But he did not regret having taken thejourney; he had now made his last effort for his people. The Los Angelespriest had promised that he would himself write a letter to Washington, to lay the case before the head man there, and perhaps something wouldbe done for their relief. It seemed incredible to Ysidro, as, ridingalong day after day, on his sad homeward journey, he reflected on thesubject, --it seemed incredible to him that the Government would permitsuch a village as theirs to be destroyed. He reached home just atsunset; and looking down, as Alessandro and Ramona had done on themorning of their arrival, from the hillcrests at the west end of thevalley, seeing the broad belt of cultivated fields and orchards, thepeaceful little hamlet of houses, he groaned. "If the people who makethese laws could only see this village, they would never turn us out, never! They can't know what is being done. I am sure they can't know. "

"What did I tell you?" cried Alessandro, galloping up on Benito, andreining him in so sharply he reared and plunged. "What did I tell you?I saw by your face, many paces back, that you had come as you went, orworse! I have been watching for you these two days. Another Americanhas come in with Morong in the canon; they are making corrals; they willkeep stock. You will see how long we have any pasture-lands in that endof the valley. I drive all my stock to San Diego next week. I will sellit for what it will bring, --both the cattle and the sheep. It is no use. You will see. "

When Ysidro began to recount his interview with the land-officeauthorities, Alessandro broke in fiercely: "I wish to hear no more ofit. Their names and their speech are like smoke in my eyes and my nose. I think I shall go mad, Ysidro. Go tell your story to the men who arewaiting to hear it, and who yet believe that an American may speaktruth!"

Alessandro was as good as his word. The very next week he drove allhis cattle and sheep to San Diego, and sold them at great loss. "Itis better than nothing, " he said. "They will not now be sold by thesheriff, like my father's in Temecula. " The money he got, he took toFather Gaspara. "Father, " he said huskily. "I have sold all my stock. Iwould not wait for the Americans to sell it for me, and take the money. I have not got much, but it is better than nothing. It will make that wedo not starve for one year. Will you keep it for me, Father? I dare nothave it in San Pasquale. San Pasquale will be like Temecula, --it may beto-morrow. "

To the Father's suggestion that he should put the money in a bank in SanDiego, Alessandro cried: "Sooner would I throw it in the sea yonder! Itrust no man, henceforth; only the Church I will trust. Keep it for me, Father, I pray you, " and the Father could not refuse his imploring tone. 

"What are your plans now?" he asked. 

"Plans!" repeated Alessandro, --"plans, Father! Why should I make plans?I will stay in my house so long as the Americans will let me. You sawour little house, Father!" His voice broke as he said this. "I havelarge wheat-fields; if I can get one more crop off them, it will besomething; but my land is of the richest in the valley, and as soon asthe Americans see it, they will want it. Farewell, Father. I thank youfor keeping my money, and for all you said to the thief Morong. Ysidrotold me. Farewell. " And he was gone, and out of sight on the swiftgalloping Benito, before Father Gaspara bethought himself. 

"And I remembered not to ask who his wife was. I will look back at therecord, " said the Father. Taking down the old volume, he ran his eyeback over the year. Marriages were not so many in Father Gaspara'sparish, that the list took long to read. The entry of Alessandro'smarriage was blotted. The Father had been in haste that night. "Alessandro Assis. Majella Fa--" No more could be read. The name meantnothing to Father Gaspara. "Clearly an Indian name, " he said to himself;"yet she seemed superior in every way. I wonder where she got it. "

The winter wore along quietly in San Pasquale. The delicious soft rainsset in early, promising a good grain year. It seemed a pity not to getin as much wheat as possible; and all the San Pasquale people went earlyto ploughing new fields, --all but Alessandro. 

"If I reap all I have, I will thank the saints, " he said. "I will ploughno more land for the robbers. " But after his fields were all planted, and the beneficent rains still kept on, and the hills all along thevalley wall began to turn green earlier than ever before was known, he said to Ramona one morning, "I think I will make one more field ofwheat. There will be a great yield this year. Maybe we will be leftunmolested till the harvest is over. "

"Oh, yes, and for many more harvests, dear Alessandro!" said Ramona, cheerily. "You are always looking on the black side. "

"There is no other but the black side, Majella, " he replied. "Strain myeyes as I may, on all sides all is black. You will see. Never any moreharvests in San Pasquale for us, after this. If we get this, we arelucky. I have seen the white men riding up and down in the valley, andI found some of their cursed bits of wood with figures on them set upon my land the other day; and I pulled them up and burned them to ashes. But I will plough one more field this week; though, I know not why itis, my thoughts go against it even now. But I will do it; and I will notcome home till night, Majella, for the field is too far to go and cometwice. I shall be the whole day ploughing. " So saying, he stooped andkissed the baby, and then kissing Ramona, went out. 

Ramona stood at the door and watched him as he harnessed Benito and Babato the plough. He did not once look back at her; his face seemed full ofthought, his hands acting as it were mechanically. After he had gonea few rods from the house, he stopped, stood still for some minutesmeditatingly, then went on irresolutely, halted again, but finally wenton, and disappeared from sight among the low foothills to the east. Sighing deeply, Ramona turned back to her work. But her heart was toodisquieted. She could not keep back the tears. 

"How changed is Alessandro!" she thought. "It terrifies me to see himthus. I will tell the Blessed Virgin about it;" and kneeling before theshrine, she prayed fervently and long. She rose comforted, anddrawing the baby's cradle out into the veranda, seated herself at herembroidery. Her skill with her needle had proved a not inconsiderablesource of income, her fine lace-work being always taken by San Diegomerchants, and at fairly good prices. 

It seemed to her only a short time that she had been sitting thus, when, glancing up at the sun, she saw it was near noon; at the same momentshe saw Alessandro approaching, with the horses. In dismay, she thought, "There is no dinner! He said he would not come!" and springing up, wasabout to run to meet him, when she observed that he was not alone. A short, thick-set man was walking by his side; they were talkingearnestly. It was a white man. What did it bode? Presently they stopped. She saw Alessandro lift his hand and point to the house, then to thetule sheds in the rear. He seemed to be talking excitedly; the whiteman also; they were both speaking at once. Ramona shivered with fear. Motionless she stood, straining eye and ear; she could hear nothing, but the gestures told much. Had it come, --the thing Alessandro had saidwould come? Were they to be driven out, --driven out this very day, whenthe Virgin had only just now seemed to promise her help and protection?

The baby stirred, waked, began to cry. Catching the child up to herbreast, she stilled her by convulsive caresses. Clasping her tight inher arms, she walked a few steps towards Alessandro, who, seeing her, made an imperative gesture to her to return. Sick at heart, she wentback to the veranda and sat down to wait. 

In a few moments she saw the white man counting out money intoAlessandro's hand; then he turned and walked away, Alessandro stillstanding as if rooted to the spot, gazing into the palm of his hand, Benito and Baba slowly walking away from him unnoticed; at last heseemed to rouse himself as from a trance, and picking up the horses'reins, came slowly toward her. Again she started to meet him; againhe made the same authoritative gesture to her to return; and again sheseated herself, trembling in every nerve of her body. Ramona was nowsometimes afraid of Alessandro. When these fierce glooms seized him, she dreaded, she knew not what. He seemed no more the Alessandro she hadloved. 

Deliberately, lingeringly, he unharnessed the horses and put them inthe corral. Then still more deliberately, lingeringly, he walked to thehouse; walked, without speaking, past Ramona, into the door. A luridspot on each cheek showed burning red through the bronze of his skin. His eyes glittered. In silence Ramona followed him, and saw him drawfrom his pocket a handful of gold-pieces, fling them on the table, andburst into a laugh more terrible than any weeping, --a laugh which wrungfrom her instantly, involuntarily, the cry, "Oh, my Alessandro! myAlessandro! What is it? Are you mad?"

"No, my sweet Majel, " he exclaimed, turning to her, and flinging hisarms round her and the child together, drawing them so close to hisbreast that the embrace hurt, --"no, I am not mad; but I think I shallsoon be! What is that gold? The price of this house, Majel, and of thefields, --of all that was ours in San Pasquale! To-morrow we will go outinto the world again. I will see if I can find a place the Americans donot want!"

It did not take many words to tell the story. Alessandro had not beenploughing more than an hour, when, hearing a strange sound, he lookedup and saw a man unloading lumber a few rods off'. Alessandro stoppedmidway in the furrow and watched him. The man also watched Alessandro. Presently he came toward him, and said roughly, "Look here! Be off, willyou? This is my land. I'm going to build a house here. "

Alessandro had replied, "This was my land yesterday. How comes it yoursto-day?"

Something in the wording of this answer, or something in Alessandro'stone and bearing, smote the man's conscience, or heart, or what stoodto him in the place of conscience and heart, and he said: "Come, now, mygood fellow, you look like a reasonable kind of a fellow; you just clearout, will you, and not make me any trouble. You see the land's mine. I've got all this land round here;" and he waved his arm, describing acircle; "three hundred and twenty acres, me and my brother together, andwe're coming in here to settle. We got our papers from Washington lastweek. It's all right, and you may just as well go peaceably, as make afuss about it. Don't you see?"

Yes, Alessandro saw. He had been seeing this precise thing for months. Many times, in his dreams and in his waking thoughts, he had lived overscenes similar to this. An almost preternatural calm and wisdom seemedto be given him now. 

"Yes, I see, Senor, " he said. "I am not surprised. I knew it would come;but I hoped it would not be till after harvest. I will not give you anytrouble, Senor, because I cannot. If I could, I would. But I haveheard all about the new law which gives all the Indians' lands to theAmericans. We cannot help ourselves. But it is very hard, Senor. " Hepaused. 

The man, confused and embarrassed, astonished beyond expression atbeing met in this way by an Indian, did not find words come ready to histongue. "Of course, I know it does seem a little rough on fellows likeyou, that are industrious, and have done some work on the land. But yousee the land's in the market; I've paid my money for it. "

"The Senor is going to build a house?" asked Alessandro. 

"Yes, " the man answered. "I've got my family in San Diego, and I want toget them settled as soon as I can. My wife won't feel comfortable tillshe's in her own house. We're from the States, and she's been used tohaving everything comfortable. "

"I have a wife and child, Senor, " said Alessandro, still in the samecalm, deliberate tone; "and we have a very good house of two rooms. Itwould save the Senor's building, if he would buy mine. "

"How far is it?" said the man. "I can't tell exactly where theboundaries of my land are, for the stakes we set have been pulled up. "

"Yes, Senor, I pulled them up and burned them. They were on my land, "replied Alessandro. "My house is farther west than your stakes; and Ihave large wheat-fields there, too, --many acres, Senor, all planted. "

Here was a chance, indeed. The man's eyes gleamed. He would do thehandsome thing. He would give this fellow something for his house andwheat-crops. First he would see the house, however; and it was forthat purpose he had walked back with Alessandro, When he saw the neatwhitewashed adobe, with its broad veranda, the sheds and corrals allin good order, he instantly resolved to get possession of them by fairmeans or foul. 

"There will be three hundred dollars' worth of wheat in July, Senor, youcan see for yourself; and a house so good as that, you cannot build forless than one hundred dollars. What will you give me for them?"

"I suppose I can have them without paying you for them, if I choose, "said the man, insolently. 

"No, Senor, " replied Alessandro. 

"What's to hinder, then, I'd like to know!" in a brutal sneer. "Youhaven't got any rights here, whatever, according to law. "

"I shall hinder, Senor, " replied Alessandro. "I shall burn down thesheds and corrals, tear down the house; and before a blade of the wheatis reaped, I will burn that. " Still in the same calm tone. 

"What'll you take?" said the man, sullenly. 

"Two hundred dollars, " replied Alessandro. 

"Well, leave your plough and wagon, and I'll give it to you, " said theman; "and a big fool I am, too. Well laughed at, I'll be, do you knowit, for buying out an Indian!"

"The wagon, Senor, cost me one hundred and thirty dollars in San Diego. You cannot buy one so good for less. I will not sell it. I need it totake away my things in. The plough you may have. That is worth twenty. "

"I'll do it, " said the man; and pulling out a heavy buckskin pouch, hecounted out into Alessandro's hand two hundred dollars in gold. 

"Is that all right?" he said, as he put down the last piece. 

"That is the sum I said, Senor, " replied Alessandro. "Tomorrow, at noon, you can come into the house. "

"Where will you go?" asked the man, again slightly touched byAlessandro's manner. "Why don't you stay round here? I expect you couldget work enough; there are a lot of farmers coming in here; they'll wanthands. "

A fierce torrent of words sprang to Alessandro's lips, but he chokedthem back. "I do not know where I shall go, but I will not stay here, "he said; and that ended the interview. 

"I don't know as I blame him a mite for feeling that way, " thought theman from the States, as he walked slowly back to his pile of lumber. "Iexpect I should feel just so myself. "

Almost before Alessandro had finished this tale, he began to moveabout the room, taking down, folding up, opening and shutting lids; hisrestlessness was terrible to see. "By sunrise, I would like to be off, "he said. "It is like death, to be in the house which is no longer ours. "Ramona had spoken no words since her first cry on hearing that terriblelaugh. She was like one stricken dumb. The shock was greater to her thanto Alessandro. He had lived with it ever present in his thoughts for ayear. She had always hoped. But far more dreadful than the loss of herhome, was the anguish of seeing, hearing, the changed face, changedvoice, of Alessandro. Almost this swallowed up the other. She obeyedhim mechanically, working faster and faster as he grew more and morefeverish in his haste. Before sundown the little house was dismantled;everything, except the bed and the stove, packed in the big wagon. 

"Now, we must cook food for the journey, " said Alessandro. 

"Where are we going?" said the weeping Ramona. 

"Where?" ejaculated Alessandro, so scornfully that it sounded likeimpatience with Ramona, and made her tears flow afresh. "Where? I knownot, Majella! Into the mountains, where the white men come not! Atsunrise we will start. "

Ramona wished to say good-by to their friends. There were women in thevillage that she tenderly loved. But Alessandro was unwilling. "Therewill be weeping and crying, Majella; I pray you do not speak to one. Whyshould we have more tears? Let us disappear. I will say all to Ysidro. He will tell them. "

This was a sore grief to Ramona. In her heart she rebelled against it, as she had never yet rebelled against an act of Alessandro's; but shecould not distress him. Was not his burden heavy enough now?

Without a word of farewell to any one, they set off in the gray dawn, before a creature was stirring in the village, --the wagon piled high;Ramona, her baby in her arms, in front; Alessandro walking. The load washeavy. Benito and Baba walked slowly. Capitan, unhappy, looking first atRamona's face, then at Alessandro's, walked dispiritedly by their side. He knew all was wrong. 

As Alessandro turned the horses into a faintly marked road leading in anortheasterly direction, Ramona said with a sob, "Where does this roadlead, Alessandro?"

"To San Jacinto, " he said. "San Jacinto Mountain. Do not look back, Majella! Do not look back!" he cried, as he saw Ramona, with streamingeyes, gazing back towards San Pasquale. "Do not look back! It is gone!Pray to the saints now, Majella! Pray! Pray!"

XXI

THE Senora Moreno was dying. It had been a sad two years in the Morenohouse. After the first excitement following Ramona's departure haddied away, things had settled down in a surface similitude of their oldroutine. But nothing was really the same. No one was so happy as before. Juan Canito was heart-broken. There had been set over him the veryMexican whose coming to the place he had dreaded. The sheep had not donewell; there had been a drought; many had died of hunger, --a thing forwhich the new Mexican overseer was not to blame, though it pleased Juanto hold him so, and to say from morning till night that if his leg hadnot been broken, or if the lad Alessandro had been there, the wool-cropwould have been as big as ever. Not one of the servants liked thisMexican; he had a sorry time of it, poor fellow; each man and woman onthe place had or fancied some reason for being set against him; somefrom sympathy with Juan Can, some from idleness and general impatience;Margarita, most of all, because he was not Alessandro. Margarita, between remorse about her young mistress and pique and disappointmentabout Alessandro, had become a very unhappy girl; and her mother, instead of comforting or soothing her, added to her misery bycontinually bemoaning Ramona's fate. The void that Ramona had left inthe whole household seemed an irreparable one; nothing came to fill it;there was no forgetting; every day her name was mentioned by some one;mentioned with bated breath, fearful conjecture, compassion, and regret. Where had she vanished? Had she indeed gone to the convent, as she said, or had she fled with Alessandro?

Margarita would have given her right hand to know. Only Juan Can feltsure. Very well Juan Can knew that nobody but Alessandro had the wit andthe power over Baba to lure him out of that corral, "and never a railout of its place. " And the saddle, too! Ay, the smart lad! He had donethe best he could for the Senorita; but, Holy Virgin! what had got intothe Senorita to run off like that, with an Indian, --even Alessandro!The fiends had bewitched her. Tirelessly Juan Can questioned everytraveller, every wandering herder he saw. No one knew anything ofAlessandro, beyond the fact that all the Temecula Indians had beendriven out of their village, and that there was now not an Indian in thevalley. There was a rumor that Alessandro and his father had bothdied; but no one knew anything certainly. The Temecula Indians haddisappeared, that was all there was of it, --disappeared, like any wildcreatures, foxes or coyotes, hunted down, driven out; the valley was ridof them. But the Senorita! She was not with these fugitives. That couldnot be! Heaven forbid!

"If I'd my legs, I'd go and see for myself. " said Juan Can. "It wouldbe some comfort to know even the worst. Perdition take the Senora, whodrove her to it! Ay, drove her to it! That's what I say, Luigo. " In someof his most venturesome wrathy moments he would say: "There's noneof you know the truth about the Senorita but me! It's a hard hand theSenora's reared her with, from the first. She's a wonderful woman, ourSenora! She gets power over one. "

But the Senora's power was shaken now. More changed than all else in thechanged Moreno household, was the relation between the Senora Moreno andher son Felipe. On the morning after Ramona's disappearance, words hadbeen spoken by each which neither would ever forget. In fact, the Senorabelieved that it was of them she was dying, and perhaps that was not farfrom the truth; the reason that forces could no longer rally in her torepel disease, lying no doubt largely in the fact that to live seemed nolonger to her desirable. 

Felipe had found the note Ramona had laid on his bed. Before it was yetdawn he had waked, and tossing uneasily under the light covering hadheard the rustle of the paper, and knowing instinctively that it wasfrom Ramona, had risen instantly to make sure of it. Before his motheropened her window, he had read it. He felt like one bereft of his sensesas he read. Gone! Gone with Alessandro! Stolen away like a thief in thenight, his dear, sweet little sister! Ah, what a cruel shame! Scalesseemed to drop from Felipe's eyes as he lay motionless, thinking ofit. A shame! a cruel shame! And he and his mother were the ones who hadbrought it on Ramona's head, and on the house of Moreno. Felipe feltas if he had been under a spell all along, not to have realized this. "That's what I told my mother!" he groaned, --"that it drove her torunning away! Oh, my sweet Ramona! what will become of her? I will goafter them, and bring them back;" and Felipe rose, and hastily dressinghimself, ran down the veranda steps, to gain a little more time tothink. He returned shortly, to meet his mother standing in the doorway, with pale, affrighted face. 

"Felipe!" she cried, "Ramona is not here. "

"I know it, " he replied in an angry tone. "That is what I told you weshould do, --drive her to running away with Alessandro!"

"With Alessandro!" interrupted the Senora. 

"Yes, " continued Felipe, --"with Alessandro, the Indian! Perhaps youthink it is less disgrace to the names of Ortegna and Moreno to have herrun away with him, than to be married to him here under our roof! Ido not! Curse the day, I say, when I ever lent myself to breaking thegirl's heart! I am going after them, to fetch them back!"

If the skies had opened and rained fire, the Senora had hardly lessquailed and wondered than she did at these words; but even for fire fromthe skies she would not surrender till she must. 

"How know you that it is with Alessandro?" she said. 

"Because she has written it here!" cried Felipe, defiantly holdingup his little note. "She left this, her good-by to me. Bless her! Shewrites like a saint, to thank me for all my goodness to her, --I, whodrove her to steal out of my house like a thief!"

The phrase, "my house, " smote the Senora's ear like a note from someother sphere, which indeed it was, --from the new world into which Felipehad been in an hour born. Her cheeks flushed, and she opened her lips toreply; but before she had uttered a word, Luigo came running roundthe corner, Juan Can hobbling after him at a miraculous pace on hiscrutches. "Senor Felipe! Senor Felipe! Oh, Senora!" they cried. "Thieveshave been here in the night! Baba is gone, --Baba, and the Senorita'ssaddle. "

A malicious smile broke over the Senora's countenance, and turning toFelipe, she said in a tone--what a tone it was! Felipe felt as ifhe must put his hands to his ears to shut it out; Felipe would neverforget, --"As you were saying, like a thief in the night!"

With a swifter and more energetic movement than any had ever before seenSenor Felipe make, he stepped forward, saying in an undertone to hismother, "For God's sake, mother, not a word before the men!--What isthat you say, Luigo? Baba gone? We must see to our corral. I will comedown, after breakfast, and look at it;" and turning his back on them, hedrew his mother by a firm grasp, she could not resist, into the house. 

She gazed at him in sheer, dumb wonder. 

"Ay, mother, " he said, "you may well look thus in wonder; I have been noman, to let my foster-sister, I care not what blood were in her veins, be driven to this pass! I will set out this day, and bring her back. "

"The day you do that, then, I lie in this house dead!" retorted theSenora, at white heat. "You may rear as many Indian families as youplease under the Moreno roof, I will at least have my grave!" In spiteof her anger, grief convulsed her; and in another second she hadburst into tears, and sunk helpless and trembling into a chair. Nocounterfeiting now. No pretences. The Senora Moreno's heart broke withinher, when those words passed her lips to her adored Felipe. At thesight, Felipe flung himself on his knees before her; he kissed the agedhands as they lay trembling in her lap. "Mother mia, " he cried, "youwill break my heart if you speak like that! Oh, why, why do you commandme to do what a man may not? I would die for you, my mother; but how canI see my sister a homeless wanderer in the wilderness?"

"I suppose the man Alessandro has something he calls a home, " said theSenora, regaining herself a little. "Had they no plans? Spoke she not inher letter of what they would do?"

"Only that they would go to Father Salvierderra first, " he replied. 

"Ah!" The Senora reflected. At first startled, her second thought wasthat this would be the best possible thing which could happen. "FatherSalvierderra will counsel them what to do, " she said. "He could no doubtestablish them in Santa Barbara in some way. My son, when you reflect, you will see the impossibility of bringing them here. Help them in anyway you like, but do not bring them here. " She paused. "Not until I amdead, Felipe! It will not be long. "

Felipe bowed his head in his mother's lap. She laid her hands on hishair, and stroked it with passionate tenderness. "My Felipe!" she said. "It was a cruel fate to rob me of you at the last!"

"Mother! mother!" he cried in anguish. "I am yours, --wholly, devotedlyyours! Why do you torture me thus?"

"I will not torture you more, " she said wearily, in a feeble tone. "Iask only one thing of you; let me never hear again the name of thatwretched girl, who has brought all this woe on our house; let her namenever be spoken on this place by man, woman, or child. Like a thief inthe night! Ay, a horse-thief!"

Felipe sprang to his feet. 

"Mother. " he said, "Baba was Ramona's own; I myself gave him to her assoon as he was born!"

The Senora made no reply. She had fainted. Calling the maids, in terrorand sorrow Felipe bore her to her bed, and she did not leave it for manydays. She seemed hovering between life and death. Felipe watched overher as a lover might; her great mournful eyes followed his every motion. She spoke little, partly because of physical weakness, partly fromdespair. The Senora had got her death-blow. She would die hard. It wouldtake long. Yet she was dying, and she knew it. 

Felipe did not know it. When he saw her going about again, with a steponly a little slower than before, and with a countenance not so muchchanged as he had feared, he thought she would be well again, after atime. And now he would go in search of Ramona. How he hoped he shouldfind them in Santa Barbara! He must leave them there, or wherever heshould find them; never again would he for a moment contemplate thepossibility of bringing them home with him. But he would see them; helpthem, if need be. Ramona should not feel herself an outcast, so long ashe lived. 

When he said, agitatedly, to his mother, one night, "You are sostrong now, mother, I think I will take a journey; I will not be awaylong, --not over a week, " she understood, and with a deep sigh replied:"I am not strong; but I am as strong as I shall ever be. If the journeymust be taken, it is as well done now. "

How was the Senora changed!

"It must be, mother, " said Felipe, "or I would not leave you. I will setoff before sunrise, so I will say farewell tonight. "

But in the morning, at his first step, his mother's window opened, andthere she stood, wan, speechless, looking at him. "You must go, my son?"she asked at last. 

"I must, mother!" and Felipe threw his arms around her, and kissed heragain and again. "Dearest mother! Do smile! Can you not?"

"No, my son, I cannot. Farewell. The saints keep you. Farewell. " And sheturned, that she might not see him go. 

Felipe rode away with a sad heart, but his purpose did not falter. Following straight down the river road to the sea, he then kept up alongthe coast, asking here and there, cautiously, if persons answering tothe description of Alessandro and Ramona had been seen. No one had seenany such persons. 

When, on the night of the second day, he rode up to the Santa BarbaraMission, the first figure he saw was the venerable Father Salvierderrasitting in the corridor. As Felipe approached, the old man's face beamedwith pleasure, and he came forward totteringly, leaning on a staff ineach hand. "Welcome, my son!" he said. "Are all well? You find me veryfeeble just now; my legs are failing me sorely this autumn. "

Dismay seized on Felipe at the Father's first words. He would not havespoken thus, had he seen Ramona. Barely replying to the greeting, Felipeexclaimed: "Father, I come seeking Ramona. Has she not been with you?"

Father Salvierderra's face was reply to the question. "Ramona!" hecried. "Seeking Ramona! What has befallen the blessed child?"

It was a bitter story for Felipe to tell; but he told it, sparinghimself no shame. He would have suffered less in the telling, had heknown how well Father Salvierderra understood his mother's character, and her almost unlimited power over all persons around her. FatherSalvierderra was not shocked at the news of Ramona's attachment forAlessandro. He regretted it, but he did not think it shame, as theSenora had done. As Felipe talked with him, he perceived even moreclearly how bitter and unjust his mother had been to Alessandro. 

"He is a noble young man, " said Father Salvierderra. "His father was oneof the most trusted of Father Peyri's assistants. You must find them, Felipe. I wonder much they did not come to me. Perhaps they may yetcome. When you find them, bear them my blessing, and say that I wishthey would come hither. I would like to give them my blessing beforeI die. Felipe, I shall never leave Santa Barbara again. My time drawsnear. "

Felipe was so full of impatience to continue his search, that he hardlylistened to the Father's words. "I will not tarry, " he said. "I cannotrest till I find her. I will ride back as far as Ventura to-night. "

"You will send me word by a messenger, when you find them, " said theFather. "God grant no harm has befallen them. I will pray for them, Felipe;" and he tottered into the church. 

Felipe's thoughts, as he retraced his road, were full of bewildermentand pain. He was wholly at loss to conjecture what course Alessandro andRamona had taken, or what could have led them to abandon their intentionof going to Father Salvierderra. Temecula seemed the only place, now, tolook for them; and yet from Temecula Felipe had heard, only a few daysbefore leaving home, that there was not an Indian left in the valley. But he could at least learn there where the Indians had gone. Poor asthe clew seemed, it was all he had. Cruelly Felipe urged his horseon his return journey. He grudged an hour's rest to himself or to thebeast; and before he reached the head of the Temecula canon the creaturewas near spent. At the steepest part he jumped off and walked, to saveher strength. As he was toiling slowly up a narrow, rocky pass, hesuddenly saw an Indian's head peering over the ledge. He made signsto him to come down. The Indian turned his head, and spoke to some onebehind; one after another a score of figures rose. They made signs toFelipe to come up. "Poor things!" he thought; "they are afraid. " Heshouted to them that his horse was too tired to climb that wall; but ifthey would come down, he would give them money, holding up a gold-piece. They consulted among themselves; presently they began slowly descending, still halting at intervals, and looking suspiciously at him. He heldup the gold again, and beckoned. As soon as they could see his facedistinctly, they broke into a run. That was no enemy's face. 

Only one of the number could speak Spanish. On hearing this man's replyto Felipe's first question, a woman, who had listened sharply and caughtthe word Alessandro, came forward, and spoke rapidly in the Indiantongue. 

"This woman has seen Alessandro, " said the man. 

"Where?" said Felipe, breathlessly. 

"In Temecula, two weeks ago, " he said. 

"Ask her if he had any one with him, " said Felipe. 

"No, " said the woman. "He was alone. "

A convulsion passed over Felipe's face. "Alone!" What did this mean! Hereflected. The woman watched him. "Is she sure he was alone; there wasno one with him?"

"Yes. "

"Was he riding a big black horse?"

"No, a white horse, " answered the woman, promptly. "A small whitehorse. "

It was Carmena, every nerve of her loyal nature on the alert to bafflethis pursuer of Alessandro and Ramona. Again Felipe reflected. "Ask herif she saw him for any length of time; how long she saw him. "

"All night, " he answered. "He spent the night where she did. "

Felipe despaired. "Does she know where he is now?" he asked. 

"He was going to San Luis Obispo, to go in a ship to Monterey. "

"What to do?"

"She does not know. "

"Did he say when he would come back?"

"Yes. "

"When?"

"Never! He said he would never set foot in Temecula again. "

"Does she know him well?"

"As well as her own brother. "

What more could Felipe ask? With a groan, wrung from the very depths ofhis heart, he tossed the man a gold-piece; another to the woman. "I amsorry, " he said. "Alessandro was my friend. I wanted to see him;" and herode away, Carmena's eyes following him with a covert gleam of triumph. 

When these last words of his were interpreted to her, she started, madeas if she would run after him, but checked herself. "No, " she thought. "It may be a lie. He may be an enemy, for all that. I will not tell. Alessandro wished not to be found. I will not tell. "

And thus vanished the last chance of succor for Ramona; vanished in amoment; blown like a thistledown on a chance breath, --the breath of aloyal, loving friend, speaking a lie to save her. 

Distraught with grief, Felipe returned home. Ramona had been veryill when she left home. Had she died, and been buried by the lonely, sorrowing Alessandro? And was that the reason Alessandro was going awayto the North, never to return? Fool that he was, to have shrunk fromspeaking Ramona's name to the Indians! He would return, and ask again. As soon as he had seen his mother, he would set off again, and nevercease searching till he had found either Ramona or her grave. But whenFelipe entered his mother's presence, his first look in her face toldhim that he would not leave her side again until he had laid her at restin the tomb. 

"Thank God! you have come, Felipe, " she said in a feeble voice. "I hadbegun to fear you would not come in time to say farewell to me. I amgoing to leave you, my son;" and the tears rolled down her cheeks. 

Though she no longer wished to live, neither did she wish to die, --thispoor, proud, passionate, defeated, bereft Senora. All the consolationsof her religion seemed to fail her. She had prayed incessantly, but gotno peace. She fixed her imploring eyes on the Virgin's face and on thesaints; but all seemed to her to wear a forbidding look. "If FatherSalvierderra would only come!" she groaned. "He could give me peace. Ifonly I can live till he comes again!"

When Felipe told her of the old man's feeble state, and that he wouldnever again make the journey, she turned her face to the wall and wept. Not only for her own soul's help did she wish to see him: she wishedto put into his hands the Ortegna jewels. What would become of them? Towhom should she transfer the charge? Was there a secular priestwithin reach that she could trust? When her sister had said, in herinstructions, "the Church, " she meant, as the Senora Moreno well knew, the Franciscans. The Senora dared not consult Felipe; yet she must. Dayby day these fretting anxieties and perplexities wasted her strength, and her fever grew higher and higher. She asked no questions as to theresult of Felipe's journey, and he dared not mention Ramona's name. Atlast he could bear it no longer, and one day said, "Mother, I found notrace of Ramona. I have not the least idea where she is. The Father hadnot seen her or heard of her. I fear she is dead. "

"Better so, " was the Senora's sole reply; and she fell again into stilldeeper, more perplexed thought about the hidden treasure. Each day sheresolved, "To-morrow I will tell Felipe;" and when to-morrow came, she put it off again. Finally she decided not to do it till she foundherself dying. Father Salvierderra might yet come once more, andthen all would be well. With trembling hands she wrote him a letter, imploring him to be brought to her, and sent it by messenger, who wasempowered to hire a litter and four men to bring the Father gently andcarefully all the way. But when the messenger reached Santa Barbara, Father Salvierderra was too feeble to be moved; too feeble evento write. He could write only by amanuensis, and wrote, therefore, guardedly, sending her his blessing, and saying that he hoped herfoster-child might yet be restored to the keeping of her friends. TheFather had been in sore straits of mind, as month after month had passedwithout tidings of his "blessed child. "

Soon after this came the news that the Father was dead. This dealt theSenora a terrible blow. She never left her bed after it. And so the yearhad worn on; and Felipe, mourning over his sinking and failing mother, and haunted by terrible fears about the lost Ramona, had been torturedindeed. 

But the end drew near, now. The Senora was plainly dying. The Venturadoctor had left off coming, saying that he could do no more; nothingremained but to give her what ease was possible; in a day or two moreall would be over. Felipe hardly left her bedside. Rarely was mother soloved and nursed by son. No daughter could have shown more tendernessand devotion. In the close relation and affection of these last days, the sense of alienation and antagonism faded from both their hearts. 

"My adorable Felipe!" she would murmur. "What a son hast thou been!"And, "My beloved mother! How shall I give you up?" Felipe would reply, bowing his head on her hands, --so wasted now, so white, so weak; thosehands which had been cruel and strong little more than one short yearago. Ah, no one could refuse to forgive the Senora now! The gentleRamona, had she seen her, had wept tears of pity. Her eyes wore at timesa look almost of terror. It was the secret. How should she speak it?What would Felipe say? At last the moment came. She had been withdifficulty roused from a long fainting; one more such would be thelast, she knew, --knew even better than those around her. As she regainedconsciousness, she gasped, "Felipe! Alone!"

He understood, and waved the rest away. 

"Alone!" she said again, turning her eyes to the door. 

"Leave the room, " said Felipe; "all--wait outside;" and he closed thedoor on them. Even then the Senora hesitated. Almost was she ready togo out of life leaving the hidden treasure to its chance of discovery, rather than with her own lips reveal to Felipe what she saw now, sawwith the terrible, relentless clear-sightedness of death, would makehim, even after she was in her grave, reproach her in his thoughts. 

But she dared not withhold it. It must be said. Pointing to the statueof Saint Catharine, whose face seemed, she thought, to frown unforgivingupon her, she said, "Felipe--behind that statue--look!"

Felipe thought her delirious, and said tenderly, "Nothing is there, dearest mother. Be calm. I am here. "

New terror seized the dying woman. Was she to be forced to carrythe secret to the grave? to be denied this late avowal? "No! no!Felipe--there is a door there--secret door. Look! Open! I must tellyou!"

Hastily Felipe moved the statue. There was indeed the door, as she hadsaid. 

"Do not tell me now, mother dear. Wait till you are stronger, " he said. As he spoke, he turned, and saw, with alarm, his mother sitting uprightin the bed, her right arm outstretched, her hand pointing to the door, her eyes in a glassy stare, her face convulsed. Before a cry could passhis lips, she had fallen back. The Senora Moreno was dead. 

At Felipe's cry, the women waiting in the hall hurried in, wailingaloud as their first glance showed them all was over. In the confusion, Felipe, with a pale, set face, pushed the statue back into its place. Even then a premonition of horror swept over him. What was he, the son, to find behind that secret door, at sight of which his mother had diedwith that look of anguished terror in her eyes? All through the sadduties of the next four days Felipe was conscious of the undercurrentof this premonition. The funeral ceremonies were impressive. The littlechapel could not hold the quarter part of those who came, from far andnear. Everybody wished to do honor to the Senora Moreno. A priest fromVentura and one from San Luis Obispo were there. When all was done, theybore the Senora to the little graveyard on the hillside, and laid her bythe side of her husband and her children; silent and still at last, the restless, passionate, proud, sad heart! When, the night after thefuneral, the servants saw Senor Felipe going into his mother's room, they shuddered, and whispered, "Oh, he must not! He will break hisheart, Senor Felipe! How he loved her!"

Old Marda ventured to follow him, and at the threshold said: "Dear SenorFelipe, do not! It is not good to go there! Come away!"

But he put her gently by, saying, "I would rather be here, good Marda;"and went in and locked the door. 

It was past midnight when he came out. His face was stern. He had buriedhis mother again. Well might the Senora have dreaded to tell to Felipethe tale of the Ortegna treasure. Until he reached the bottom of thejewel-box, and found the Senora Ortegna's letter to his mother, he wasin entire bewilderment at all he saw. After he had read this letter, hesat motionless for a long time, his head buried in his hands. His soulwas wrung. 

"And she thought that shame, and not this!" he said bitterly. 

But one thing remained for Felipe now, If Ramona lived, he would findher, and restore to her this her rightful property. If she were dead, itmust go to the Santa Barbara College. 

"Surely my mother must have intended to give it to the Church, " he said. "But why keep it all this time? It is this that has killed her. Oh, shame! oh, disgrace!" From the grave in which Felipe had buried hismother now, was no resurrection. 

Replacing everything as before in the safe hiding-place, he sat down andwrote a letter to the Superior of the Santa Barbara College, tellinghim of the existence of these valuables, which in certain contingencieswould belong to the College. Early in the morning he gave this letter toJuan Canito, saying: "I am going away, Juan, on a journey. If anythinghappens to me, and I do not return, send this letter by trusty messengerto Santa Barbara. "

"Will you be long away, Senor Felipe?" asked the old man, piteously. 

"I cannot tell, Juan, " replied Felipe. "It may be only a short time; itmay be long. I leave everything in your care. You will do all accordingto your best judgment, I know. I will say to all that I have left you incharge. "

"Thanks, Senor Felipe! Thanks!" exclaimed Juan, happier than he had beenfor two years. "Indeed, you may trust me! From the time you were a boytill now, I have had no thought except for your house. "

Even in heaven the Senora Moreno had felt woe as if in hell, had sheknown the thoughts with which her Felipe galloped this morning out ofthe gateway through which, only the day before, he had walked weepingbehind her body borne to burial. 

"And she thought this no shame to the house of Moreno!" he said. "MyGod!"

XXII

DURING the first day of Ramona's and Alessandro's sad journey theyscarcely spoke. Alessandro walked at the horses' heads, his face sunk onhis breast, his eyes fixed on the ground. Ramona watched him in anxiousfear. Even the baby's voice and cooing laugh won from him no response. After they were camped for the night, she said, "Dear Alessandro, willyou not tell me where we are going?"

In spite of her gentleness, there was a shade of wounded feeling in hertone. Alessandro flung himself on his knees before her, and cried: "MyMajella! my Majella! it seems to me I am going mad! I cannot tell whatto do. I do not know what I think; all my thoughts seem whirling roundas leaves do in brooks in the time of the spring rains. Do you think Ican be going mad? It was enough to make me!"

Ramona, her own heart wrung with fear, soothed him as best she could. "Dear Alessandro, " she said, "let us go to Los Angeles, and not livewith the Indians any more. You could get work there. You could play atdances sometimes; there must be plenty of work. I could get more sewingto do, too. It would be better, I think. "

He looked horror-stricken at the thought. "Go live among the whitepeople!" he cried. "What does Majella think would become of one Indian, or two, alone among whites? If they will come to our villages and driveus out a hundred at a time, what would they do to one man alone? Oh, Majella is foolish!"

"But there are many of your people at work for whites at San Bernardinoand other places, " she persisted. "Why could not we do as they do?"

"Yes, " he said bitterly, "at work for whites; so they are, Majella hasnot seen. No man will pay an Indian but half wages; even long ago, whenthe Fathers were not all gone, and tried to help the Indians, my fatherhas told me that it was the way only to pay an Indian one-half that awhite man or a Mexican had. It was the Mexicans, too, did that, Majella. And now they pay the Indians in money sometimes, half wages; sometimesin bad flour, or things he does not want; sometimes in whiskey; and ifhe will not take it, and asks for his money, they laugh, and tell him togo, then. One man in San Bernardino last year, when an Indian would nottake a bottle of sour wine for pay for a day's work, shot him in thecheek with his pistol, and told him to mind how he was insolent anymore! Oh, Majella, do not ask me to go work in the towns! I should killsome man, Majella, if I saw things like that. "

Ramona shuddered, and was silent. Alessandro continued: "If Majellawould not be afraid, I know a place, high up on the mountain, whereno white man has ever been, or ever will be. I found it when I wasfollowing a bear. The beast led me up. It was his home; and I said then, it was a fit hiding-place for a man. There is water, and a little greenvalley. We could live there; but it would be no more than to live, , itis very small, the valley. Majella would be afraid?"

"Yes, Alessandro, I would be afraid, all alone on a high mountain. Oh, do not let us go there! Try something else first, Alessandro. Is thereno other Indian village you know?"

"There is Saboba, " he said, "at foot of the San Jacinto Mountain; I hadthought of that. Some of my people went there from Temecula; but it isa poor little village, Majella. Majella would not like to live in it. Neither do I believe it will long be any safer than San Pasquale. Therewas a kind, good old man who owned all that valley, --Senor Ravallo; hefound the village of Saboba there when he came to the country. It is oneof the very oldest of all; he was good to all Indians, and he said theyshould never be disturbed, never. He is dead; but his three sons havethe estate yet, and I think they would keep their father's promise tothe Indians. But you see, to-morrow, Majella, they may die, or go backto Mexico, as Senor Valdez did, and then the Americans will get it, asthey did Temecula. And there are already white men living in the valley. We will go that way, Majella. Majella shall see. If she says stay, wewill stay. "

It was in the early afternoon that they entered the broad valley of SanJacinto. They entered it from the west. As they came in, though the skyover their heads was overcast and gray, the eastern and northeasternpart of the valley was flooded with a strange light, at once ruddy andgolden. It was a glorious sight. The jagged top and spurs of San JacintoMountain shone like the turrets and posterns of a citadel built ofrubies. The glow seemed preternatural. 

"Behold San Jacinto!" cried Alessandro. 

Ramona exclaimed in delight. "It is an omen!" she said. "We are goinginto the sunlight, out of the shadow;" and she glanced back at the west, which was of a slaty blackness. 

"I like it not!" said Alessandro. "The shadow follows too fast!"

Indeed it did. Even as he spoke, a fierce wind blew from the north, andtearing off fleeces from the black cloud, sent them in scurrying massesacross the sky. In a moment more, snow-flakes began to fall. 

"Holy Virgin!" cried Alessandro. Too well he knew what it meant. Heurged the horses, running fast beside them. It was of no use. Too mucheven for Baba and Benito to make any haste, with the heavily loadedwagon. 

"There is an old sheep-corral and a hut not over a mile farther, if wecould but reach it!" groaned Alessandro. "Majella, you and the childwill freeze. "

"She is warm on my breast, " said Ramona; "but, Alessandro, what ice inthis wind! It is like a knife at my back!"

Alessandro uttered another ejaculation of dismay. The snow was fastthickening; already the track was covered. The wind lessened. 

"Thank God, that wind no longer cuts as it did, " said Ramona, her teethchattering, clasping the baby closer and closer. 

"I would rather it blew than not, " said Alessandro; "it will carry thesnow before it. A little more of this, and we cannot see, any more thanin the night. "

Still thicker and faster fell the snow; the air was dense; it was, asAlessandro had said, worse than the darkness of night, --this strangeopaque whiteness, thick, choking, freezing one's breath. Presentlythe rough jolting of the wagon showed that they were off the road. Thehorses stopped; refused to go on. 

"We are lost, if we stay here!" cried Alessandro. "Come, my Benito, come!" and he took him by the head, and pulled him by main force backinto the road, and led him along. It was terrible. Ramona's heart sankwithin her. She felt her arms growing numb; how much longer could shehold the baby safe? She called to Alessandro. He did not hear her; thewind had risen again; the snow was being blown in masses; it was likemaking headway among whirling snow-drifts. 

"We will die, " thought Ramona. "Perhaps it is as well!" And that was thelast she knew, till she heard a shouting, and found herself being shakenand beaten, and heard a strange voice saying, "Sorry ter handle yer sorough, ma'am, but we've got ter git yer out ter the fire!"

"Fire!" Were there such things as fire and warmth? Mechanically she putthe baby into the unknown arms that were reaching up to her, and triedto rise from her seat; but she could not move. 

"Set still! set still!" said the strange voice. "I'll jest carry thebaby ter my wife, an' come back fur you. I allowed yer couldn't git upon yer feet;" and the tall form disappeared. The baby, thus vigorouslydisturbed from her warm sleep, began to cry. 

"Thank God!" said Alessandro, at the plunging horses' heads. "The childis alive! Majella!" he called. 

"Yes, Alessandro, " she answered faintly, the gusts sweeping her voicelike a distant echo past him. 

It was a marvellous rescue. They had been nearer the old sheep-corralthan Alessandro had thought; but except that other storm-beatentravellers had reached it before them, Alessandro had never found it. Just as he felt his strength failing him, and had thought to himself, in almost the same despairing words as Ramona, "This will end all ourtroubles, " he saw a faint light to the left. Instantly he had turned thehorses' heads towards it. The ground was rough and broken, and more thanonce he had been in danger of overturning the wagon; but he had pressedon, shouting at intervals for help. At last his call was answered, andanother light appeared; this time a swinging one, coming slowly towardshim, --a lantern, in the hand of a man, whose first words, "Wall, stranger, I allow yer inter trouble, " were as intelligible to Alessandroas if they had been spoken in the purest San Luiseno dialect. 

Not so, to the stranger, Alessandro's grateful reply in Spanish. 

"Another o' these no-'count Mexicans, by thunder!" thought Jeff Hyer tohimself. "Blamed ef I'd lived in a country all my life, ef I wouldn'tknow better'n to git caught out in such weather's this!" And as he putthe crying babe into his wife's arms, he said half impatiently, "Ef I'dknowed 't wuz Mexicans, Ri, I wouldn't ev' gone out ter 'um. They'remore ter hum 'n I am, 'n these yer tropicks. "

"Naow, Jeff, yer know yer wouldn't let ennythin' in shape ev a humancreetur go perishin' past aour fire sech weather's this, " replied thewoman, as she took the baby, which recognized the motherly hand at itsfirst touch, and ceased crying. 

"Why, yer pooty, blue-eyed little thing!" she exclaimed, as she lookedinto the baby's face. "I declar, Jos, think o' sech a mite's this bein'aout'n this weather. I'll jest warm up some milk for it this minnit. "

"Better see't th' mother fust, Ri, " said Jeff, leading, half carrying, Ramona into the hut. "She's nigh abaout froze stiff!"

But the sight of her baby safe and smiling was a better restorative forRamona than anything else, and in a few moments she had fully recovered. It was in a strange group she found herself. On a mattress, in thecorner of the hut, lay a young man apparently about twenty-five, whosebright eyes and flushed cheeks told but too plainly the story of hisdisease. The woman, tall, ungainly, her face gaunt, her hands hardenedand wrinkled, gown ragged, shoes ragged, her dry and broken light hairwound in a careless, straggling knot in her neck, wisps of it flyingover her forehead, was certainly not a prepossessing figure. Yet spiteof her careless, unkempt condition, there was a certain gentle dignityin her bearing, and a kindliness in her glance, which won trust andwarmed hearts at once. Her pale blue eyes were still keen-sighted; andas she fixed them on Ramona, she thought to herself, "This ain't nocommon Mexican, no how. " "Be ye movers?" she said. 

Ramona stared. In the little English she knew, that word was notincluded. "Ah, Senora, " she said regretfully, "I cannot talk in theEnglish speech; only in Spanish. "

"Spanish, eh? Yer mean Mexican? Jos, hyar, he kin talk thet. He can'ttalk much, though; 'tain't good fur him; his lungs is out er kilter. Thet's what we're bringin' him hyar fur, --fur warm climate! 'pearslike it, don't it?" and she chuckled grimly, but with a side glance ofineffable tenderness at the sick man. "Ask her who they be, Jos, " sheadded. 

Jos lifted himself on his elbow, and fixing his shining eyes on Ramona, said in Spanish, "My mother asks if you are travellers?"

"Yes, " said Ramona. "We have come all the way from San Diego. We areIndians. "

"Injuns!" ejaculated Jos's mother. "Lord save us, Jos! Hev we reellytook in Injuns? What on airth--Well, well, she's fond uv her baby's ennywhite woman! I kin see thet; an', Injun or no Injun, they've got to staynaow. Yer couldn't turn a dog out 'n sech weather's this. I bet thetbaby's father wuz white, then. Look at them blue eyes. "

Ramona listened and looked intently, but could understand nothing. Almost she doubted if the woman were really speaking English. She hadnever before heard so many English sentences without being able tounderstand one word. The Tennessee drawl so altered even the commonestwords, that she did not recognize them. Turning to Jos, she said gently, "I know very little English. I am so sorry I cannot understand. Will ittire you to interpret to me what your mother said?"

Jos was as full of humor as his mother. "She wants me to tell her whatyou wuz sayin', " he said, "I allow, I'll only tell her the part on'tshe'll like best. --My mother says you can stay here with us till thestorm is over, " he said to Ramona. 

Swifter than lightning, Ramona had seized the woman's hand and carriedit to her heart, with an expressive gesture of gratitude and emotion. "Thanks! thanks! Senora!" she cried. 

"What is it she calls me, Jos?" asked his mother. 

"Senora, " he replied. "It only means the same as lady. "

"Shaw, Jos! You tell her I ain't any lady. Tell her everybody roundwhere we live calls me 'Aunt Ri, ' or 'Mis Hyer;' she kin call mewhichever she's a mind to. She's reel sweet-spoken. "

With some difficulty Jos explained his mother's disclaimer of the titleof Senora, and the choice of names she offered to Ramona. 

Ramona, with smiles which won both mother and son, repeated after himboth names, getting neither exactly right at first trial, and finallysaid, "I like 'Aunt Ri' best; she is so kind, like aunt, to every one. "

"Naow, ain't thet queer, Jos, " said Aunt Ri, "aout here 'n theswilderness to ketch sumbody sayin' thet, --jest what they all say terhum? I donno's I'm enny kinder'n ennybody else. I don't want ter seeennybody put upon, nor noways sufferin', ef so be's I kin help; but thetain't ennythin' stronary, ez I know. I donno how ennybody could feelenny different. "

"There's lots doos, mammy, " replied Jos, affectionately. "Yer'd find outfast enuf, ef yer went raound more. There's mighty few's good's you airter everybody. "

Ramona was crouching in the corner by the fire, her baby held close toher breast. The place which at first had seemed a haven of warmth, shenow saw was indeed but a poor shelter against the fearful storm whichraged outside. It was only a hut of rough boards, carelessly knockedtogether for a shepherd's temporary home. It had been long unused, andmany of the boards were loose and broken. Through these crevices, atevery blast of the wind, the fine snow swirled. On the hearth wereburning a few sticks of wood, dead cottonwood branches, which Jef Hyerhad hastily collected before the storm reached its height. A few moresticks lay by the hearth. Aunt Ri glanced at them anxiously. A poorprovision for a night in the snow. "Be ye warm, Jos?" she asked. 

"Not very, mammy, " he said; "but I ain't cold, nuther; an' thet'ssomethin'. "

It was the way in the Hyer family to make the best of things; they hadalways possessed this virtue to such an extent, that they sufferedfrom it as from a vice. There was hardly to be found in all SouthernTennessee a more contented, shiftless, ill-bestead family than theirs. But there was no grumbling. Whatever went wrong, whatever was lacking, it was "jest like aour luck, " they said, and did nothing, or next tonothing, about it. Good-natured, affectionate, humorous people; afterall, they got more comfort out of life than many a family whose surfaceconditions were incomparably better than theirs. When Jos, their oldestchild and only son, broke down, had hemorrhage after hemorrhage, andthe doctor said the only thing that could save him was to go across theplains in a wagon to California, they said, "What good luck 'Lizy wasmarried last year! Now there ain't nuthin' ter hinder sellin' the farm'n goin' right off. " And they sold their little place for half it wasworth, traded cattle for a pair of horses and a covered wagon, and setoff, half beggared, with their sick boy on a bed in the bottom of thewagon, as cheery as if they were rich people on a pleasure-trip. A pairof steers "to spell" the horses, and a cow to give milk for Jos, theydrove before them; and so they had come by slow stages, sometimescamping for a week at a time, all the way from Tennessee to the SanJacinto Valley. They were rewarded. Jos was getting well. Another sixmonths, they thought, would see him cured; and it would have gone hardwith any one who had tried to persuade either Jefferson or Maria Hyerthat they were not as lucky a couple as could be found. Had they notsaved Joshua, their son?

Nicknames among this class of poor whites in the South seem singularlylike those in vogue in New England. From totally opposite motives, thelazy, easy-going Tennesseean and the hurry-driven Vermonter cut down alltheir family names to the shortest. To speak three syllables where onewill answer, seems to the Vermonter a waste of time; to the Tennesseean, quite too much trouble. Mrs. Hyer could hardly recollect ever havingheard her name, "Maria, " in full; as a child, and until she was married, she was simply "Ri;" and as soon as she had a house of her own, tobecome a centre of hospitality and help, she was adopted by commonconsent of the neighborhood, in a sort of titular and universalaunt-hood, which really was a much greater tribute and honor than shedreamed. Not a man, woman, or child, within her reach, that did not callher or know of her as "Aunt Ri. "

"I donno whether I'd best make enny more fire naow or not, " she saidreflectively; "ef this storm's goin' to last till mornin', we'll comeshort o' wood, thet's clear. " As she spoke, the door of the hut burstopen, and her husband staggered in, followed by Alessandro, both coveredwith snow, their arms full of wood. Alessandro, luckily, knew of alittle clump of young cottonwood-trees in a ravine, only a few rods fromthe house; and the first thing he had thought of, after tethering thehorses in shelter between the hut and the wagons, was to get wood. Jeff, seeing him take a hatchet from the wagon, had understood, got his own, and followed; and now there lay on the ground enough to keep them warmfor hours. As soon as Alessandro had thrown down his load, he darted toRamona, and kneeling down, looked anxiously into the baby's face, theninto hers; then he said devoutly, "The saints be praised, my Majella! Itis a miracle!"

Jos listened in dismay to this ejaculation. "Ef they ain't Catholics!"he thought. "What kind o' Injuns be they I wonder. I won't tell mammythey're Catholics; she'd feel wuss'n ever. I don't care what they be. Thet gal's got the sweetest eyes'n her head ever I saw sence I wuzborn. "

By help of Jos's interpreting, the two families soon became wellacquainted with each other's condition and plans; and a feeling offriendliness, surprising under the circumstances, grew up between them. 

"Jeff, " said Aunt Ri, --"Jeff, they can't understand a word we say, so't's no harm done, I s'pose, to speak afore 'em, though't don't seemhardly fair to take advantage o' their not knowin' any language buttheir own; but I jest tell you thet I've got a lesson'n the subjeck uvInjuns. I've always hed a reel mean feelin' about 'em; I didn't want tercome nigh 'em, nor ter hev 'em come nigh me. This woman, here, she's ezsweet a creetur's ever I see; 'n' ez bound up 'n thet baby's yer couldask enny woman to be; 'n' 's fur thet man, can't yer see, Jeff, he jestworships the ground she walks on? Thet's a fact, Jeff. I donno's ever Isee a white man think so much uv a woman; come, naow, Jeff, d' yer thinkyer ever did yerself?"

Aunt Ri was excited. The experience was, to her, almost incredible. Herideas of Indians had been drawn from newspapers, and from a book or twoof narratives of massacres, and from an occasional sight of vagabondbands or families they had encountered in their journey across theplains. Here she found herself sitting side by side in friendlyintercourse with an Indian man and Indian woman, whose appearance andbehavior were attractive; towards whom she felt herself singularlydrawn. 

"I'm free to confess, Jos, " she said, "I wouldn't ha' bleeved it. Ihain't seen nobody, black, white, or gray, sence we left hum, I've tookto like these yere folks. An' they're real dark; 's dark's any nigger inTennessee; 'n' he's pewer Injun; her father wuz white, she sez, but shedon't call herself nothin' but an Injun, the same's he is. D' yernotice the way she looks at him, Jos? Don't she jest set a store by thetfeller? 'N' I don't blame her. "

Indeed, Jos had noticed. No man was likely to see Ramona with Alessandrowithout perceiving the rare quality of her devotion to him. And nowthere was added to this devotion an element of indefinable anxiety whichmade its vigilance unceasing. Ramona feared for Alessandro's reason. She had hardly put it into words to herself, but the terrible fear dweltwith her. She felt that another blow would be more than he could bear. 

The storm lasted only a few hours. When it cleared, the valley was asolid expanse of white, and the stars shone out as if in an Arctic sky. 

"It will be all gone by noon to-morrow, " said Alessandro to Jos, who wasdreading the next day. 

"Not really!" he said. 

"You will see, " said Alessandro. "I have often known it thus. It is likedeath while it lasts; but it is never long. "

The Hyers were on their way to some hot springs on the north side of thevalley. Here they proposed to camp for three months, to try the watersfor Jos. They had a tent, and all that was necessary for living in theirprimitive fashion. Aunt Ri was looking forward to the rest with greatanticipation; she was heartily tired of being on the move. Her husband'santicipations were of a more stirring nature. He had heard that therewas good hunting on San Jacinto Mountain. When he found that Alessandroknew the region thoroughly, and had been thinking of settling there, hewas rejoiced, and proposed to him to become his companion and guidein hunting expeditions. Ramona grasped eagerly at the suggestion;companionship, she was sure, would do Alessandro good, --companionship, the outdoor life, and the excitement of hunting, of which he was fond. This hot-spring canon was only a short distance from the Saboba village, of which they had spoken as a possible home; which she had from thefirst desired to try. She no longer had repugnance to the thought of anIndian village; she already felt a sense of kinship and shelter with anyIndian people. She had become, as Carmena had said, "one of them. "

A few days saw the two families settled, --the Hyers in their tent andwagon, at the hot springs, and Alessandro and Ramona, with the baby, ina little adobe house in the Saboba village. The house belonged to anold Indian woman who, her husband having died, had gone to live witha daughter, and was very glad to get a few dollars by renting her ownhouse. It was a wretched place; one small room, walled with poorly madeadobe bricks, thatched with tule, no floor, and only one window. WhenAlessandro heard Ramona say cheerily, "Oh, this will do very well, whenit is repaired a little, " his face was convulsed, and he turned away;but he said nothing. It was the only house to be had in the village, and there were few better. Two months later, no one would have known it. Alessandro had had good luck in hunting. Two fine deerskins covered theearth floor; a third was spread over the bedstead; and the horns, hungon the walls, served for hooks to hang clothes upon. The scarlet calicocanopy was again set up over the bed, and the woven cradle, on its redmanzanita frame, stood near. A small window in the door, and one morecut in the walls, let in light and air. On a shelf near one of thesewindows stood the little Madonna, again wreathed with vines as in SanPasquale. 

When Aunt Ri first saw the room, after it was thus arranged, she putboth arms akimbo, and stood in the doorway, her mouth wide open, hereyes full of wonder. Finally her wonder framed itself in an ejaculation:"Wall, I allow yer air fixed up!"

Aunt Ri, at her best estate, had never possessed a room which hadthe expression of this poor little mud hut of Ramona's. She could notunderstand it. The more she studied the place, the less she understoodit. On returning to the tent, she said to Jos: "It beats all ever Isee, the way thet Injun woman's got fixed up out er nothin'. It ain't nomore'n a hovel, a mud hovel, Jos, not much bigger'n this yer tent, furall three on 'em, an' the bed an' the stove an' everythin'; an' I vow, Jos, she's fixed it so't looks jest like a parlor! It beats me, it does. I'd jest like you to see it. "

And when Jos saw it, and Jeff, they were as full of wonder as Aunt Rihad been. Dimly they recognized the existence of a principle here whichhad never entered into their life. They did not know it by name, andit could not have been either taught, transferred, or explained to thegood-hearted wife and mother who had been so many years the affectionatedisorderly genius of their home. But they felt its charm; and when, one day, after the return of Alessandro and Jeff from a particularlysuccessful hunt, the two families had sat down together to a supperof Ramona's cooking, --stewed venison and artichokes, and frijoles withchili, --their wonder was still greater. 

"Ask her if this is Injun style of cooking, Jos, " said Aunt Ri. "I neverthought nothin' o' beans; but these air good, 'n' no mistake!"

Ramona laughed. "No; it is Mexican, " she said. "I learned to cook froman old Mexican woman. "

"Wall, I'd like the receipt on't; but I allow I shouldn't never git thetime to fuss with it, " said Aunt Ri; "but I may's well git the rule, naow I'm here. "

Alessandro began to lose some of his gloom. He had earned money. Hehad been lifted out of himself by kindly companionship; he saw Ramonacheerful, the little one sunny; the sense of home, the strongest passionAlessandro possessed, next to his love for Ramona, began again to awakein him. He began to talk about building a house. He had found things inthe village better than he feared. It was but a poverty-stricken littlehandful, to be sure; still, they were unmolested; the valley was large;their stock ran free; the few white settlers, one at the upper end andtwo or three on the south side, had manifested no disposition to crowdthe Indians; the Ravallo brothers were living on the estate still, and there was protection in that, Alessandro thought. And Majella wascontent. Majella had found friends. Something, not quite hope, but akinto it, began to stir in Alessandro's heart. He would build a house;Majella should no longer live in this mud hut. But to his surprise, whenhe spoke of it, Ramona said no; they had all they needed, now. Was notAlessandro comfortable? She was. It would be wise to wait longer beforebuilding. 

Ramona knew many things that Alessandro did not. While he had been awayon his hunts, she had had speech with many a one he never saw. She hadgone to the store and post-office several times, to exchange baskets orlace for flour, and she had heard talk there which disquieted her. Shedid not believe that Saboba was safe. One day she had heard a man say, "If there is a drought we shall have the devil to pay with our stockbefore winter is over. " "Yes, " said another; "and look at those damnedIndians over there in Saboba, with water running all the time in theirvillage! It's a shame they should have that spring!"

Not for worlds would Ramona have told this to Alessandro. She kept itlocked in her own breast, but it rankled there like a ceaseless warningand prophecy. When she reached home that day she went down to the springin the centre of the village, and stood a long time looking at thebubbling water. It was indeed a priceless treasure; a long irrigatingditch led from it down into the bottom, where lay the cultivatedfields, --many acres in wheat, barley, and vegetables. Alessandro himselfhad fields there from which they would harvest all they needed for thehorses and their cow all winter, in case pasturage failed. If the whitestook away this water, Saboba would be ruined. However, as the springbegan in the very heart of the village, they could not take it withoutdestroying the village. "And the Ravallos would surely never let that bedone, " thought Ramona. "While they live, it will not happen. "

It was a sad day for Ramona and Alessandro when the kindly Hyers pulledup their tent-stakes and left the valley. Their intended three monthshad stretched into six, they had so enjoyed the climate, and the watershad seemed to do such good to Jos. But, "We ain't rich folks, yer know, not by a long ways, we ain't, " said Aunt Ri; "an' we've got pretty nighdown to where Jeff an' me's got to begin airnin' suthin'. Ef we kin gitsettled 'n some o' these towns where there's carpenterin' to be done. Jeff, he's a master hand to thet kind o' work, though yer mightn'tthink it; 'n I kin airn right smart at weavin'; jest give me a goodcarpet-loom, 'n I won't be beholden to nobody for vittles. I jest dulove weavin'. I donno how I've contented myself this hull year, or nighabout a year, without a loom. Jeff, he sez to me once, sez he, 'Ri, doyer think yer'd be contented in heaven without yer loom?' an' I was freeto say I didn't know's I should. "

"Is it hard?" cried Ramona. "Could I learn to do it?" It was wonderfulwhat progress in understanding and speaking English Ramona had made inthese six months. She now understood nearly all that was said directlyto her, though she could not follow general and confused conversation. 

"Wall, 'tis, an' 'tain't, " said Aunt Ri. "I don't s'pose I'm much of ajedge; fur I can't remember when I fust learned it. I know I set inthe loom to weave when my feet couldn't reach the floor; an' I don'tremember nothin' about fust learnin' to spool 'n' warp. I've tried toteach lots of folks; an' sum learns quick, an' some don't never learn;it's jest 's 't strikes 'em. I should think, naow, thet you wuz one o'the kind could turn yer hands to anythin'. When we get settled in SanBernardino, if yer'll come down thar, I'll teach yer all I know, 'n' beglad ter. I donno's 't 's goin' to be much uv a place for carpet-weavin'though, anywheres raound 'n this yer country; not but what thar's plentyo' rags, but folks seems to be wearin' 'em; pooty gen'ral wear, I sh'dsay. I've seen more cloes on folks' backs hyar, thet wan't no more'n fitfor carpet-rags, than any place ever I struck. They're drefful sheftlesslot, these yere Mexicans; 'n' the Injuns is wuss. Naow when I sayInjuns, I don't never mean yeow, yer know thet. Yer ain't ever seemed tome one mite like an Injun. "

"Most of our people haven't had any chance, " said Ramona. "You wouldn'tbelieve if I were to tell you what things have been done to them; howthey are robbed, and cheated, and turned out of their homes. "

Then she told the story of Temecula, and of San Pasquale, in Spanish, toJos, who translated it with no loss in the telling. Aunt Ri was aghast;she found no words to express her indignation. 

"I don't bleeve the Guvvermunt knows anything about it. " she said. "Why, they take folks up, n'n penetentiarize 'em fur life, back 'n Tennessee, fur things thet ain't so bad's thet! Somebody ought ter be sent ter tell'em 't Washington what's goin' on hyar. "

"I think it's the people in Washington that have done it, " said Ramona, sadly. "Is it not in Washington all the laws are made?"

"I bleeve so!" said Aunt Ri, "Ain't it, Jos? It's Congress ain't 't, makes the laws?"

"I bleeve so. " said Jos. "They make some, at any rate. I donno's theymake 'em all. "

"It is all done by the American law, " said Ramona, "all these things;nobody can help himself; for if anybody goes against the law he has tobe killed or put in prison; that was what the sheriff told Alessandro, at Temecula. He felt very sorry for the Temecula people, the sheriffdid; but he had to obey the law himself. Alessandro says there isn't anyhelp. "

Aunt Ri shook her head. She was not convinced. "I sh'll make a businesso' findin' out abaout this thing yit, " she said. "I think yer hain't gotthe rights on't yit. There's cheatin' somewhere!"

"It's all cheating. " said Ramona; "but there isn't any help for it, AuntRi. The Americans think it is no shame to cheat for money. "

"I'm an Ummeriken!" cried Aunt Ri; "an' Jeff Hyer, and Jos! We'reUmmerikens! 'n' we wouldn't cheat nobody, not ef we knowed it, notout er a doller. We're pore, an' I allus expect to be, but we're abovecheatin'; an' I tell you, naow, the Ummeriken people don't want any o'this cheatin' done, naow! I'm going to ask Jeff haow 'tis. Why, it's aburnin' shame to any country! So 'tis! I think something oughter be doneabaout it! I wouldn't mind goin' myself, ef thar wan't anybody else!"

A seed had been sown in Aunt Ri's mind which was not destined to die forwant of soil. She was hot with shame and anger, and full of impulse todo something. "I ain't nobody, " she said; "I know thet well enough, --Iain't nobody nor nothin'; but I allow I've got suthin' to say abaout thecountry I live in, 'n' the way things hed oughter be; or 't least Jeffhez; 'n' thet's the same thing. I tell yer, Jos, I ain't goin' to rest, nor ter give yeou 'n' yer father no rest nuther, till yeou find aoutwhat all this yere means she's been tellin' us. "

But sharper and closer anxieties than any connected with rights to landsand homes were pressing upon Alessandro and Ramona. All summer the babyhad been slowly drooping; so slowly that it was each day possible forRamona to deceive herself, thinking that there had been since yesterdayno loss, perhaps a little gain; but looking back from the autumn to thespring, and now from the winter to the autumn, there was no doubt thatshe had been steadily going down. From the day of that terrible chillin the snow-storm, she had never been quite well, Ramona thought. Beforethat, she was strong, always strong, always beautiful and merry, Now herpinched little face was sad to see, and sometimes for hours she made afeeble wailing cry without any apparent cause. All the simple remediesthat Aunt Ri had known, had failed to touch her disease; in fact, Aunt Ri from the first had been baffled in her own mind by the child'ssymptoms. Day after day Alessandro knelt by the cradle, his handsclasped, his face set. Hour after hour, night and day, indoors and out, he bore her in his arms, trying to give her relief. Prayer after prayerto the Virgin, to the saints, Ramona had said; and candles by the dozen, though money was now scant, she had burned before the Madonna; all invain. At last she implored Alessandro to go to San Bernardino and see adoctor. "Find Aunt Ri, " she said; "she will go with you, with Jos, andtalk to him; she can make him understand. Tell Aunt Ri she seems just asshe did when they were here, only weaker and thinner. "

Alessandro found Aunt Ri in a sort of shanty on the outskirts of SanBernardino. "Not to rights yit, " she said, --as if she ever would be. Jeff had found work; and Jos, too, had been able to do a little onpleasant days. He had made a loom and put up a loom-house for hismother, --a floor just large enough to hold the loom, rough walls, anda roof; one small square window, --that was all; but if Aunt Ri hadbeen presented with a palace, she would not have been so well pleased. Already she had woven a rag carpet for herself, was at work on one fora neighbor, and had promised as many more as she could do before spring;the news of the arrival of a rag-carpet weaver having gone with despatchall through the lower walks of San Bernardino life. "I wouldn't hevbleeved they hed so many rags besides what they're wearin', " said AuntRi, as sack after sack appeared at her door. Already, too, Aunt Rihad gathered up the threads of the village life; in her friendly, impressionable way she had come into relation with scores of people, andknew who was who, and what was what, and why, among them all, far betterthan many an old resident of the town. 

When she saw Benito galloping up to her door, she sprang down fromher high stool at the loom, and ran bareheaded to the gate, and beforeAlessandro had dismounted, cried: "Ye're jest the man I wanted; I'vebeen tryin' to 'range it so's we could go down 'n' see yer, but Jeffcouldn't leave the job he's got; an' I'm druv nigh abaout off my feet, 'n' I donno when we'd hev fetched it. How's all? Why didn't yer come inther wagon 'n' fetch 'em 'long? I've got heaps ter tell yer. I allowedyer hadn't got the rights o' all them things. The Guvvermunt ain't onthe side o' the thieves, as yer said. I knowed they couldn't be, ' an'they've jest sent out a man a purpose to look after things fur yer, --totake keer o' the Injuns 'n' nothin' else. That's what he's here fur. Hecome last month; he's a reel nice man. I seen him 'n' talked with him aspell, last week; I'm gwine to make his wife a rag carpet. 'N' there'sa doctor, too, to 'tend ter yer when ye're sick, 'n' the Guvvermunt payshim; yer don't hev to pay nothin'; 'n' I tell yeow, thet's a heap o'savin', to git yer docterin' fur nuthin'!"

Aunt Ri was out of breath. Alessandro had not understood half she said. He looked about helplessly for Jos. Jos was away. In his broken Englishhe tried to explain what Ramona had wished her to do. 

"Doctor! Thet's jest what I'm tellin' yer! There is one here's paid bythe Guvvermunt to 'tend to the Injuns thet's sick. I'll go 'n' show yerter his house. I kin tell him jest how the baby is. P'r'aps he'll drivedown 'n' see her!"

Ah! if he would! What would Majella say, should she see him enter thedoor bringing a doctor!

Luckily Jos returned in time to go with them to the doctor's house asinterpreter. Alessandro was bewildered. He could not understand this newphase of affairs, Could it be true? As they walked along, he listenedwith trembling, half-incredulous hope to Jos's interpretation of AuntRi's voluble narrative. 

The doctor was in his office. To Aunt Ri's statement of Alessandro'serrand he listened indifferently, and then said, "Is he an AgencyIndian?"

"A what?" exclaimed Aunt Ri. 

"Does he belong to the Agency? Is his name on the Agency books?"

"No, " said she; "he never heern uv any Agency till I wuz tellin' him, jest naow. We knoo him, him 'n' her, over 'n San Jacinto. He lives inSaboba. He's never been to San Bernardino sence the Agent come aout. "

"Well, is he going to put his name down on the books?" said the doctor, impatiently. "You ought to have taken him to the Agent first. "

"Ain't you the Guvvermunt doctor for all Injuns?" asked Aunt Ri, wrathfully. "Thet's what I heerd. "

"Well, my good woman, you hear a great deal, I expect, that isn't true;"and the doctor laughed coarsely but not ill-naturedly, Alessandro allthe time studying his face with the scrutiny of one awaiting life anddeath; "I am the Agency physician, and I suppose all the Indians willsooner or later come in and report themselves to the Agent; you'd bettertake this man over there. What does he want now?"

Aunt Ri began to explain the baby's case. Cutting her short, the doctorsaid, "Yes, yes, I understand. I'll give him something that willhelp her;" and going into an inner room, he brought out a bottle ofdark-colored liquid, wrote a few lines of prescription, and handed it toAlessandro, saying, "That will do her good, I guess. "

"Thanks, Senor, thanks, " said Alessandro. 

The doctor stared. "That's the first Indian's said 'Thank you' in thisoffice, " he said. "You tell the Agent you've brought him a rara avis. "

"What's that, Jos?" said Aunt Ri, as they went out. 

"Donno!" said Jos. "I don't like thet man, anyhow, mammy. He's no good. "

Alessandro looked at the bottle of medicine like one in a dream. Wouldit make the baby well? Had it indeed been given to him by that greatGovernment in Washington? Was he to be protected now? Could this man, who had been sent out to take care of Indians, get back his San Pasqualefarm for him? Alessandro's brain was in a whirl. 

From the doctor's office they went to the Agent's house. Here, Aunt Rifelt herself more at home. 

"I've brought ye thet Injun I wuz tellin' ye uv, " she said, with a waveof her hand toward Alessandro. "We've ben ter ther doctor's to git somemetcen fur his baby. She's reel sick, I'm afeerd. "

The Agent sat down at his desk, opened a large ledger, saying as he didso, "The man's never been here before, has he?"

"No, " said Aunt Ri. 

"What is his name?"

Jos gave it, and the Agent began to write it in the book. "Stop him. "cried Alessandro, agitatedly to Jos. "Don't let him write, till I knowwhat he puts my name in his book for!"

"Wait, " said Jos. "He doesn't want you to write his name in that book. He wants to know what it's put there for. "

Wheeling his chair with a look of suppressed impatience, yet tryingto speak kindly, the Agent said: "There's no making these Indiansunderstand anything. They seem to think if I have their names in mybook, it gives me some power over them. "

"Wall, don't it?" said the direct-minded Aunt Ri. "Hain't yer got anypower over 'em? If yer hain't got it over them, who have yer got itover? What yer goin' to do for 'em?"

The Agent laughed in spite of himself. "Well, Aunt Ri, "--she was already"Aunt Ri" to the Agent's boys, --"that's just the trouble with thisAgency. It is very different from what it would be if I had all myIndians on a reservation. "

Alessandro understood the words "my Indians. " He had heard them before. 

"What does he mean by his Indians, Jos?" he asked fiercely. "I will nothave my name in his book if it makes me his. "

When Jos reluctantly interpreted this, the Agent lost his temper. "That's all the use there is trying to do anything with them! Let himgo, then, if he doesn't want any help from the Government!"

"Oh, no, no. " cried Aunt Ri. "Yeow jest explain it to Jos, an' he'llmake him understand. "

Alessandro's face had darkened. All this seemed to him exceedinglysuspicious. Could it be possible that Aunt Ri and Jos, the first whitesexcept Mr. Hartsel he had ever trusted, were deceiving him? No; that wasimpossible. But they themselves might be deceived. That they were simpleand ignorant, Alessandro well knew. "Let us go!" he said. "I do not wishto sign any paper. "

"Naow don't be a fool, will yeow? Yeow ain't signin' a thing!" said AuntRi. "Jos, yeow tell him I say there ain't anythin' a bindin' him, hevin'his name 'n' thet book, It's only so the Agent kin know what Injunswants help, 'n' where they air. Ain't thet so?" she added, turning tothe Agent. "Tell him he can't hev the Agency doctor, ef he ain't on theAgency books. "

Not have the doctor? Give up this precious medicine which might save hisbaby's life? No! he could not do that. Majella would say, let the namebe written, rather than that. 

"Let him write the name, then, " said Alessandro, doggedly; but he wentout of the room feeling as if he had put a chain around his neck. 

XXIII

THE medicine did the baby no good. In fact, it did her harm. She was toofeeble for violent remedies. In a week, Alessandro appeared again at theAgency doctor's door. This time he had come with a request which tohis mind seemed not unreasonable. He had brought Baba for the doctor toride. Could the doctor then refuse to go to Saboba? Baba would carryhim there in three hours, and it would be like a cradle all the way. Alessandro's name was in the Agency books. It was for this he hadwritten it, --for this and nothing else, --to save the baby's life. Havingthus enrolled himself as one of the Agency Indians, he had a claim onthis the Agency doctor. And that his application might be all in dueform, he took with him the Agency interpreter. He had had a misgiving, before, that Aunt Ri's kindly volubility had not been well timed. Notone unnecessary word, was Alessandro's motto. 

To say that the Agency doctor was astonished at being requested to ridethirty miles to prescribe for an ailing Indian baby, would be a mildstatement of the doctor's emotion. He could hardly keep from laughing, when it was made clear to him that this was what the Indian fatherexpected. 

"Good Lord!" he said, turning to a crony who chanced to be lounging inthe office. "Listen to that beggar, will you? I wonder what he thinksthe Government pays me a year for doctoring Indians!"

Alessandro listened so closely it attracted the doctor's attention. "Doyou understand English?" he asked sharply. 

"A very little, Senor, " replied Alessandro. 

The doctor would be more careful in his speech, then. But he made itmost emphatically clear that the thing Alessandro had asked was notonly out of the question, but preposterous. Alessandro pleaded. For thechild's sake he could do it. The horse was at the door; there was nosuch horse in San Bernardino County; he went like the wind, and onewould not know he was in motion, it was so easy. Would not the doctorcome down and look at the horse? Then he would see what it would be liketo ride him. 

"Oh, I've seen plenty of your Indian ponies, " said the doctor. "I knowthey can run. "

Alessandro lingered. He could not give up this last hope. The tears cameinto his eyes. "It is our only child, Senor, " he said. "It will take youbut six hours in all. My wife counts the moments till you come! If thechild dies, she will die. "

"No! no!" The doctor was weary of being importuned. "Tell the man itis impossible! I'd soon have my hands full, if I began to go about thecountry this way. They'd be sending for me down to Agua Caliente next, and bringing up their ponies to carry me. "

"He will not go?" asked Alessandro. 

The interpreter shook his head. "He cannot, " he said. 

Without a word Alessandro left the room. Presently he returned. "Ask himif he will come for money?" he said. "I have gold at home. I will payhim, what the white men pay him. "

"Tell him no man of any color could pay me for going sixty miles!" saidthe doctor. 

And Alessandro departed again, walking so slowly, however, that he heardthe coarse laugh, and the words, "Gold! Looked like it, didn't he?"which followed his departure from the room. 

When Ramona saw him returning alone, she wrung her hands. Her heartseemed breaking. The baby had lain in a sort of stupor since noon;she was plainly worse, and Ramona had been going from the door to thecradle, from the cradle to the door, for an hour, looking each momentfor the hoped-for aid. It had not once crossed her mind that the doctorwould not come. She had accepted in much fuller faith than Alessandrothe account of the appointment by the Government of these two men tolook after the Indians' interests. What else could their coming mean, except that, at last, the Indians were to have justice? She thought, in her simplicity, that the doctor must have died, since Alessandro wasriding home alone. 

"He would not come!" said Alessandro, as he threw himself off his horse, wearily. 

"Would not!" cried Ramona. "Would not! Did you not say the Governmenthad sent him to be the doctor for Indians?"

"That was what they said, " he replied. "You see it is a lie, like therest! But I offered him gold, and he would not come then. The child mustdie, Majella!"

"She shall not die!" cried Ramona. "We will carry her to him!" Thethought struck them both as an inspiration. Why had they not thought ofit before? "You can fasten the cradle on Baba's back, and he will go sogently, she will think it is but play; and I will walk by her side, oryou, all the way!" she continued. "And we can sleep at Aunt Ri's house. Oh, why, why did we not do it before? Early in the morning we willstart. "

All through the night they sat watching the little creature. If they hadever seen death, they would have known that there was no hope for thechild. But how should Ramona and Alessandro know?

The sun rose bright and warm. Before it was up, the cradle was ready, ingeniously strapped on Baba's back. When the baby was placed in it, shesmiled. "The first smile she has given for days, " cried Ramona. "Oh, theair itself will do good to her! Let me walk by her first! Come, Baba!Dear Baba!" and Ramona stepped almost joyfully by the horse's side, Alessandro riding Benito. As they paced along, their eyes never leavingthe baby's face, Ramona said, in a low tone, "Alessandro, I am almostafraid to tell you what I have done. I took the little Jesus out of theMadonna's arms and hid it! Did you never hear, that if you do that, theMadonna will grant you anything, to get him back again in her arms' Didyou ever hear of it?"

"Never!" exclaimed Alessandro, with horror in his tone. "Never, Majella!How dared you?"

"I dare anything now!" said Ramona. "I have been thinking to do it forsome days, and to tell her she could not have him any more till she gaveme back the baby well and strong; but I knew I could not have courage tosit and look at her all lonely without him in her arms, so I did not doit. But now we are to be away, I thought, that is the time; and I toldher, 'When we come back with our baby well, you shall have your littleJesus again, too; now, Holy Mother, you go with us, and make the doctorcure our baby!' Oh, I have heard, many times, women tell the Senora theyhad done this, and always they got what they wanted. Never will she letthe Jesus be out of her arms more than three weeks before she willgrant any prayer one can make. It was that way she brought you to me, Alessandro. I never before told you. I was afraid. I think she hadbrought you sooner, but I could keep the little Jesus hid from her onlyat night. In the day I could not, because the Senora would see. So shedid not miss him so much; else she had brought you quicker. "

"But, Majella, " said the logical Alessandro, "it was because I could notleave my father that I did not come. As soon as he was buried, I came. "

"If it had not been for the Virgin, you would never have come at all, "said Ramona, confidently. 

For the first hour of this sad journey it seemed as if the child werereally rallying; the air, the sunlight, the novel motion, the smilingmother by her side, the big black horses she had already learned tolove, all roused her to an animation she had not shown for days. Butit was only the last flicker of the expiring flame. The eyes drooped, closed; a strange pallor came over the face. Alessandro saw it first. He was now walking, Ramona riding Benito. "Majella!" he cried, in a tonewhich told her all. 

In a second she was at the baby's side, with a cry which smote thedying child's consciousness. Once more the eyelids lifted; she knew hermother; a swift spasm shook the little frame; a convulsion as ofagony swept over the face, then it was at peace. Ramona's shrieks wereheart-rending. Fiercely she put Alessandro away from her, as he stroveto caress her. She stretched her arms up towards the sky. "I have killedher! I have killed her!" she cried. "Oh, let me die!"

Slowly Alessandro turned Baba's head homeward again. 

"Oh, give her to me! Let her lie on my breast! I will hold her warm!"gasped Ramona. 

Silently Alessandro laid the body in her arms. He had not spoken sincehis first cry of alarm, If Ramona had looked at him, she would haveforgotten her grief for her dead child. Alessandro's face seemed turnedto stone. 

When they reached the house, Ramona, laying the child on the bed, ranhastily to a corner of the room, and lifting the deerskin, drew from itshiding-place the little wooden Jesus. With tears streaming, she laid itagain in the Madonna's arms, and flinging herself on her knees, sobbedout prayers for forgiveness. Alessandro stood at the foot of the bed, his arms folded, his eyes riveted on the child. Soon he went out, stillwithout speaking. Presently Ramona heard the sound of a saw. She groanedaloud, and her tears flowed faster: Alessandro was making the baby'scoffin. Mechanically she rose, and, moving like one half paralyzed, she dressed the little one in fresh white clothes for the burial; thenlaying her in the cradle, she spread over it the beautiful lace-wroughtaltar-cloth. As she adjusted its folds, her mind was carried back to thetime when she embroidered it, sitting on the Senora's veranda; the songof the finches, the linnets; the voice and smile of Felipe; Alessandrositting on the steps, drawing divine music from his violin. Was thatshe, --that girl who sat there weaving the fine threads in the beautifulaltar-cloth? Was it a hundred years ago? Was it another world? Was itAlessandro yonder, driving those nails into a coffin? How the blowsrang, louder and louder! The air seemed deafening full of sound. Withher hands pressed to her temples, Ramona sank to the floor. A mercifulunconsciousness set her free, for an interval, from her anguish. 

When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the bed. Alessandro hadlifted her and laid her there, making no effort to rouse her. He thoughtshe would die too; and even that thought did not stir him from hislethargy. When she opened her eyes, and looked at him, he did not speak. She closed them. He did not move. Presently she opened them again. "Iheard you out there, " she said. 

"Yes, " he replied. "It is done. " And he pointed to a little box of roughboards by the side of the cradle. 

"Is Majella ready to go to the mountain now?" he asked. 

"Yes, Alessandro, I am ready, " she said. 

"We will hide forever, " he said. 

"It makes no difference, " she replied. 

The Saboba women did not know what to think of Ramona now. She had nevercome into sympathetic relations with them, as she had with the women ofSan Pasquale. Her intimacy with the Hyers had been a barrier the Sabobapeople could not surmount. No one could be on such terms with whites, and be at heart an Indian, they thought; so they held aloof from Ramona. But now in her bereavement they gathered round her. They wept at sightof the dead baby's face, lying in its tiny white coffin. Ramona hadcovered the box with white cloth, and the lace altar-cloth thrown overit fell in folds to the floor. "Why does not this mother weep? Is shelike the whites, who have no heart?" said the Saboba mothers amongthemselves; and they were embarrassed before her, and knew not whatto say. Ramona perceived it, but had no life in her to speak to them. Benumbing terrors, which were worse than her grief, were crowdingRamona's heart now. She had offended the Virgin; she had committed ablasphemy: in one short hour the Virgin had punished her, had smittenher child dead before her eyes. And now Alessandro was going mad; hourby hour Ramona fancied she saw changes in him. What form would theVirgin's vengeance take next? Would she let Alessandro become a ragingmadman, and finally kill both himself and her? That seemed to Ramonathe most probable fate in store for them. When the funeral was over, andthey returned to their desolate home, at the sight of the empty cradleRamona broke down. 

"Oh, take me away, Alessandro! Anywhere! I don't care where! anywhere, so it is not here!" she cried. 

"Would Majella be afraid, now, on the high mountain, the place I toldher of?" he said. 

"No!" she replied earnestly. "No! I am afraid of nothing! Only take meaway!"

A gleam of wild delight flitted across Alessandro's face. "It is well, "he said. "My Majella, we will go to the mountain; we will be safethere. "

The same fierce restlessness which took possession of him at SanPasquale again showed itself in his every act. His mind was unceasinglyat work, planning the details of their move and of the new life. Hementioned them one after another to Ramona. They could not take bothhorses; feed would be scanty there, and there would be no need of twohorses. The cow also they must give up. Alessandro would kill her, andthe meat, dried, would last them for a long time. The wagon he hopedhe could sell; and he would buy a few sheep; sheep and goats could livewell in these heights to which they were going. Safe at last! Oh, yes, very safe; not only against whites, who, because the little valley wasso small and bare, would not desire it, but against Indians also. Forthe Indians, silly things, had a terror of the upper heights of SanJacinto; they believed the Devil lived there, and money would not hireone of the Saboba Indians to go so high as this valley which Alessandrohad discovered. Fiercely he gloated over each one of these featuresof safety in their hiding-place. "The first time I saw it, Majella, --Ibelieve the saints led me there, --I said, it is a hiding-place. Andthen I never thought I would be in want of such, --of a place to keep myMajella safe! safe! Oh, my Majel!" And he clasped her to his breast witha terrifying passion. 

For an Indian to sell a horse and wagon in the San Jacinto valley wasnot an easy thing, unless he would give them away. Alessandro had hardwork to give civil answers to the men who wished to buy Benito and thewagon for quarter of their value. He knew they would not have dared toso much as name such prices to a white man. Finally Ramona, who had feltunconquerable misgivings as to the wisdom of thus irrevocably partingfrom their most valuable possessions, persuaded him to take both horsesand wagon to San Bernardino, and offer them to the Hyers to use for thewinter. 

It would be just the work for Jos, to keep him in the open air, ifhe could get teaming to do; she was sure he would be thankful for thechance. "He is as fond of the horses as we are ourselves, Alessandro, "she said. "They would be well cared for; and then, if we did not likeliving on the mountain, we could have the horses and wagon again when wecame down, or Jos could sell them for us in San Bernardino. Nobody couldsee Benito and Baba working together, and not want them. "

"Majella is wiser than the dove!" cried Alessandro. "She has seen whatis the best thing to do. I will take them. "

When he was ready to set off, he implored Ramona to go with him; butwith a look of horror she refused. "Never, " she cried, "one step on thataccursed road! I will never go on that road again unless it is to becarried, as we brought her, dead. "

Neither did Ramona wish to see Aunt Ri. Her sympathy would beintolerable, spite of all its affectionate kindliness. "Tell her I loveher, " she said, "but I do not want to see a human being yet; next yearperhaps we will go down, --if there is any other way besides that road. "

Aunt Ri was deeply grieved. She could not understand Ramona's feeling. It rankled deep. "I allow I'd never hev bleeved it uv her, never, " shesaid. "I shan't never think she wuz quite right 'n her head, to do 't!I allow we shan't never set eyes on ter her, Jos. I've got jest thetfeelin' abaout it. 'Pears like she'd gone klar out 'er this yer worldinter anuther. "

The majestic bulwark of San Jacinto Mountain looms in the southernhorizon of the San Bernardino valley. It was in full sight from the doorof the little shanty in which Aunt Ri's carpet-loom stood. As she satthere hour after hour, sometimes seven hours to the day, working theheavy treadle, and slipping the shuttle back and forth, she gazed withtender yearnings at the solemn, shining summit. When sunset colors smoteit, it glowed like fire; on cloudy days, it was lost in the clouds. 

"'Pears like 'twas next door to heaven, up there, Jos, " Aunt Ri wouldsay. "I can't tell yer the feelin' 't comes over me, to look up 't it, ever sence I knowed she wuz there. 'T shines enuf to put yer eyes aout, sometimes; I allow 'tain't so light's thet when you air into 't; 'tcan't be; ther couldn't nobody stan' it, ef 't wuz. I allow 't must belike bein' dead, Jos, don't yer think so, to be livin' thar? He sed thercouldn't nobody git to 'em. Nobody ever seed the place but hisself. Hefound it a huntin'. Thar's water thar, 'n' thet's abaout all thar is, fur's I cud make aout; I allow we shan't never see her agin. "

The horses and the wagon were indeed a godsend to Jos. It was the verything he had been longing for; the only sort of work he was as yetstrong enough to do, and there was plenty of it to be had in SanBernardino. But the purchase of a wagon suitable for the purpose was atpresent out of their power; the utmost Aunt Ri had hoped to accomplishwas to have, at the end of a year, a sufficient sum laid up to buy one. They had tried in vain to exchange their heavy emigrant-wagon for onesuitable for light work. "'Pears like I'd die o' shame, " said Aunt Ri, "sometimes when I ketch myself er thinkin' what luck et's ben to Jos, ergettin' thet Injun's hosses an' waggin. But ef Jos keeps on, airnin' ezmuch ez he hez so fur, he's goin' ter pay the Injun part on 't, when hecums. I allow ter Jos 'tain't no more'n fair. Why, them hosses, they'lldew good tew days' work'n one. I never see sech hosses; 'n' they're jestlike kittens; they've ben drefful pets, I allow. I know she set all theworld, 'n' more tew, by thet nigh one. He wuz hern, ever sence she wuz achild. Pore thing, --'pears like she hedn't hed no chance!"

Alessandro had put off, from day to day, the killing of the cow. It wenthard with him to slaughter the faithful creature, who knew him, and cametowards him at the first sound of his voice. He had pastured her, sincethe baby died, in a canon about three miles northeast of the village, --alovely green canon with oak-trees and a running brook. It was here thathe had thought of building his house if they had stayed in Saboba. ButAlessandro laughed bitterly to himself now, as he recalled that dream. Already the news had come to Saboba that a company had been formed forthe settling up of the San Jacinto valley; the Ravallo brothers had soldto this company a large grant of land. The white ranchmen in the valleywere all fencing in their lands; no more free running of stock. TheSaboba people were too poor to build miles of fencing; they must soongive up keeping stock; and the next thing would be that they would bedriven out, like the people of Temecula. It was none too soon that hehad persuaded Majella to flee to the mountain. There, at least, theycould live and die in peace, --a poverty-stricken life, and the loneliestof deaths; but they would have each other. It was well the baby haddied; she was saved all this misery. By the time she had grown to bea woman, if she had lived, there would be no place in all the countrywhere an Indian could find refuge. Brooding over such thoughts asthese, Alessandro went up into the canon one morning. It must be done. Everything was ready for their move; it would take many days to carryeven their few possessions up the steep mountain trail to their newhome; the pony which had replaced Benito and Baba could not carry aheavy load. While this was being done, Ramona would dry the beef whichwould be their supply of meat for many months. Then they would go. 

At noon he came down with the first load of the meat, and Ramona begancutting it into long strips, as is the Mexican fashion of drying. Alessandro returned for the remainder. Early in the afternoon, as Ramonawent to and fro about her work, she saw a group of horsemen riding fromhouse to house, in the upper part of the village; women came running outexcitedly from each house as the horsemen left it; finally one of themdarted swiftly up the hill to Ramona. "Hide it! hide it!" she cried, breathless; "hide the meat! It is Merrill's men, from the end of thevalley. They have lost a steer, and they say we stole it. They found theplace, with blood on it, where it was killed; and they say we did it. Oh, hide the meat! They took all that Fernando had; and it was his own, that he bought; he did not know anything about their steer!"

"I shall not hide it!" cried Ramona, indignantly. "It is our own cow. Alessandro killed it to-day. "

"They won't believe you!" said the woman, in distress. "They'll take itall away. Oh, hide some of it!" And she dragged a part of it across thefloor, and threw it under the bed, Ramona standing by, stupefied. 

Before she had spoken again, the forms of the galloping riders darkenedthe doorway; the foremost of them, leaping off his horse, exclaimed:"By God! here's the rest of it. If they ain't the damnedest impudentthieves! Look at this woman, cutting it up! Put that down, will you?We'll save you the trouble of dryin' our meat for us, besides killin'it! Fork over, now, every bit you've got, you--" And he called Ramona bya vile epithet. 

Every drop of blood left Ramona's face. Her eyes blazed, and she cameforward with the knife uplifted in her hand. "Out of my house, you dogsof the white color!" she said. "This meat is our own; my husband killedthe creature but this morning. "

Her tone and bearing surprised them. There were six of the men, and theyhad all swarmed into the little room. 

"I say, Merrill, " said one of them, "hold on; the squaw says her husbandonly jest killed it to-day. It might be theirs. "

Ramona turned on him like lightning. "Are you liars, you all, " shecried, "that you think I lie? I tell you the meat is ours; and there isnot an Indian in this village would steal cattle!"

A derisive shout of laughter from all the men greeted this speech; andat that second, the leader, seeing the mark of blood where the Indianwoman had dragged the meat across the ground, sprang to the bed, andlifting the deerskin, pointed with a sneer to the beef hidden there. "Perhaps, when you know Injun's well's I do, " he said, "you won't be forbelievin' all they say! What's she got it hid under the bed for, if itwas their own cow?" and he stooped to drag the meat out. "Give us a handhere, Jake!"

"If you touch it, I will kill you!" cried Ramona, beside herself withrage; and she sprang between the men, her uplifted knife gleaming. 

"Hoity-toity!" cried Jake, stepping back; "that's a handsome squaw whenshe's mad! Say, boys, let's leave her some of the meat. She wasn't toblame; of course, she believes what her husband told her. "

"You go to grass for a soft-head, you Jake!" muttered Merrill, as hedragged the meat out from beneath the bed. 

"What is all this?" said a deep voice in the door; and Ramona, turning, with a glad cry, saw Alessandro standing there, looking on, with anexpression which, even in her own terror and indignation, gave her asense of dread, it was so icily defiant. He had his hand on his gun. "What is all this?" he repeated. He knew very well. 

"It's that Temecula man, " said one of the men, in a low tone, toMerrill. "If I'd known 't was his house, I wouldn't have let you comehere. You're up the wrong tree, sure!"

Merrill dropped the meat he was dragging over the floor, and turned toconfront Alessandro's eyes. His countenance fell. Even he saw thathe had made a mistake. He began to speak. Alessandro interrupted him. Alessandro could speak forcibly in Spanish. Pointing to his pony, whichstood at the door with a package on its back, the remainder of the meatrolled in the hide, he said: "There is the remainder of the beef. I killed the creature this morning, in the canon. I will take SenorMerrill to the place, if he wishes it. Senor Merrill's steer was killeddown in the willows yonder, yesterday. "

"That's so!" cried the men, gathering around him. "How did you know? Whodid it?"

Alessandro made no reply. He was looking at Ramona. She had flung hershawl over her head, as the other woman had done, and the two werecowering in the corner, their faces turned away. Ramona dared not lookon; she felt sure Alessandro would kill some one. But this was not thetype of outrage that roused Alessandro to dangerous wrath. He even felta certain enjoyment in the discomfiture of the self-constituted posseof searchers for stolen goods. To all their questions in regard to thestolen steer, he maintained silence. He would not open his lips. Atlast, angry, ashamed, with a volley of coarse oaths at him for hisobstinacy, they rode away. Alessandro went to Ramona's side. She wastrembling. Her hands were like ice. 

"Let us go to the mountain to-night!" she gasped. "Take me where I neednever see a white face again!"

A melancholy joy gleamed in Alessandro's eyes. Ramona, at last, felt ashe did. 

"I would not dare to leave Majella there alone, while there is nohouse, " he said; "and I must go and come many times, before all thethings can be carried. "

"It will be less danger there than here, Alessandro, " said Ramona, bursting into violent weeping as she recalled the insolent leer withwhich the man Jake had looked at her. "Oh! I cannot stay here!"

"It will not be many days, my Majel. I will borrow Fernando's pony, totake double at once; then we can go sooner. "

"Who was it stole that man's steer?" said Ramona. "Why did you not tellthem? They looked as if they would kill you. "

"It was that Mexican that lives in the bottom, Jose Castro. I myselfcame on him, cutting the steer up. He said it was his; but I knew verywell, by the way he spoke, he was lying. But why should I tell? Theythink only Indians will steal cattle. I can tell them, the Mexicanssteal more. "

"I told them there was not an Indian in this village would stealcattle, " said Ramona, indignantly. 

"That was not true, Majella, " replied Alessandro, sadly. "When theyare very hungry, they will steal a heifer or steer. They lose manythemselves, and they say it is not so much harm to take one when theycan get it. This man Merrill, they say, branded twenty steers for hisown, last spring, when he knew they were Saboba cattle!"

"Why did they not make him give them up?" cried Ramona. 

"Did not Majella see to-day why they can do nothing? There is no helpfor us, Majella, only to hide; that is all we can do!"

A new terror had entered into Ramona's life; she dared not tell it toAlessandro; she hardly put it into words in her thoughts. But she washaunted by the face of the man Jake, as by a vision of evil, and on onepretext and another she contrived to secure the presence of some one ofthe Indian women in her house whenever Alessandro was away. Every dayshe saw the man riding past. Once he had galloped up to the open door, looked in, spoken in a friendly way to her, and ridden on. Ramona'sinstinct was right. Jake was merely biding his time. He had made up hismind to settle in the San Jacinto valley, at least for a few years, andhe wished to have an Indian woman come to live with him and keep hishouse. Over in Santa Ysabel, his brother had lived in that way with anIndian mistress for three years; and when he sold out, and left SantaYsabel, he had given the woman a hundred dollars and a little house forherself and her child. And she was not only satisfied, but held herself, in consequence of this temporary connection with a white man, much aboveher Indian relatives and friends. When an Indian man had wished to marryher, she had replied scornfully that she would never marry an Indian;she might marry another white man, but an Indian, --never. Nobody hadheld his brother in any less esteem for this connection; it was quitethe way in the country. And if Jake could induce this handsomest squawhe had ever seen, to come and live with him in a smaller fashion, hewould consider himself a lucky man, and also think he was doing a goodthing for the squaw. It was all very clear and simple in his mind;and when, seeing Ramona walking alone in the village one morning, heovertook her, and walking by her side began to sound her on thesubject, he had small misgivings as to the result. Ramona trembled as heapproached her. She walked faster, and would not look at him; but he, inhis ignorance, misinterpreted these signs egregiously. 

"Are you married to your husband?" he finally said. "It is but a poorplace he gives you to live in. If you will come and live with me, youshall have the best house in the valley, as good as the Ravallos';and--" Jake did not finish his sentence. With a cry which hauntedhis memory for years, Ramona sprang from his side as if to run; then, halting suddenly, she faced him, her eyes like javelins, her breathcoming fast. "Beast!" she said, and spat towards him; then turned andfled to the nearest house, where she sank on the floor and burst intotears, saying that the man below there in the road had been rude to her. Yes, the women said, he was a bad man; they all knew it. Of this Ramonasaid no word to Alessandro. She dared not; she believed he would killJake. 

When the furious Jake confided to his friend Merrill his repulse, andthe indignity accompanying it, Merrill only laughed at him, and said: "Icould have told you better than to try that woman. She's married, fastenough. There's plenty you can get, though, if you want 'em. They'refirst-rate about a house, and jest's faithful's dogs. You can trust 'emwith every dollar you've got. "

From this day, Ramona never knew an instant's peace or rest till shestood on the rim of the refuge valley, high on San Jacinto. Then, gazingaround, looking up at the lofty pinnacles above, which seemed to piercethe sky, looking down upon the world, --it seemed the whole world, so limitless it stretched away at her feet, --feeling that infiniteunspeakable sense of nearness to Heaven, remoteness from earth whichcomes only on mountain heights, she drew in a long breath of delight, and cried: "At last! at last, Alessandro! Here we are safe! This isfreedom! This is joy!"

"Can Majella be content?" he asked. 

"I can almost be glad, Alessandro!" she cried, inspired by the gloriousscene. "I dreamed not it was like this!"

It was a wondrous valley. The mountain seemed to have been cleft tomake it. It lay near midway to the top, and ran transversely on themountain's side, its western or southwestern end being many feet lowerthan the eastern. Both the upper and lower ends were closed by piles ofrocks and tangled fallen trees; the rocky summit of the mountain itselfmade the southern wall; the northern was a spur, or ridge, nearlyvertical, and covered thick with pine-trees. A man might roam yearson the mountain and not find this cleft. At the upper end gushed outa crystal spring, which trickled rather than ran, in a bed of marshygreen, the entire length of the valley, disappeared in the rocks at thelower end, and came out no more; many times Alessandro had searched forit lower down, but could find no trace of it. During the summer, whenhe was hunting with Jeff, he had several times climbed the wall anddescended it on the inner side, to see if the rivulet still ran; and, tohis joy, had found it the same in July as in January. Drought could notharm it, then. What salvation in such a spring! And the water was pureand sweet as if it came from the skies. 

A short distance off was another ridge or spur of the mountain, wideningout into almost a plateau. This was covered with acorn-bearing oaks; andunder them were flat stones worn into hollows, where bygone generationsof Indians had ground the nuts into meal. Generations long bygoneindeed, for it was not in the memory of the oldest now living, thatIndians had ventured so high up as this on San Jacinto. It was held tobe certain death to climb to its summit, and foolhardy in the extreme togo far up its sides. 

There was exhilaration in the place. It brought healing to bothAlessandro and Ramona. Even the bitter grief for the baby's death wassoothed. She did not seem so far off, since they had come so much nearerto the sky. They lived at first in a tent; no time to build a house, till the wheat and vegetables were planted. Alessandro was surprised, when he came to the ploughing, to see how much good land he had. Thevalley thrust itself, in inlets and coves, into the very rocks of itssouthern wall; lovely sheltered nooks these were, where he hated towound the soft, flower-filled sward with his plough. As soon as theplanting was done, he began to fell trees for the house. No mournfulgray adobe this time, but walls of hewn pine, with half the bark lefton; alternate yellow and brown, as gay as if glad hearts had devised it. The roof, of thatch, tule, and yucca-stalks, double laid and thick, was carried out several feet in front of the house, making a sort ofbower-like veranda, supported by young fir-tree stems, left rough. Oncemore Ramona would sit under a thatch with birds'-nests in it. A littlecorral for the sheep, and a rough shed for the pony, and the home wascomplete: far the prettiest home they had ever had. And here, in thesunny veranda, when autumn came, sat Ramona, plaiting out of fragrantwillow twigs a cradle. The one over which she had wept such bitter tearsin the valley, they had burned the night before they left their Sabobahome. It was in early autumn she sat plaiting this cradle. The groundaround was strewn with wild grapes drying; the bees were feasting onthem in such clouds that Ramona rose frequently from her work to drivethem away, saying, as she did so, "Good bees, make our honey fromsomething else; we gain nothing if you drain our grapes for it; we wantthese grapes for the winter;" and as she spoke, her imagination spedfleetly forward to the winter, The Virgin must have forgiven her, togive her again the joy of a child in her arms. Ay, a joy! Spite ofpoverty, spite of danger, spite of all that cruelty and oppression coulddo, it would still be a joy to hold her child in her arms. 

The baby was born before winter came. An old Indian woman, the samewhose house they had hired in Saboba, had come up to live with Ramona. She was friendless now, her daughter having died, and she thankfullycame to be as a mother to Ramona. She was ignorant and feeble but Ramonasaw in her always the picture of what her own mother might perchancebe, wandering, suffering, she knew not what or where; and her yearning, filial instinct found sad pleasure in caring for this lonely, childless, aged one. 

Ramona was alone with her on the mountain at the time of the baby'sbirth. Alessandro had gone to the valley, to be gone two days; butRamona felt no fear. When Alessandro returned, and she laid the child inhis arms, she said with a smile, radiant once more, like the old smiles, "See, beloved! The Virgin has forgiven me; she has given us a daughteragain!"

But Alessandro did not smile. Looking scrutinizingly into the baby'sface, he sighed, and said, "Alas, Majella, her eyes are like mine, notyours!"

"I am glad of it, " cried Ramona. "I was glad the first minute I saw it. "

He shook his head. "It is an ill fate to have the eyes of Alessandro, "he said. "They look ever on woe;" and he laid the baby back on Ramona'sbreast, and stood gazing sadly at her. 

"Dear Alessandro, " said Ramona, "it is a sin to always mourn. FatherSalvierderra said if we repined under our crosses, then a heavier crosswould be laid on us. Worse things would come. "

"Yes, " he said. "That is true. Worse things will come. " And he walkedaway, with his head sunk deep on his breast. 

XXIV

THERE was no real healing for Alessandro. His hurts had gone too deep. His passionate heart, ever secretly brooding on the wrongs he had borne, the hopeless outlook for his people in the future, and most of all onthe probable destitution and suffering in store for Ramona, consumeditself as by hidden fires. Speech, complaint, active antagonism, mighthave saved him; but all these were foreign to his self-contained, reticent, repressed nature. Slowly, so slowly that Ramona could not tellon what hour or what day her terrible fears first changed to an evenmore terrible certainty, his brain gave way, and the thing, in dreadof which he had cried out the morning they left San Pasquale, came uponhim. Strangely enough, and mercifully, now that it had really come, he did not know it. He knew that he suddenly came to his consciousnesssometimes, and discovered himself in strange and unexplained situations;had no recollection of what had happened for an interval of time, longeror shorter. But he thought it was only a sort of sickness; he did notknow that during those intervals his acts were the acts of a madman;never violent, aggressive, or harmful to any one; never destructive. It was piteous to see how in these intervals his delusions were alwaysshaped by the bitterest experiences of his life. Sometimes he fanciedthat the Americans were pursuing him, or that they were carrying offRamona, and he was pursuing them. At such times he would run with maniacswiftness for hours, till he fell exhausted on the ground, and slowlyregained true consciousness by exhaustion. At other times he believedhe owned vast flocks and herds; would enter any enclosure he saw, wherethere were sheep or cattle, go about among them, speaking of them topassers-by as his own. Sometimes he would try to drive them away; but onbeing remonstrated with, would bewilderedly give up the attempt. Once hesuddenly found himself in the road driving a small flock of goats, whosehe knew not, nor whence he got them. Sitting down by the roadside, heburied his head in his hands. "What has happened to my memory?" he said. "I must be ill of a fever!" As he sat there, the goats, of their ownaccord, turned and trotted back into a corral near by, the owner ofwhich stood, laughing, on his doorsill; and when Alessandro came up, said goodnaturedly, "All right, Alessandro! I saw you driving off mygoats, but I thought you'd bring 'em back. "

Everybody in the valley knew him, and knew his condition. It did notinterfere with his capacity as a worker, for the greater part ofthe time. He was one of the best shearers in the region, the besthorse-breaker; and his services were always in demand, spite of the riskthere was of his having at any time one of these attacks of wandering. His absences were a great grief to Ramona, not only from the lonelinessin which it left her, but from the anxiety she felt lest his mentaldisorder might at any time take a more violent and dangerous shape. Thisanxiety was all the more harrowing because she must keep it locked inher own breast, her wise and loving instinct telling her that nothingcould be more fatal to him than the knowledge of his real condition. More than once he reached home, breathless, panting, the sweat rollingoff his face, crying aloud, "The Americans have found us out, Majella!They were on the trail! I baffled them. I came up another way. " At suchtimes she would soothe him like a child; persuade him to lie down andrest; and when he waked and wondered why he was so tired, she would say, "You were all out of breath when you came in, dear. You must not climbso fast; it is foolish to tire one's self so. "

In these days Ramona began to think earnestly of Felipe. She believedAlessandro might be cured. A wise doctor could surely do something forhim. If Felipe knew what sore straits she was in, Felipe would help her. But how could she reach Felipe without the Senora's knowing it? And, still more, how could she send a letter to Felipe without Alessandro'sknowing what she had written? Ramona was as helpless in her freedom onthis mountain eyrie as if she had been chained hand and foot. 

And so the winter wore away, and the spring. What wheat grew in theirfields in this upper air! Wild oats, too, in every nook and corner. The goats frisked and fattened, and their hair grew long and silky; thesheep were already heavy again with wool, and it was not yet midsummer. The spring rains had been good; the stream was full, and flowers grewalong its edges thick as in beds. 

The baby had thrived; as placid, laughing a little thing as if itsmother had never known sorrow. "One would think she had suckled pain, "thought Ramona, "so constantly have I grieved this year; but the Virginhas kept her well. "

If prayers could compass it, that would surely have been so; for nightand day the devout, trusting, and contrite Ramona had knelt before theMadonna and told her golden beads, till they were wellnigh worn smoothof all their delicate chasing. 

At midsummer was to be a fete in the Saboba village, and the SanBernardino priest would come there. This would be the time to take thebaby down to be christened; this also would be the time to send theletter to Felipe, enclosed in one to Aunt Ri, who would send it for herfrom San Bernardino. Ramona felt half guilty as she sat plotting whatshe should say and how she should send it, --she, who had never had inher loyal, transparent breast one thought secret from Alessandro sincethey were wedded. But it was all for his sake. When he was well, hewould thank her. 

She wrote the letter with much study and deliberation; her dread of itsbeing read by the Senora was so great, that it almost paralyzed her penas she wrote. More than once she destroyed pages, as being too sacred aconfidence for unloving eyes to read. At last, the day before the fete, it was done, and safely hidden away. The baby's white robe, finelywrought in open-work, was also done, and freshly washed and ironed. No baby would there be at the fete so daintily wrapped as hers; andAlessandro had at last given his consent that the name should beMajella. It was a reluctant consent, yielded finally only to pleaseRamona; and, contrary to her wont, she had been willing in this instanceto have her own wish fulfilled rather than his. Her heart was set uponhaving the seal of baptism added to the name she so loved; and, "If Iwere to die, " she thought, "how glad Alessandro would be, to have stilla Majella!"

All her preparations were completed, and it was yet not noon. She seatedherself on the veranda to watch for Alessandro, who had been two daysaway, and was to have returned the previous evening, to make ready forthe trip to Saboba. She was disquieted at his failure to return at theappointed time. As the hours crept on and he did not come, her anxietyincreased. The sun had gone more than an hour past the midheavens beforehe came. He had ridden fast; she had heard the quick strokes of thehorse's hoofs on the ground before she saw him. "Why comes he ridinglike that?" she thought, and ran to meet him. As he drew near, she sawto her surprise that he was riding a new horse. "Why, Alessandro!" shecried. "What horse is this?"

He looked at her bewilderedly, then at the horse. True; it was not hisown horse! He struck his hand on his forehead, endeavoring to collecthis thoughts. "Where is my horse, then?" he said. 

"My God! Alessandro, " cried Ramona. "Take the horse back instantly. Theywill say you stole it. "

"But I left my pony there in the corral, " he said. "They will know Idid not mean to steal it. How could I ever have made the mistake? Irecollect nothing, Majella. I must have had one of the sicknesses. "

Ramona's heart was cold with fear. Only too well she knew what summarypunishment was dealt in that region to horse-thieves. "Oh, let me takeit back, dear!" she cried, "Let me go down with it. They will believeme. "

"Majella!" he exclaimed, "think you I would send you into the fold ofthe wolf? My wood-dove! It is in Jim Farrar's corral I left my pony. Iwas there last night, to see about his sheep-shearing in the autumn. Andthat is the last I know. I will ride back as soon as I have rested. I amheavy with sleep. "

Thinking it safer to let him sleep for an hour, as his brain wasevidently still confused, Ramona assented to this, though a sense ofdanger oppressed her. Getting fresh hay from the corral, she with herown hands rubbed the horse down. It was a fine, powerful black horse;Alessandro had evidently urged him cruelly up the steep trail, forhis sides were steaming, his nostrils white with foam. Tears stoodin Ramona's eyes as she did what she could for him. He recognized hergood-will, and put his nose to her face. "It must be because he wasblack like Benito, that Alessandro took him, " she thought. "Oh, MaryMother, help us to get the creature safe back!" she said. 

When she went into the house, Alessandro was asleep. Ramona glancedat the sun. It was already in the western sky. By no possibility couldAlessandro go to Farrar's and back before dark. She was on the pointof waking him, when a furious barking from Capitan and the other dogsroused him instantly from his sleep, and springing to his feet, he ranout to see what it meant. In a moment more Ramona followed, --only amoment, hardly a moment; but when she reached the threshold, it was tohear a gun-shot, to see Alessandro fall to the ground, to see, in thesame second, a ruffianly man leap from his horse, and standing overAlessandro's body, fire his pistol again, once, twice, into theforehead, cheek. Then with a volley of oaths, each word of which seemedto Ramona's reeling senses to fill the air with a sound like thunder, heuntied the black horse from the post where Ramona had fastened him, andleaping into his saddle again, galloped away, leading the horse. As herode away, he shook his fist at Ramona, who was kneeling on the ground, striving to lift Alessandro's head, and to stanch the blood flowingfrom the ghastly wounds. "That'll teach you damned Indians to leaveoff stealing our horses!" he cried, and with another volley of terribleoaths was out of sight. 

With a calmness which was more dreadful than any wild outcry of grief, Ramona sat on the ground by Alessandro's body, and held his hands inhers. There was nothing to be done for him. The first shot had beenfatal, close to his heart, --the murderer aimed well; the after-shots, with the pistol, were from mere wanton brutality. After a few secondsRamona rose, went into the house, brought out the white altar-cloth, andlaid it over the mutilated face. As she did this, she recalled wordsshe had heard Father Salvierderra quote as having been said by FatherJunipero, when one of the Franciscan Fathers had been massacred by theIndians, at San Diego. "Thank God. " he said, "the ground is now wateredby the blood of a martyr!"

"The blood of a martyr!" The words seemed to float in the air; tocleanse it from the foul blasphemies the murderer had spoken. "MyAlessandro!" she said. "Gone to be with the saints; one of the blessedmartyrs; they will listen to what a martyr says. " His hands were warm. She laid them in her bosom, kissed them again and again. Stretchingherself on the ground by his side, she threw one arm over him, andwhispered in his ear, "My love, my Alessandro! Oh, speak once toMajella! Why do I not grieve more? My Alessandro! Is he not blestalready? And soon we will be with him! The burdens were too great. Hecould not bear them!" Then waves of grief broke over her, and she sobbedconvulsively; but still she shed no tears. Suddenly she sprang to herfeet, and looked wildly around. The sun was not many hours high. Whithershould she go for help? The old Indian woman had gone away with thesheep, and would not be back till dark. Alessandro must not lie thereon the ground. To whom should she go? To walk to Saboba was out of thequestion. There was another Indian village nearer, --the village of theCahuillas, on one of the high plateaus of San Jacinto. She had once beenthere. Could she find that trail now? She must try. There was no humanhelp nearer. 

Taking the baby in her arms, she knelt by Alessandro, and kissing him, whispered, "Farewell, my beloved. I will not be long gone. I go to bringfriends. " As she set off, swiftly running, Capitan, who had been lyingby Alessandro's side, uttering heart-rending howls, bounded to his feetto follow her. "No, Capitan, " she said; and leading him back to thebody, she took his head in her hands, looked into his eyes, and said, "Capitan, watch here. " With a whimpering cry, he licked her hands, andstretched himself on the ground. He understood, and would obey; but hiseyes followed her wistfully till she disappeared from sight. 

The trail was rough, and hard to find. More than once Ramona stopped, baffled, among the rocky ridges and precipices. Her clothes were torn, her face bleeding, from the thorny shrubs; her feet seemed leaden, shemade her way so slowly. It was dark in the ravines; as she climbed spurafter spur, and still saw nothing but pine forests or bleak opens, herheart sank within her. The way had not seemed so long before. Alessandrohad been with her; it was a joyous, bright day, and they had lingeredwherever they liked, and yet the way had seemed short. Fear seized herthat she was lost. If that were so, before morning she would be withAlessandro; for fierce beasts roamed San Jacinto by night. But for thebaby's sake, she must not die. Feverishly she pressed on. At last, justas it had grown so dark she could see only a few hand-breadths beforeher, and was panting more from terror than from running, lights suddenlygleamed out, only a few rods ahead. It was the Cahuilla village. In afew moments she was there. 

It is a poverty-stricken little place, the Cahuilla village, --a clusterof tule and adobe huts, on a narrow bit of bleak and broken ground, on San Jacinto Mountain; the people are very poor, but are proudand high-spirited, --veritable mountaineers in nature, fierce andindependent. 

Alessandro had warm friends among them, and the news that he had beenmurdered, and that his wife had run all the way down the mountain, withher baby in her arms, for help, went like wild-fire through the place. The people gathered in an excited group around the house where Ramonahad taken refuge. She was lying, half unconscious, on a bed. As soonas she had gasped out her terrible story, she had fallen forward on thefloor, fainting, and the baby had been snatched from her arms just intime to save it. She did not seem to miss the child; had not asked forit, or noticed it when it was brought to the bed. A merciful oblivionseemed to be fast stealing over her senses. But she had spoken wordsenough to set the village in a blaze of excitement. It ran higher andhigher. Men were everywhere mounting their horses, --some to go up andbring Alessandro's body down; some organizing a party to go at once toJim Farrar's house and shoot him: these were the younger men, friends ofAlessandro. Earnestly the aged Capitan of the village implored them torefrain from such violence. 

"Why should ten be dead instead of one, my sons?" he said. "Will youleave your wives and your children like his? The whites will kill us allif you lay hands on the man. Perhaps they themselves will punish him. "

A derisive laugh rose from the group. Never yet within their experiencehad a white man been punished for shooting an Indian. The Capitan knewthat as well as they did. Why did he command them to sit still likewomen, and do nothing, when a friend was murdered?

"Because I am old, and you are young. I have seen that we fight invain, " said the wise old man. "It is not sweet to me, any more than toyou. It is a fire in my veins; but I am old. I have seen. I forbid youto go. "

The women added their entreaties to his, and the young men abandonedtheir project. But it was with sullen reluctance; and mutterings wereto be heard, on all sides, that the time would come yet. There was morethan one way of killing a man. Farrar would not be long seen in thevalley. Alessandro should be avenged. 

As Farrar rode slowly down the mountain, leading his recovered horse, herevolved in his thoughts what course to pursue. A few years before, hewould have gone home, no more disquieted at having killed an Indian thanif he had killed a fox or a wolf. But things were different now. ThisAgent, that the Government had taken it into its head to send out tolook after the Indians, had made it hot, the other day, for some fellowsin San Bernardino who had maltreated an Indian; he had even gone sofar as to arrest several liquor-dealers for simply selling whiskey toIndians. If he were to take this case of Alessandro's in hand, it mightbe troublesome. Farrar concluded that his wisest course would be to makea show of good conscience and fair-dealing by delivering himself upat once to the nearest justice of the peace, as having killed a manin self-defence, Accordingly he rode straight to the house of a JudgeWells, a few miles below Saboba, and said that he wished to surrenderhimself as having committed "justifiable homicide" on an Indian, orMexican, he did net know which, who had stolen his horse. He told aplausible story. He professed not to know the man, or the place; but didnot explain how it was, that, knowing neither, he had gone so direct tothe spot. 

He said: "I followed the trail for some time, but when I reached a turn, I came into a sort of blind trail, where I lost the track. I think thehorse had been led up on hard sod, to mislead any one on the track. Ipushed on, crossed the creek, and soon found the tracks again in softground. This part of the mountain was perfectly unknown to me, and verywild. Finally I came to a ridge, from which I looked down on a littleranch. As I came near the house, the dogs began to bark, just as Idiscovered my horse tied to a tree. Hearing the dogs, an Indian, orMexican, I could not tell which, came out of the house, flourishing alarge knife. I called out to him, 'Whose horse is that?' He answeredin Spanish, 'It is mine. ' 'Where did you get it?' I asked. 'In SanJacinto, ' was his reply. As he still came towards me, brandishing theknife, I drew my gun, and said, 'Stop, or I'll shoot!' He did not stop, and I fired; still he did not stop, so I fired again; and as he did notfall, I knocked him down with the butt of my gun. After he was down, Ishot him twice with my pistol. "

The duty of a justice in such a case as this was clear. Taking theprisoner into custody, he sent out messengers to summon a jury of sixmen to hold inquest on the body of said Indian, or Mexican; and earlythe next morning, led by Farrar, they set out for the mountain. Whenthey reached the ranch, the body had been removed; the house waslocked; no signs left of the tragedy of the day before, except a fewblood-stains on the ground, where Alessandro had fallen. Farrar seemedgreatly relieved at this unexpected phase of affairs. However, when hefound that Judge Wells, instead of attempting to return to the valleythat night, proposed to pass the night at a ranch only a few milesfrom the Cahuilla village, he became almost hysterical with fright. He declared that the Cahuillas would surely come and murder him in thenight, and begged piteously that the men would all stay with him toguard him. 

At midnight Judge Wells was roused by the arrival of the Capitan andhead men of the Cahuilla village. They had heard of his arrival with hisjury, and they had come to lead them to their village, where the body ofthe murdered man lay. They were greatly distressed on learning that theyought not to have removed the body from the spot where the death hadtaken place, and that now no inquest could be held. 

Judge Wells himself, however, went back with them, saw the body, andheard the full account of the murder as given by Ramona on her firstarrival. Nothing more could now be learned from her, as she was in highfever and delirium; knew no one, not even her baby when they laid iton her breast. She lay restlessly tossing from side to side, talkingincessantly, clasping her rosary in her hands, and constantly minglingsnatches of prayers with cries for Alessandro and Felipe; the only tokenof consciousness she gave was to clutch the rosary wildly, and sometimeshide it in her bosom, if they attempted to take it from her. 

Judge Wells was a frontiersman, and by no means sentimentally inclined;but the tears stood in his eyes as he looked at the unconscious Ramona. 

Farrar had pleaded that the preliminary hearing might take placeimmediately; but after this visit to the village, the judge refused hisrequest, and appointed the trial a week from that day, to give timefor Ramona to recover, and appear as a witness. He impressed upon theIndians as strongly as he could the importance of having her appear. Itwas evident that Farrar's account of the affair was false from first tolast. Alessandro had no knife. He had not had time to go many steps fromthe door; the volley of oaths, and the two shots almost simultaneously, were what Ramona heard as she ran to the door. Alessandro could not havespoken many words. 

The day for the hearing came. Farrar had been, during the interval, in amerely nominal custody; having been allowed to go about his business, on his own personal guarantee of appearing in time for the trial. Itwas with a strange mixture of regret and relief that Judge Wells saw thehour of the trial arrive, and not a witness on the ground except Farrarhimself. That Farrar was a brutal ruffian, the whole country knew. Thislast outrage was only one of a long series; the judge would have beenglad to have committed him for trial, and have seen him get his deserts. But San Jacinto Valley, wild, sparsely settled as it was, had yet asfixed standards and criterions of popularity as the most civilized ofcommunities could show; and to betray sympathy with Indians was morethan any man's political head was worth. The word "justice" had lost itsmeaning, if indeed it ever had any, so far as they were concerned. Thevalley was a unit on that question, however divided it might be uponothers. On the whole, the judge was relieved, though it was not withouta bitter twinge, as of one accessory after the deed, and unfaithful toa friend; for he had known Alessandro well. Yet, on the whole, he wasrelieved when he was forced to accede to the motion made by Farrar'scounsel, that "the prisoner be discharged on ground of justifiablehomicide, no witnesses having appeared against him. "

He comforted himself by thinking--what was no doubt true--that even ifthe case had been brought to a jury trial, the result would have beenthe same; for there would never have been found a San Diego County jurythat would convict a white man of murder for killing an Indian, ifthere were no witnesses to the occurrence except the Indian wife. But hederived small comfort from this. Alessandro's face haunted him, and alsothe memory of Ramona's, as she lay tossing and moaning in the wretchedCahuilla hovel. He knew that only her continued illness, or her death, could explain her not having come to the trial. The Indians would havebrought her in their arms all the way, if she had been alive and inpossession of her senses. 

During the summer that she and Alessandro had lived in Saboba he hadseen her many times, and had been impressed by her rare quality. Hischildren knew her and loved her; had often been in her house; his wifehad bought her embroidery. Alessandro also had worked for him; and noone knew better than Judge Wells that Alessandro in his senses was asincapable of stealing a horse as any white man in the valley. Farrarknew it; everybody knew it. Everybody knew, also, about his strange fitsof wandering mind; and that when these half-crazed fits came on him, he was wholly irresponsible. Farrar knew this. The only explanation ofFarrar's deed was, that on seeing his horse spent and exhausted fromhaving been forced up that terrible trail, he was seized by ungovernablerage, and fired on the second, without knowing what he did. "But hewouldn't have done it, if it hadn't been an Indian!" mused the judge. "He'd ha' thought twice before he shot any white man down, that way. "

Day after day such thoughts as these pursued the judge, and he could notshake them off. An uneasy sense that he owed something to Ramona, or, ifRamona were dead, to the little child she had left, haunted him. Theremight in some such way be a sort of atonement made to the murdered, unavenged Alessandro. He might even take the child, and bring it up inhis own house. That was by no means an uncommon thing in the valley. Thelonger he thought, the more he felt himself eased in his mind by thispurpose; and he decided that as soon as he could find leisure he wouldgo to the Cahuilla village and see what could be done. 

But it was not destined that stranger hands should bring succor toRamona. Felipe had at last found trace of her. Felipe was on the way. 

XXV

EFFECTUALLY misled by the faithful Carmena, Felipe had begun his searchfor Alessandro by going direct to Monterey. He found few Indians in theplace, and not one had ever heard Alessandro's name. Six miles from thetown was a little settlement of them, in hiding, in the bottoms of theSan Carlos River, near the old Mission. The Catholic priest advised himto search there; sometimes, he said, fugitives of one sort and anothertook refuge in this settlement, lived there for a few months, thendisappeared as noiselessly as they had come. Felipe searched there also;equally in vain. 

He questioned all the sailors in port; all the shippers. No one hadheard of an Indian shipping on board any vessel; in fact, a captainwould have to be in straits before he would take an Indian in his crew. 

"But this was an exceptionally good worker, this Indian; he could turnhis hand to anything; he might have gone as ship's carpenter. "

"That might be, " they said; "nobody had ever heard of any such thing, however;" and very much they all wondered what it was that made thehandsome, sad Mexican gentleman so anxious to find this Indian. 

Felipe wasted weeks in Monterey. Long after he had ceased to hope, helingered. He felt as if he would like to stay till every ship that hadsailed out of Monterey in the last three years had returned. Whenever heheard of one coming into harbor, he hastened to the shore, and closelywatched the disembarking. His melancholy countenance, with its eager, searching look, became a familiar sight to every one; even the childrenknew that the pale gentleman was looking for some one he could not find. Women pitied him, and gazed at him tenderly, wondering if a man couldlook like that for anything save the loss of a sweetheart. Felipe madeno confidences. He simply asked, day after day, of every one he met, foran Indian named Alessandro Assis. 

Finally he shook himself free from the dreamy spell of the place, and turned his face southward again. He went by the route which theFranciscan Fathers used to take, when the only road on the Californiacoast was the one leading from Mission to Mission. Felipe had heardFather Salvierderra say that there were in the neighborhood of each ofthe old Missions Indian villages, or families still living. He thoughtit not improbable that, from Alessandro's father's long connection withthe San Luis Rey Mission, Alessandro might be known to some of theseIndians. He would leave no stone unturned; no Indian village unsearched;no Indian unquestioned. 

San Juan Bautista came first; then Soledad, San Antonio, San Miguel, SanLuis Obispo, Santa Inez; and that brought him to Santa Barbara. Hehad spent two months on the journey. At each of these places he foundIndians; miserable, half-starved creatures, most of them. Felipe's heartached, and he was hot with shame, at their condition. The ruins of theold Mission buildings were sad to see, but the human ruins were sadder. Now Felipe understood why Father Salvierderra's heart had broken, andwhy his mother had been full of such fierce indignation against theheretic usurpers and despoilers of the estates which the Franciscansonce held. He could not understand why the Church had submitted, without fighting, to such indignities and robberies. At every one of theMissions he heard harrowing tales of the sufferings of those Fathers whohad clung to their congregations to the last, and died at their posts. At Soledad an old Indian, weeping, showed him the grave of FatherSarria, who had died there of starvation. "He gave us all he had, to thelast, " said the old man. "He lay on a raw-hide on the ground, as we did;and one morning, before he had finished the mass, he fell forward at thealtar and was dead. And when we put him in the grave, his body was onlybones, and no flesh; he had gone so long without food, to give it tous. "

At all these Missions Felipe asked in vain for Alessandro. They knewvery little, these northern Indians, about those in the south, theysaid. It was seldom one from the southern tribes came northward. Theydid not understand each other's speech. The more Felipe inquired, andthe longer he reflected, the more he doubted Alessandro's having evergone to Monterey. At Santa Barbara he made a long stay. The Brothersat the College welcomed him hospitably. They had heard from FatherSalvierderra the sad story of Ramona, and were distressed, with Felipe, that no traces had been found of her. It grieved Father Salvierderra tothe last, they said; he prayed for her daily, but said he could not getany certainty in his spirit of his prayers being heard. Only the daybefore he died, he had said this to Father Francis, a young Brazilianmonk, to whom he was greatly attached. 

In Felipe's overwrought frame of mind this seemed to him a terribleomen; and he set out on his journey with a still heavier heartthan before. He believed Ramona was dead, buried in some unknown, unconsecrated spot, never to be found; yet he would not give up thesearch. As he journeyed southward, he began to find persons who hadknown of Alessandro; and still more, those who had known his father, oldPablo. But no one had heard anything of Alessandro's whereabouts sincethe driving out of his people from Temecula; there was no knowing whereany of those Temecula people were now. They had scattered "like a flockof ducks, " one Indian said, --"like a flock of ducks after they arefired into. You'd never see all those ducks in any one place again. TheTemecula people were here, there, and everywhere, all through San DiegoCounty. There was one Temecula man at San Juan Capistrano, however. TheSenor would better see him. He no doubt knew about Alessandro. He wasliving in a room in the old Mission building. The priest had given itto him for taking care of the chapel and the priest's room, and a littlerent besides. He was a hard man, the San Juan Capistrano priest; hewould take the last dollar from a poor man. "

It was late at night when Felipe reached San Juan Capistrano; but hecould not sleep till he had seen this man. Here was the first clew hehad gained. He found the man, with his wife and children, in a largecorner room opening on the inner court of the Mission quadrangle. Theroom was dark and damp as a cellar; a fire smouldered in the enormousfireplace; a few skins and rags were piled near the hearth, and on theselay the woman, evidently ill. The sunken tile floor was icy cold to thefeet; the wind swept in at a dozen broken places in the corridor sideof the wall; there was not an article of furniture. "Heavens!" thoughtFelipe, as he entered, "a priest of our Church take rent for such a holeas this!"

There was no light in the place, except the little which came from thefire. "I am sorry I have no candle, Senor, " said the man, as he cameforward. "My wife is sick, and we are very poor. "

"No matter, " said Felipe, his hand already at his purse. "I only want toask you a few questions. You are from Temecula, they tell me. "

"Yes, Senor, " the man replied in a dogged tone, --no man of Temeculacould yet hear the word without a pang, --"I was of Temecula. "

"I want to find one Alessandro Assis who lived there. You knew him, Isuppose, " said Felipe, eagerly. 

At this moment a brand broke in the smouldering fire, and for one seconda bright blaze shot up; only for a second, then all was dark again. Butthe swift blaze had fallen on Felipe's face, and with a start whichhe could not control, but which Felipe did not see, the Indian hadrecognized him. "Ha, ha!" he thought to himself. "Senor Felipe Moreno, you come to the wrong house asking for news of Alessandro Assis!"

It was Antonio, --Antonio, who had been at the Moreno sheep-shearing;Antonio, who knew even more than Carmena had known, for he knew what amarvel and miracle it seemed that the beautiful Senorita from the Morenohouse should have loved Alessandro, and wedded him; and he knew that onthe night she went away with him, Alessandro had lured out of the corrala beautiful horse for her to ride. Alessandro had told him all aboutit, --Baba, fiery, splendid Baba, black as night, with a white star inhis forehead. Saints! but it was a bold thing to do, to steal such ahorse as that, with a star for a mark; and no wonder that even now, though near three years afterwards, Senor Felipe was in search of him. Of course it could be only the horse he wanted. Ha! much help might heget from Antonio!

"Yes, Senor, I knew him, " he replied. 

"Do you know where he is now?"

"No, Senor. "

"Do you know where he went, from Temecula?"

"No, Senor. "

"A woman told me he went to Monterey. I have been there looking forhim. "

"I heard, too, he had gone to Monterey. "

"Where did you see him last?"

"In Temecula. "

"Was he alone?"

"Yes, Senor. "

"Did you ever hear of his being married?"

"No, Senor. "

"Where are the greater part of the Temecula people now?"

"Like this, Senor, " with a bitter gesture, pointing to his wife. "Mostof us are beggars. A few here, a few there. Some have gone to CapitanGrande, some way down into Lower California. "

Wearily Felipe continued his bootless questioning. No suspicion that theman was deceiving him crossed his mind. At last, with a sigh, hesaid, "I hoped to have found Alessandro by your means. I am greatlydisappointed. 

"I doubt not that, Senor Felipe Moreno, " thought Antonio. "I am sorry, Senor, " he said. 

It smote his conscience when Felipe laid in his hand a generousgold-piece, and said, "Here is a bit of money for you. I am sorry to seeyou so poorly off. "

The thanks which he spoke sounded hesitating and gruff, so remorsefuldid he feel. Senor Felipe had always been kind to them. How well theyhad fared always in his house! It was a shame to lie to him; yet thefirst duty was to Alessandro. It could not be avoided. And thus a secondtime help drifted away from Ramona. 

At Temecula, from Mrs. Hartsel, Felipe got the first true intelligenceof Alessandro's movements; but at first it only confirmed his worstforebodings. Alessandro had been at Mrs. Hartsel's house; he had beenalone, and on foot; he was going to walk all the way to San Pasquale, where he had the promise of work. 

How sure the kindly woman was that she was telling the exact truth. After long ransacking of her memory and comparing of events, she fixedthe time so nearly to the true date, that it was to Felipe's mind aterrible corroboration of his fears. It was, he thought, about a weekafter Ramona's flight from home that Alessandro had appeared thus, alone, on foot, at Mrs. Hartsel's. In great destitution, she said; andshe had lent him money on the expectation of selling his violin; butthey had never sold it; there it was yet. And that Alessandro was dead, she had no more doubt than that she herself was alive; for else, hewould have come back to pay her what he owed. The honestest fellow thatever lived, was Alessandro. Did not the Senor Moreno think so? Had henot found him so always? There were not many such Indians as Alessandroand his father. If there had been, it would have been better for theirpeople. "If they'd all been like Alessandro, I tell you, " she said, "itwould have taken more than any San Diego sheriff to have put them out oftheir homes here. "

"But what could they do to help themselves, Mrs. Hartsel?" asked Felipe. "The law was against them. We can't any of us go against that. I myselfhave lost half my estate in the same way. "

"Well, at any rate they wouldn't have gone without fighting!" she said. "'If Alessandro had been here!' they all said. "

Felipe asked to see the violin. "But that is not Alessandro's, " heexclaimed. "I have seen his. "

"No!" she said. "Did I say it was his? It was his father's. One of theIndians brought it in here to hide it with us at the time they weredriven out. It is very old, they say, and worth a great deal of money, if you could find the right man to buy it. But he has not come alongyet. He will, though. I am not a bit afraid but that we'll get our moneyback on it. If Alessandro was alive, he'd have been here long beforethis. "

Finding Mrs. Hartsel thus friendly, Felipe suddenly decided to tellher the whole story. Surprise and incredulity almost overpowered her atfirst. She sat buried in thought for some minutes; then she sprangto her feet, and cried: "If he's got that girl with him, he's hidingsomewhere. There's nothing like an Indian to hide; and if he is hiding, every other Indian knows it, and you just waste your breath asking anyquestions of any of them. They will die before they will tell you onething. They are as secret as the grave. And they, every one of them, worshipped Alessandro. You see they thought he would be over them, afterPablo, and they were all proud of him because he could read andwrite, and knew more than most of them. If I were in your place, " shecontinued, "I would not give it up yet. I should go to San Pasquale. Nowit might just be that she was along with him that night he stopped here, hid somewhere, while he came in to get the money. I know I urged him tostay all night, and he said he could not do it. I don't know, though, where he could possibly have left her while he came here. "

Never in all her life had Mrs. Hartsel been so puzzled and so astonishedas now. But her sympathy, and her confident belief that Alessandro mightyet be found, gave unspeakable cheer to Felipe. 

"If I find them, I shall take them home with me, Mrs. Hartsel, " he saidas he rode away; "and we will come by this road and stop to see you. "And the very speaking of the words cheered him all the way to SanPasquale. 

But before he had been in San Pasquale an hour, he was plunged into aperplexity and disappointment deeper than he had yet felt. He found thevillage in disorder, the fields neglected, many houses deserted, theremainder of the people preparing to move away. In the house of Ysidro, Alessandro's kinsman, was living a white family, --the family of a manwho had pre-empted the greater part of the land on which the villagestood. Ysidro, profiting by Alessandro's example, when he foundthat there was no help, that the American had his papers from theland-office, in all due form, certifying that the land was his, hadgiven the man his option of paying for the house or having it burneddown. The man had bought the house; and it was only the week beforeFelipe arrived, that Ysidro had set off, with all his goods andchattels, for Mesa Grande. He might possibly have told the Senor more, the people said, than any one now in the village could; but even Ysidrodid not know where Alessandro intended to settle. He told no one. Hewent to the north. That was all they knew. 

To the north! That north which Felipe thought he had thoroughlysearched. He sighed at the word. The Senor could, if he liked, see thehouse in which Alessandro had lived. There it was, on the south side ofthe valley, just in the edge of the foothills; some Americans lived init now. Such a good ranch Alessandro had; the best wheat in the valley. The American had paid Alessandro something for it, --they did not knowhow much; but Alessandro was very lucky to get anything. If only theyhad listened to him. He was always telling them this would come. Now itwas too late for most of them to get anything for their farms. One manhad taken the whole of the village lands, and he had bought Ysidro'shouse because it was the best; and so they would not get anything. Theywere utterly disheartened, broken-spirited. 

In his sympathy for them, Felipe almost forgot his own distresses. "Where are you going?" he asked of several. 

"Who knows, Senor?" was their reply. "Where can we go? There is noplace. "

When, in reply to his questions in regard to Alessandro's wife, Felipeheard her spoken of as "Majella, " his perplexity deepened. Finally heasked if no one had ever heard the name Ramona. 

"Never. "

What could it mean? Could it be possible that this was anotherAlessandro than the one of whom he was in search? Felipe bethoughthimself of a possible marriage-record. Did they know where Alessandrohad married this wife of his, of whom every word they spoke seemed bothlike and unlike Ramona?

Yes. It was in San Diego they had been married, by Father Gaspara. 

Hoping against hope, the baffled Felipe rode on to San Diego; and here, as ill-luck would have it, he found, not Father Gaspara, who would athis first word have understood all, but a young Irish priest, who hadonly just come to be Father Gaspara's assistant. Father Gaspara wasaway in the mountains, at Santa Ysabel. But the young assistant would doequally well, to examine the records. He was courteous and kind; broughtout the tattered old book, and, looking over his shoulder, his breathcoming fast with excitement and fear, there Felipe read, in FatherGaspara's hasty and blotted characters, the fatal entry of the names, "Alessandro Assis and Majella Fa--"

Heart-sick, Felipe went away. Most certainly Ramona would never havebeen married under any but her own name. Who, then, was this woman whomAlessandro Assis had married in less than ten days from the night onwhich Ramona had left her home? Some Indian woman for whom he feltcompassion, or to whom he was bound by previous ties? And where, in whatlonely, forever hidden spot, was the grave of Ramona?

Now at last Felipe felt sure that she was dead. It was useless searchingfarther. Yet, after he reached home, his restless conjectures took onemore turn, and he sat down and wrote a letter to every priest betweenSan Diego and Monterey, asking if there were on his books a record ofthe marriage of one Alessandro Assis and Ramona Ortegna. 

It was not impossible that there might be, after all, another AlessandroAssis, The old Fathers, in baptizing their tens of thousands of Indianconverts, were sore put to it to make out names enough. There mighthave been another Assis besides old Pablo, and of Alessandros there weredozens everywhere. 

This last faint hope also failed. No record anywhere of an AlessandroAssis, except in Father Gaspara's book. 

As Felipe was riding out of San Pasquale, he had seen an Indian man andwoman walking by the side of mules heavily laden. Two little children, two young or too feeble to walk, were so packed in among the bundlesthat their faces were the only part of them in sight. The woman wascrying bitterly. "More of these exiles. God help the poor creatures!"thought Felipe; and he pulled out his purse, and gave the woman a pieceof gold. She looked up in as great astonishment as if the money hadfallen from the skies. "Thanks! Thanks, Senor!" she exclaimed; and theman coming up to Felipe said also, "God reward you, Senor! That is moremoney than I had in the world! Does the Senor know of any place where Icould get work?"

Felipe longed to say, "Yes, come to my estate; there you shall havework!" In the olden time he would have done it without a second thought, for both the man and the woman had good faces, --were young and strong. But the pay-roll of the Moreno estate was even now too long forits dwindled fortunes. "No, my man, I am sorry to say I do not, " heanswered. "I live a long way from here. Where were you thinking ofgoing?"

"Somewhere in San Jacinto, " said the man. "They say the Americans havenot come in there much yet. I have a brother living there. Thanks, Senor; may the saints reward you!"

"San Jacinto!" After Felipe returned home, the name haunted histhoughts. The grand mountain-top bearing that name he had known wellin many a distant horizon. "Juan Can, " he said one day, "are there manyIndians in San Jacinto?"

"The mountain?" said Juan Can. 

"Ay, I suppose, the mountain, " said Felipe. "What else is there?"

"The valley, too, " replied Juan. "The San Jacinto Valley is a fine, broad valley, though the river is not much to be counted on. It ismostly dry sand a good part of the year. But there is good grazing. There is one village of Indians I know in the valley; some of theSan Luis Rey Indians came from there; and up on the mountain is a bigvillage; the wildest Indians in all the country live there. Oh, they arefierce, Senor!"

The next morning Felipe set out for San Jacinto. Why had no onementioned, why had he not himself known, of these villages? Perhapsthere were yet others he had not heard of. Hope sprang in Felipe'simpressionable nature as easily as it died. An hour, a moment, might seehim both lifted up and cast down. When he rode into the sleepy littlevillage street of San Bernardino, and saw, in the near horizon, againstthe southern sky, a superb mountain-peak, changing in the sunset lightsfrom turquoise to ruby, and from ruby to turquoise again, he said tohimself, "She is there! I have found her!"

The sight of the mountain affected him, as it had always affected AuntRi, with an indefinable, solemn sense of something revealed, yet hidden. "San Jacinto?" he said to a bystander, pointing to it with his whip. 

"Yes, Senor, " replied the man. As he spoke, a pair of black horses camewhirling round the corner, and he sprang to one side, narrowly escapingbeing knocked down. "That Tennessee fellow'll run over somebody yet, with those black devils of his, if he don't look out, " he muttered, ashe recovered his balance. 

Felipe glanced at the horses, then driving his spurs deep into hishorse's sides, galloped after them. "Baba! by God!" he cried aloud inhis excitement and forgetful of everything, he urged his horse faster, shouting as he rode, "Stop that man! Stop that man with the blackhorses!"

Jos, hearing his name called on all sides, reined in Benito and Babaas soon as he could, and looked around in bewilderment to see what hadhappened. Before he had time to ask any questions, Felipe had overtakenhim, and riding straight to Baba's head, had flung himself from his ownhorse and taken Baba by the rein, crying, "Baba! Baba!" Baba knew hisvoice, and began to whinny and plunge. Felipe was nearly unmanned. Forthe second, he forgot everything. A crowd was gathering around them. Ithad never been quite clear to the San Bernardino mind that Jos's titleto Benito and Baba would bear looking into; and it was no surprise, therefore, to some of the on-lookers, to hear Felipe cry in a loudvoice, looking suspiciously at Jos, "How did you get him?"

Jos was a wag, and Jos was never hurried. The man did not live, norcould the occasion arrive, which would quicken his constitutional drawl. Before even beginning his answer he crossed one leg over the other andtook a long, observant look at Felipe; then in a pleasant voice he said:"Wall, Senor, --I allow yer air a Senor by yer color, --it would takeright smart uv time tew tell yeow haow I cum by thet hoss, 'n' by theother one tew. They ain't mine, neither one on 'em. "

Jos's speech was as unintelligible to Felipe as it had been to Ramona, Jos saw it, and chuckled. 

"Mebbe 't would holp yer tew understand me ef I wuz tew talk Mexican, "he said, and proceeded to repeat in tolerably good Spanish the sum andsubstance of what he had just said, adding: "They belong to an Indianover on San Jacinto; at least, the off one does; the nigh one's hiswife's; he wouldn't ever call thet one anything but hers. It had beenhers ever sence she was a girl, they said, I never saw people think somuch of hosses as they did. "

Before Jos had finished speaking, Felipe had bounded into the wagon, throwing his horse's reins to a boy in the crowd, and crying, "Followalong with my horse, will you? I must speak to this man. "

Found! Found, --the saints be praised, --at last! How should he tell thisman fast enough? How should he thank him enough?

Laying his hand on Jos's knee, he cried: "I can't explain to you; Ican't tell you. Bless you forever, --forever! It must be the saints ledyou here!"

"Oh, Lawd!" thought Jos; "another o' them 'saint' fellers! I allow not, Senor, " he said, relapsing into Tennesseean. "It wur Tom Wurmsee led me;I wuz gwine ter move his truck fur him this arternoon. "

"Take me home with you to your house, " said Felipe, still trembling withexcitement; "we cannot talk here in the street. I want to hear allyou can tell me about them. I have been searching for them all overCalifornia. "

Jos's face lighted up. This meant good fortune for that gentle, sweetRamona, he was sure. "I'll take you straight there, " he said; "but firstI must stop at Tom's. He will be waiting for me. "

The crowd dispersed, disappointed; cheated out of their anticipatedscene of an arrest for horse-stealing. "Good for you, Tennessee!" and, "Fork over that black horse, Jos!" echoed from the departing groups. Sensations were not so common in San Bernardino that they could affordto slight so notable an occasion as this. 

As Jos turned the corner into the street where he lived, he saw hismother coming at a rapid run towards them, her sun-bonnet half off herhead, her spectacles pushed up in her hair. 

"Why, thar's mammy!" he exclaimed. "What ever hez gone wrong naow?"

Before he finished speaking, she saw the black horses, and snatchingher bonnet from her head waved it wildly, crying, "Yeow Jos! Jos, hyar!Stop! I wuz er comin' ter hunt yer!"

Breathlessly she continued talking, her words half lost in the soundof the wheels. Apparently she did not see the stranger sitting by Jos'sside. "Oh, Jos, thar's the terriblest news come! Thet Injun Alessandro'sgot killed; murdered; jest murdered, I say; 'tain't no less. Thar wuz anInjun come down from ther mounting with a letter to the Agent. "

"Good God! Alessandro killed!" burst from Felipe's lips in aheart-rending voice. 

Jos looked bewilderedly from his mother to Felipe; the complication wasalmost beyond him. "Oh, Lawd!" he gasped. Turning to Felipe, "Thet'smammy, " he said. "She wuz real fond o' both on 'em. " Turning to hismother, "This hyar's her brother, " he said. "He jest knowed me by Baba, hyar on ther street. He's been huntin' 'em everywhar. "

Aunt Ri grasped the situation instantly. Wiping her streaming eyes, shesobbed out: "Wall, I'll allow, arter this, thar is sech a thing ez aProvidence, ez they call it. 'Pears like ther couldn't ennythin' lessbrung yer hyar jest naow. I know who yer be; ye're her brother Feeleepy, ain't yer? Menny's ther time she's tolt me about yer! Oh, Lawd! How airwe ever goin' to git ter her? I allow she's dead! I allow she'd neverlive arter seein' him shot down dead! He tolt me thar couldn't nobodygit up thar whar they'd gone; no white folks, I mean. Oh, Lawd, Lawd!"

Felipe stood paralyzed, horror-stricken. He turned in despair to Jos. "Tell me in Spanish, " he said. "I cannot understand. "

As Jos gradually drew out the whole story from his mother's excited andincoherent speech, and translated it, Felipe groaned aloud, "Too late!Too late!" He too felt, as Aunt Ri had, that Ramona never could havesurvived the shock of seeing her husband murdered. "Too late! Too late!"he cried, as he staggered into the house. "She has surely died of thesight. "

"I allow she didn't die, nuther, " said Jos; "not ser long ez she hedthet young un to look arter!"

"Yer air right, Jos!" said Aunt Ri. "I allow yer air right. Tharcouldn't nothin' kill her, short er wild beasts, ef she hed ther baby'n her arms! She ain't dead, not ef the baby ez erlive, I allow. Thet'ssome comfort. "

Felipe sat with his face buried in his hands. Suddenly looking up, hesaid, "How far is it?"

"Thirty miles 'n' more inter the valley, where we wuz, " said Jos; "'n'the Lawd knows how fur 'tis up on ter the mounting, where they wuzlivin'. It's like goin' up the wall uv a house, goin' up San JacintoMounting, daddy sez. He wuz thar huntin' all summer with Alessandro. "

How strange, how incredible it seemed, to hear Alessandro's name thusfamiliarly spoken, --spoken by persons who had known him so recently, andwho were grieving, grieving as friends, to hear of his terrible death!Felipe felt as if he were in a trance. Rousing himself, he said, "Wemust go. We must start at once. You will let me have the horses?"

"Wall, I allow yer've got more right ter 'em 'n--" began Jos, energetically, forgetting himself; then, dropping Tennesseean, hecompleted in Spanish his cordial assurances that the horses were atFelipe's command. 

"Jos! He's got ter take me!" cried Aunt Ri. "I allow I ain't never gwineter set still hyar, 'n' thet girl inter sech trouble; 'n' if so beez she is reely dead, thar's the baby. He hadn't orter go alone byhisself. "

Felipe was thankful, indeed, for Aunt Ri's companionship, and expressedhimself in phrases so warm, that she was embarrassed. 

"Yeow tell him, Jos, " she said, "I can't never git used ter bein' calledSenory. Yeow tell him his' sister allers called me Aunt Ri, 'n' I jestwish he would. I allow me 'n' him'll git along all right. 'Pears likeI'd known him all my days, jest ez 't did with her, arter the fust. I'm free to confess I take more ter these Mexicans than I do ter theselow-down, driven Yankees, ennyhow, --a heap more; but I can't standbein' Senory'd! Yeow tell him, Jos. I s'pose thar's a word for 'aunt' inMexican, ain't there? 'Pears like thar couldn't be no langwedge 'thoutsech a word! He'll know what it means! I'd go off with him a heap easieref he'd call me jest plain Aunt Ri, ez I'm used ter, or Mis Hyer, eitherun on 'em; but Aunt Ri's the nateralest. "

Jos had some anxiety about his mother's memory of the way to SanJacinto. She laughed. 

"Don't yeow be a mite oneasy, " she said. "I bet yeow I'd go clean backter the States ther way we cum. I allow I've got every mile on 't 'nmy hed plain's a turnpike. Yeow nor yer dad, neiry one on yer, couldn'tbegin to do 't. But what we air gwine ter do, fur gettin' up themounting, thet's another thing. Thet's more 'n I dew know. But thar'llbe a way pervided, Jos, sure's yeow're bawn. The Lawd ain't gwine to gethisself hindered er holpin' Ramony this time; I ain't a mite afeerd. "

Felipe could not have found a better ally. The comparative silenceenforced between them by reason of lack of a common vehicle for theirthoughts was on the whole less of a disadvantage than would have atfirst appeared. They understood each other well enough for practicalpurposes, and their unity in aim, and in affection for Ramona, made abond so strong, it could not have been enhanced by words. 

It was past sundown when they left San Bernardino, but a full moon madethe night as good as day for their journey. When it first shone out, Aunt Ri, pointing to it, said curtly, "Thet's lucky. "

"Yes, " replied Felipe, who did not know either of the words she hadspoken, "it is good. It shows to us the way. "

"Thar, naow, say he can't understand English!" thought Aunt Ri. 

Benito and Baba travelled as if they knew the errand on which they werehurrying. Good forty miles they had gone without flagging once, whenAunt Ri, pointing to a house on the right hand of the road, the only onethey had seen for many miles, said: "We'll hev to sleep hyar. I donnothe road beyant this. I allow they're gone ter bed; but they'll hev togit up 'n' take us in. They're used ter doin' it. They dew consid'ablebusiness keepin' movers. I know 'em. They're reel friendly fur the kindo' people they air. They're druv to death. It can't be far frum theirtime to git up, ennyhow. They're up every mornin' uv thar lives longafore daylight, a feedin' their stock, an' gittin' ready fur the day'swork. I used ter hear 'em 'n' see 'em, when we wuz campin' here. Thefust I saw uv it, I thought somebody wuz sick in the house, to git 'emup thet time o' night; but arterwards we found out 't wan't nothin' butthar reggerlar way. When I told dad, sez I, 'Dad, did ever yer hearsech a thing uz gittin' up afore light to feed stock?' 'n' ter feedtheirselves tew. They'd their own breakfast all clared away, 'n' disheswashed, too, afore light; 'n' prayers said beside; they're Methodys, terrible pious. I used ter tell dad they talked a heap about believin'in God; I don't allow but what they dew believe in God, tew, butthey don't worship Him so much's they worship work; not nigh so much. Believin' 'n' worshippin' 's tew things. Yeow wouldn't see no sechdoin's in Tennessee. I allow the Lawd meant some time fur sleepin'; 'n'I'm satisfied with his times o' lightin' up. But these Merrills air reelnice folks, fur all this I've ben tellin' yer!--Lawd! I don't believehe's understood a word I've said, naow!" thought Aunt Ri to herself, suddenly becoming aware of the hopeless bewilderment on Felipe's face. "'Tain't much use sayin' anything more'n plain yes 'n' no, between folksthet can't understand each other's langwedge; 'n' s' fur's thet goes, Iallow thar ain't any gret use'n the biggest part o' what's sed betweenfolks thet doos!"

When the Merrill family learned Felipe's purpose of going up themountain to the Cahuilla village, they attempted to dissuade him fromtaking his own horses. He would kill them both, high-spirited horseslike those, they said, if he took them over that road. It was a cruelroad. They pointed out to him the line where it wound, doubling andtacking on the sides of precipices, like a path for a goat or chamois. Aunt Ri shuddered at the sight, but said nothing. 

"I'm gwine whar he goes, " she said grimly to herself. "I ain't a gwineter back daown naow; but I dew jest wish Jeff Hyer wuz along. "

Felipe himself disliked what he saw and heard of the grade. The roadhad been built for bringing down lumber, and for six miles it was atperilous angles. After this it wound along on ridges and in ravines tillit reached the heart of a great pine forest, where stood a saw-mill. Passing this, it plunged into still darker, denser woods, some fifteenmiles farther on, and then came out among vast opens, meadows, andgrassy foot-hills, still on the majestic mountain's northern or easternslopes. From these, another steep road, little more than a trail, ledsouth, and up to the Cahuilla village. A day and a half's hard journey, at the shortest, it was from Merrill's; and no one unfamiliar with thecountry could find the last part of the way without a guide. Finallyit was arranged that one of the younger Merrills should go in thiscapacity, and should also take two of his strongest horses, accustomedto the road. By the help of these the terrible ascent was made withoutdifficulty, though Baba at first snorted, plunged, and resented thehumiliation of being harnessed with his head at another horse's tail. 

Except for their sad errand, both Felipe and Aunt Ri would haveexperienced a keen delight in this ascent. With each fresh lift on theprecipitous terraces, the view off to the south and west broadened, until the whole San Jacinto Valley lay unrolled at their feet. The pineswere grand; standing, they seemed shapely columns; fallen, the uppercurve of their huge yellow disks came above a man's head, so massive wastheir size. On many of them the bark had been riddled from root to top, as by myriads of bullet-holes. In each hole had been cunningly storedaway an acorn, --the woodpeckers' granaries. 

"Look at thet, naow!" exclaimed the observant Aunt Ri; "an' thar'sfolk's thet sez dumb critters ain't got brains. They ain't noways dumbto each other, I notice; an' we air dumb aourselves when we air ketchedwith furriners. I allow I'm next door to dumb myself with this hyarMexican I'm er travellin' with. "

"That's so!" replied Sam Merrill. "When we fust got here, I thought I'dha' gone clean out o' my head tryin' to make these Mexicans sense mymeanin'; my tongue was plaguy little use to me. But now I can talk theirlingo fust-rate; but pa, he can't talk to 'em nohow; he hain't learnedthe fust word; 'n' he's ben here goin' on two years longer'n we have. "

The miles seemed leagues to Felipe. Aunt Ri's drawling tones, as shechatted volubly with young Merrill, chafed him. How could she chatter!But when he thought this, it would chance that in a few moments more hewould see her clandestinely wiping away tears, and his heart would warmto her again. 

They slept at a miserable cabin in one of the clearings, and at earlydawn pushed on, reaching the Cahuilla village before noon. As theircarriage came in sight, a great running to and fro of people was to beseen. Such an event as the arrival of a comfortable carriage drawn byfour horses had never before taken place in the village. The agitationinto which the people had been thrown by the murder of Alessandro hadby no means subsided; they were all on the alert, suspicious of each newoccurrence. The news had only just reached the village that Farrar hadbeen set at liberty, and would not be punished for his crime, and theflames of indignation and desire for vengeance, which the aged Capitanhad so much difficulty in allaying in the outset, were bursting forthagain this morning. It was therefore a crowd of hostile and loweringfaces which gathered around the carriage as it stopped in front of theCapitan's house. 

Aunt Ri's face was a ludicrous study of mingled terror, defiance, andcontempt. "Uv all ther low-down, no-'count, beggarly trash ever I laideyes on, " she said in a low tone to Merrill, "I allow these yere air thewust! But I allow they'd flatten us all aout in jest abaout a minnit, if they wuz to set aout tew! Ef she ain't hyar, we air in a scrape, Iallow. "

"Oh, they're friendly enough, " laughed Merrill. "They're all stirredup, now, about the killin' o' that Injun; that's what makes 'em lookso fierce. I don't wonder! 'Twas a derned mean thing Jim Farrar did, afirin' into the man after he was dead. I don't blame him for killin'the cuss, not a bit; I'd have shot any man livin' that 'ad taken a goodhorse o' mine up that trail. That's the only law we stock men've gotout in this country. We've got to protect ourselves. But it was a mean, low-lived trick to blow the feller's face to pieces after he was dead;but Jim's a rough feller, 'n' I expect he was so mad, when he see hishorse, that he didn't know what he did. "

Aunt Ri was half paralyzed with astonishment at this speech. Felipe hadleaped out of the carriage, and after a few words with the old Capitan, had hurried with him into his house. Felipe had evidently forgotten thatshe was still in the carriage. His going into the house looked as ifRamona was there. Aunt Ri, in all her indignation and astonishment, wasconscious of this train of thought running through her mind; but noteven the near prospect of seeing Ramona could bridle her tongue now, or make her defer replying to the extraordinary statements she had justheard. The words seemed to choke her as she began. "Young man, " shesaid, "I donno much abaout yeour raisin'. I've heered yeour folks wuzgreat on religion. Naow, we ain't, Jeff 'n' me; we warn't raised thetway; but I allow ef I wuz ter hear my boy, Jos, --he's jest abaout yeourage, 'n' make tew, though he's narrerer chested, --ef I should hear himsay what yeou've jest said, I allow I sh'd expect to see him struck bylightnin'; 'n' I sh'dn't think he hed got more 'n his deserts, I allow Ish'dn't!"

What more Aunt Ri would have said to the astounded Merrill was neverknown, for at that instant the old Capitan, returning to the door, beckoned to her; and springing from her seat to the ground, sternlyrejecting Sam's offered hand, she hastily entered the house. As shecrossed the threshold, Felipe turned an anguished face toward her, andsaid, "Come, speak to her. " He was on his knees by a wretched pallet onthe floor. Was that Ramona, --that prostrate form; hair dishevelled, eyesglittering, cheeks scarlet, hands playing meaninglessly, like the handsof one crazed, with a rosary of gold beads? Yes, it was Ramona; andit was like this she had lain there now ten days; and the people hadexhausted all their simple skill for her in vain. 

Aunt Ri burst into tears. "Oh, Lawd!" she said. "Ef I had some 'old man'hyar, I'd bring her aout er thet fever! I dew bleeve I seed some on 'tgrowin' not more'n er mile back. " And without a second look, or anotherword, she ran out of the door, and springing into the carriage, said, speaking faster than she had been heard to speak for thirty years: "Yeowjest turn raound 'n' drive me back a piece, the way we come. I allowI'll git a weed thet'll break thet fever. Faster, faster! Run yerhosses. 'Tain't above er mile back, whar I seed it, " she cried, leaningout, eagerly scrutinizing each inch of the barren ground. "Stop! Here'tis!" she cried. "I knowed I smelt the bitter on 't somewhars alonghyar;" and in a few minutes more she had a mass of the soft, shining, gray, feathery leaves in her hands, and was urging the horses fiercelyon their way back. "This'll cure her, ef ennything will, " she said, asshe entered the room again; but her heart sank as she saw Ramona's eyesroving restlessly over Felipe's face, no sign of recognition in them. "She's bad, " she said, her lips trembling; "but, 'never say die!' ezallers our motto; 'tain't never tew late fur ennything but oncet, 'n'yer can't tell when thet time's come till it's past 'n' gone. "

Steaming bowls of the bitterly odorous infusion she held at Ramona'snostrils; with infinite patience she forced drop after drop of itbetween the unconscious lips; she bathed the hands and head, her ownhands blistered by the heat. It was a fight with death; but love andlife won. Before night Ramona was asleep. 

Felipe and Aunt Ri sat by her, strange but not uncongenial watchers, each taking heart from the other's devotion. All night long Ramonaslept. As Felipe watched her, he remembered his own fever, and how shehad knelt by his bed and prayed there. He glanced around the room. In aniche in the mud wall was a cheap print of the Madonna, one candle justsmouldering out before it. The village people had drawn heavily on theirpoverty-stricken stores, keeping candles burning for Alessandro andRamona during the past ten days. The rosary had slipped from Ramona'shold; taking it cautiously in his hand, Felipe went to the Madonna'spicture, and falling on his knees, began to pray as simply as if he werealone. The Indians, standing on the doorway, also fell on their knees, and a low-whispered murmur was heard. 

For a moment Aunt Ri looked at the kneeling figures with contempt. "Oh, Lawd!" she thought, "the pore heathen, prayin' ter a picter!" Then asudden revulsion seized her. "I allow I ain't gwine ter be the unly oneout er the hull number thet don't seem to hev nothin' ter pray ter; Iallow I'll jine in prayer, tew, but I shan't say mine ter no picter!"And Aunt Ri fell on her knees; and when a young Indian woman by her sideslipped a rosary into her hand, Aunt Ri did not repulse it, but hid itin the folds of her gown till the prayers were done. It was a moment anda lesson Aunt Ri never forgot. 

XXVI

THE Capitan's house faced the east. Just as day broke, and the lightstreamed in at the open door, Ramona's eyes unclosed. Felipe and AuntRi were both by her side. With a look of bewildered terror, she gazed atthem. 

"Thar, thar, naow! Yer jest shet yer eyes 'n' go right off ter sleepagin, honey, " said Aunt Ri, composedly, laying her hand on Ramona'seyelids, and compelling them down. "We air hyar, Feeleepy 'n' me, 'n'we air goin' ter stay. I allow yer needn't be afeerd o' nothin'. Go tersleep, honey. "

The eyelids quivered beneath Aunt Ri's fingers. Tears forced their way, and rolled slowly down the cheeks. The lips trembled; the voice stroveto speak, but it was only like the ghost of a whisper, the faintquestion that came, --"Felipe?"

"Yes, dear! I am here, too, " breathed Felipe; "go to sleep. We will notleave you!"

And again Ramona sank away into the merciful sleep which was saving herlife. 

"Ther longer she kin sleep, ther better, " said Aunt Ri, with a sigh, deep-drawn like a groan. "I allow I dread ter see her reely come to. 'T'll be wus'n the fust; she'll hev ter live it all over again!"

But Aunt Ri did not know what forces of fortitude had been gatheringin Ramona's soul during these last bitter years. Out of her gentleconstancy had been woven the heroic fibre of which martyrs are made;this, and her inextinguishable faith, had made her strong, as werethose of old, who "had trial of cruel mocking, wandering about, beingdestitute, afflicted, tormented, wandered in deserts and in mountains, and in dens and caves of the earth. "

When she waked the second time, it was with a calm, almost beatificsmile that she gazed on Felipe, and whispered, "How did you find me, dear Felipe?" It was rather by the motions of her lips than by anysound that he knew the words. She had not yet strength enough to make anaudible sound. When they laid her baby on her breast, she smiled again, and tried to embrace her, but was too weak. Pointing to the baby's eyes, she whispered, gazing earnestly at Felipe, "Alessandro. " A convulsionpassed over her face as she spoke the word, and the tears flowed. 

Felipe could not speak. He glanced helplessly at Aunt Ri, who promptlyresponded: "Naow, honey, don't yeow talk. 'Tain't good fur ye; 'n'Feeleepy 'n' me, we air in a powerful hurry ter git yer strong 'n'well, 'n' tote ye out er this--" Aunt Ri stopped. No substantive in hervocabulary answered her need at that moment. "I allow ye kin go 'n aweek, ef nothin' don't go agin ye more'n I see naow; but ef yer git tertalkin', thar's no tellin' when yer'll git up. Yeow jest shet up, honey. We'll look arter everythin'. "

Feebly Ramona turned her grateful, inquiring eyes on Felipe. Her lipsframed the words, "With you?"

"Yes, dear, home with me, " said Felipe, clasping her hand in his. "Ihave been searching for you all this time. "

An anxious look came into the sweet face. Felipe knew what it meant. Howoften he had seen it in the olden time. He feared to shock her by thesudden mention of the Senora's death; yet that would harm her less thancontinued anxiety. "I am alone, dear Ramona, " he whispered. "There is noone now but you, my sister, to take care of me. My mother has been deada year. "

The eyes dilated, then filled with sympathetic tears. "Dear Felipe!"she sighed; but her heart took courage. Felipe's phrase was like oneinspired; another duty, another work, another loyalty, waiting forRamona. Not only her child to live for, but to "take care of Felipe"!Ramona would not die! Youth, a mother's love, a sister's affection andduty, on the side of life, --the battle was won, and won quickly, too. 

To the simple Cahuillas it seemed like a miracle; and they looked onAunt Ri's weather-beaten face with something akin to a superstitiousreverence. They themselves were not ignorant of the value of the herbby means of which she had wrought the marvellous cure; but they had maderepeated experiments with it upon Ramona, without success. It must bethat there had been some potent spell in Aunt Ri's handling. They wouldhardly believe her when, in answer to their persistent questioning, shereiterated the assertion that she had used nothing except the hot waterand "old man, " which was her name for the wild wormwood; and which, when explained to them, impressed them greatly, as having no doubt somesignificance in connection with the results of her preparation of theleaves. 

Rumors about Felipe ran swiftly throughout the region. The presence inthe Cahuilla village of a rich Mexican gentleman who spent gold likewater, and kept mounted men riding day and night, after everything, anything, he wanted for his sick sister, was an event which in theatmosphere of that lonely country loomed into colossal proportions. Hehad travelled all over California, with four horses, in search of her. He was only waiting till she was well, to take her to his home in thesouth; and then he was going to arrest the man who had murdered herhusband, and have him hanged, --yes, hanged! Small doubt about that;or, if the law cleared him, there was still the bullet. This rich Senorwould see him shot, if rope were not to be had. Jim Farrar heard thesetales, and quaked in his guilty soul. The rope he had small fear of, forwell he knew the temper of San Diego County juries and judges; but thebullet, that was another thing; and these Mexicans were like Indians intheir vengeance. Time did not tire them, and their memories were long. Farrar cursed the day he had let his temper get the better of him onthat lonely mountainside; how much the better, nobody but he himselfknew, --nobody but he and Ramona: and even Ramona did not know the bitterwhole. She knew that Alessandro had no knife, and had gone forward withno hostile intent; but she knew nothing beyond that. Only the murdererhimself knew that the dialogue which he had reported to the judge andjury, to justify his act, was an entire fabrication of his own, andthat, instead of it, had been spoken but four words by Alessandro, andthose were, "Senor, I will explain;" and that even after the first shothad pierced his lungs, and the blood was choking in his throat, he hadstill run a step or two farther, with his hand uplifted deprecatingly, and made one more effort to speak before he fell to the ground dead. Callous as Farrar was, and clear as it was in his mind that killing anIndian was no harm, he had not liked to recall the pleading anguish inAlessandro's tone and in his face as he fell. He had not liked to recallthis, even before he heard of this rich Mexican brother-in-law whohad appeared on the scene; and now, he found the memories still moreunpleasant. Fear is a wonderful goad to remorse. There was anotherthing, too, which to his great wonder had been apparently overlooked byeverybody; at least, nothing had been said about it; but the bearing ofit on his case, if the case were brought up a second time and minutelyinvestigated, would be most unfortunate. And this was, that the onlyclew he had to the fact of Alessandro's having taken his horse, was thatthe poor, half-crazed fellow had left his own well-known gray pony inthe corral in place of the horse he took. A strange thing, surely, for ahorse-thief to do! Cold sweat burst out on Farrar's forehead, morethan once, as he realized how this, coupled with the well-known factof Alessandro's liability to attacks of insanity, might be made to tellagainst him, if he should be brought to trial for the murder. He wasas cowardly as he was cruel: never yet were the two traits separatein human nature; and after a few days of this torturing suspense andapprehension, he suddenly resolved to leave the country, if not forever, at least for a few years, till this brother-in-law should be out of theway. He lost no time in carrying out his resolution; and it was wellhe did not, for it was only three days after he had disappeared, thatFelipe walked into Judge Wells's office, one morning, to make inquiriesrelative to the preliminary hearing which had been held there in thematter of the murder of the Indian, Alessandro Assis, by James Farrar. And when the judge, taking down his books, read to Felipe his notes ofthe case, and went on to say, "If Farrar's testimony is true, Ramona's, the wife's, must be false, " and "at any rate, her testimony would not beworth a straw with any jury, " Felipe sprang to his feet, and cried, "Sheof whom you speak is my foster-sister; and, by God, Senor, if I can findthat man, I will shoot him as I would a dog! And I'll see, then, if aSan Diego County jury will hang me for ridding the country of such abrute!" and Felipe would have been as good as his word. It was a wisething Farrar had done in making his escape. 

When Aunt Ri heard that Farrar had fled the country, she pushed upher spectacles and looked reflectively at her informant. It was youngMerrill. "Fled ther country, hez he?" she said. "Wall, he kin flee ezmany countries ez he likes, an' 't won't dew him no good. I know yeowfolks hyar don't seem ter think killin' an Injun's enny murder, but Isay 'tis; an' yeow'll all git it brung home ter yer afore yer die: ef'tain't brung one way, 't'll be anuther; yeow jest mind what I say, 'n'don't yeow furgit it. Naow this miser'ble murderer, this Farrar, thet'slighted out er hyar, he's nothin' more'n a skunk, but he's got the Lawdarter him, naow. It's jest's well he's gawn; I never did b'leeve inhangin'. I never could. It's jest tew men dead 'stead o' one. I don'twant to see no man hung, no marter what he's done, 'n' I don't want tosee no man shot down, nuther, no marter what he's done; 'n' this hyarFeeleepy, he's thet highstrung, he'd ha' shot thet Farrar, any minnit, quicker'n lightnin', ef he'd ketched him; so it's better all raoundhe's lit aout. But I tell yeow, naow, he hain't made much by goin'! ThetInjun he murdered 'll foller him night 'n' day, till he dies, 'n' longarter; he'll wish he wuz dead afore he doos die, I allow he will, naow. He'll be jest like a man I knowed back in Tennessee. I wa'n't but amite then, but I never forgot it. 'Tis a great country fur gourds, EastTennessee is, whar I wuz raised; 'n' thar wuz two houses, 'n' a fencebetween 'em, 'n' these gourds a runnin' all over the fence; 'n' one o'ther childun picked one o' them gourds, an' they fit abaout it; 'n' thenthe women took it up, --ther childun's mothers, yer know, --'n' they gotfightin' abaout it; 'n' then 't the last the men took it up, 'n' theyfit; 'n' Rowell he got his butcher-knife, 'n' he ground it up, 'n' hepicked a querril with Claiborne, 'n' he cut him inter pieces. They hedhim up for 't, 'n' somehow they clared him. I don't see how they everdid, but they put 't off, 'n' put 't off, 'n' 't last they got him free;'n' he lived on thar a spell, but he couldn't stan' it; 'peared likehe never hed no peace; 'n' he came over ter our 'us, 'n' sed he, 'Jake, '--they allers called daddy 'Jake, ' or 'Uncle Jake, '--'Jake, ' sedhe, 'I can't stan' it, livin' hyar. ' 'Why, ' sez daddy, 'the law o' thecountry's clar'd ye. ' 'Yes, ' sez he, 'but the law o' God hain't; 'n'I've got Claiborne allers with me. Thar ain't any path so narrer, buthe's a walkin' in it, by my side, all day; 'n' come night, I sleep withhim ter one side, 'n' my wife 't other; 'n' I can't stan' it. ' Them'sther very words I heered him say, 'n' I wuzn't ennythin' but a mite, butI didn't furgit it. Wall, sir, he went West, way aout hyar to Californy, 'n' he couldn't stay thar nuther, 'n' he came back hum agin; 'n' I wuzbigger then, a gal grown, 'n' daddy sez to him, --I heern him, --'Wal, 'sez he, 'did Claiborne foller yer?' 'Yes, ' sez he, 'he follered me. I'llnever git shet o' him in this world. He's allers clost to me everywhar. 'Yer see, 'twas jest his conscience er whippin' him. Thet's all 't wuz. 'T least, thet's all I think 't wuz; though thar wuz those thet said't wuz Claiborne's ghost. 'N' thet'll be the way 't 'll be with thismiser'ble Farrar. He'll live ter wish he'd let hisself be hanged ershot, er erry which way, ter git out er his misery. "

Young Merrill listened with unwonted gravity to Aunt Ri's earnest words. They reached a depth in his nature which had been long untouched; astratum, so to speak, which lay far beneath the surface. The characterof the Western frontiersman is often a singular accumulation of suchstrata, --the training and beliefs of his earliest days overlain bysuccessions of unrelated and violent experiences, like geologicaldeposits. Underneath the exterior crust of the most hardened andruffianly nature often remains--its forms not yet quite fossilized--arealm full of the devout customs, doctrines, religious influences, whichthe boy knew, and the man remembers, By sudden upheaval, in some greatcatastrophe or struggle in his mature life, these all come again intothe light. Assembly Catechism definitions, which he learned in hischildhood, and has not thought of since, ring in his ears, and he isthrown into all manner of confusions and inconsistencies of feeling andspeech by this clashing of the old and new man within him. It was muchin this way that Aunt Ri's words smote upon young Merrill. He was notmany years removed from the sound of a preaching of the straitest NewEngland Calvinism. The wild frontier life had drawn him in and under, asin a whirlpool; but he was New Englander yet at heart. 

"That's so, Aunt Ri!" he exclaimed. "That's so! I don't s'pose a manthat's committed murder 'll ever have any peace in this world, nor inthe next nuther, without he repents; but ye see this horse-stealin'business is different. 'Tain't murder to kill a hoss-thief, any way youcan fix it; everybody admits that. A feller that's caught horse-stealin'had ought to be shot; and he will be, too, I tell you, in this country!"

A look of impatient despair spread over Aunt Ri's face. "I hain't nopatience left with yer, " she said, "er talkin' abaout stealin' hosses ezef hosses wuz more'n human bein's! But lettin' thet all go, this Injun, he wuz crazy. Yer all knowed it. Thet Farrar knowed it. D'yer think efhe'd ben stealin' the hoss, he'd er left his own hoss in the corral, same ez, yer might say, leavin' his kyerd to say 't wuz he done it; 'n'the hoss er tied in plain sight 'n front uv his house fur ennybody tersee?"

"Left his own horse, so he did!" retorted Merrill. "A poor, miserable, knock-kneed old pony, that wa'n't worth twenty dollars; 'n' Jim's horsewas worth two hundred, 'n' cheap at that. "

"Thet ain't nuther here nor thar in what we air sayin', " persisted AuntRi. "I ain't a speakin' on 't ez a swap er hosses. What I say is, hewa'n't tryin' to cover 't up thet he'd tuk the hoss. We air sum used terhoss-thieves in Tennessee; but I never heered o' one yit thet lefthis name fur a refference berhind him, ter show which road he tuk, 'n'fastened ther stolen critter ter his front gate when he got hum! I allowme 'n' yeow hedn't better say anythin' much more on ther subjeck, fur Iallow we air bound to querril ef we dew;" and nothing that Merrill saidcould draw another word out of Aunt Ri in regard to Alessandro's death. But there was another subject on which she was tireless, and her speecheloquent. It was the kindness and goodness of the Cahuilla people. Thelast vestige of her prejudice against Indians had melted and gone, inthe presence of their simple-hearted friendliness. "I'll never hear aword said agin 'em, never, ter my longest day, " she said. "The way thepore things hed jest stripped theirselves, to git things fur Ramony, beat all ever I see among white folks, 'n' I've ben raound more'n most. 'N' they wa'n't lookin' fur no pay, nuther; fur they didn't know, tillFeeleepy 'n' me cum, thet she had any folks ennywhar, 'n' they'd ha'taken care on her till she died, jest the same. The sick allers ez tookcare on among them, they sed, 's long uz enny on em hez got a thingleft. Thet's ther way they air raised; I allow white folks might take alesson on 'em, in thet; 'n' in heaps uv other things tew. Oh, I'm donetalkin' again Injuns, naow, don't yeow furgit it! But I know, fur allthet, 't won't make any difference; 'pears like there cuddn't nobodyb'leeve ennythin' 'n this world 'thout seein' 't theirselves. I wuz thetway tew; I allow I hain't got no call ter talk; but I jest wish the hullworld could see what I've seen! Thet's all!"

It was a sad day in the village when Ramona and her friends departed. Heartily as the kindly people rejoiced in her having found such aprotector for herself and her child, and deeply as they felt Felipe'sand Aunt Ri's good-will and gratitude towards them, they were yetconscious of a loss, --of a void. The gulf between them and the rest ofthe world seemed defined anew, their sense of isolation deepened, theirhopeless poverty emphasized. Ramona, wife of Alessandro, had been astheir sister, --one of them; as such, she would have had share in alltheir life had to offer. But its utmost was nothing, was but hardshipand deprivation; and she was being borne away from it, like one rescued, not so much from death, as from a life worse than death. 

The tears streamed down Ramona's face as she bade them farewell. Sheembraced again and again the young mother who had for so many dayssuckled her child, even, it was said, depriving her own hardier babethat Ramona's should not suffer. "Sister, you have given me my child, "she cried; "I can never thank you; I will pray for you all my life. "

She made no inquiries as to Felipe's plans. Unquestioningly, like alittle child, she resigned herself into his hands. A power greater thanhers was ordering her way; Felipe was its instrument. No other voicespoke to guide her. The same old simplicity of acceptance which hadcharacterized her daily life in her girlhood, and kept her sereneand sunny then, --serene under trials, sunny in her routine of littleduties, --had kept her serene through all the afflictions, and calm, if not sunny, under all the burdens of her later life; and it did notdesert her even now. 

Aunt Ri gazed at her with a sentiment as near to veneration as her dry, humorous, practical nature was capable of feeling. "I allow I donno butI sh'd cum ter believin' in saints tew, " she said, "ef I wuz ter live'long side er thet gal. 'Pears like she wuz suthin' more 'n human. 'Tbeats me plum out, ther way she takes her troubles. Thar's sum wouldsay she hedn't no feelin'; but I allow she hez more 'n most folks. I kinsee, 'tain't thet. I allow I didn't never expect ter think 's well uvprayin' to picters, 'n' strings er beads, 'n' sech; but ef 't 's thetkeeps her up ther way she's kept up, I allow thar's more in it 'nit's hed credit fur. I ain't gwine ter say enny more agin it' nor aginInjuns. 'Pears like I'm gittin' heaps er new idears inter my head, thesedays. I'll turn Injun, mebbe, afore I git through!"

The farewell to Aunt Ri was hardest of all. Ramona clung to her as to amother. At times she felt that she would rather stay by her side than gohome with Felipe; then she reproached herself for the thought, as for atreason and ingratitude. Felipe saw the feeling, and did not wonder atit. "Dear girl, " he thought; "it is the nearest she has ever come toknowing what a mother's love is like!" And he lingered in San Bernardinoweek after week, on the pretence that Ramona was not yet strong enoughto bear the journey home, when in reality his sole motive for stayingwas his reluctance to deprive her of Aunt Ri's wholesome and cheeringcompanionship. 

Aunt Ri was busily at work on a rag carpet for the Indian Agent's wife. She had just begun it, had woven only a few inches, on that dreadfulmorning when the news of Alessandro's death reached her. It was of herfavorite pattern, the "hit-er-miss" pattern, as she called it; no setstripes or regular alternation of colors, but ball after ball of theindiscriminately mixed tints, woven back and forth, on a warp of asingle color. The constant variety in it, the unexpectedly harmoniousblending of the colors, gave her delight, and afforded her a subject, too, of not unphilosophical reflection. 

"Wall, " she said, "it's called ther 'hit-er-miss' pattren; but it's'hit' oftener'n 'tis 'miss. ' Thar ain't enny accountin' fur ther wayther breadths'll come, sometimes; 'pears like 't wuz kind er magic, whenthey air sewed tergether; 'n' I allow thet's ther way it's gwine terbe with heaps er things in this life. It's jest a kind er 'hit-er-miss'pattren we air all on us livin' on; 'tain't much use tryin' ter reckonhow 't 'll come aout; but the breadths doos fit heaps better 'n yer'dthink; come ter sew 'em, 'tain't never no sech colors ez yer thought't wuz gwine ter be; but it's allers pooty, allers; never see a'hit-er-miss' pattren 'n my life yit, thet wa'n't pooty. 'N' ther wa'n'tnever nobody fetched me rags, 'n' hed 'em all planned aout, 'n' jestther way they wanted ther warp, 'n' jest haow ther stripes wuz ter come, 'n' all, thet they wa'n't orful diserpynted when they cum ter see 'tdone. It don't never look's they thought 't would, never! I larned thetlesson airly; 'n' I allers make 'em write aout on a paper, jest therwedth er every stripe, 'n' each er ther colors, so's they kin see it'swhat they ordered; 'r else they'd allers say I hedn't wove 't's I wuztold ter. I got ketched thet way oncet! I allow ennybody's a bawn foolgits ketched twice runnin' ther same way. But fur me, I'll take ther'hit-er-miss' pattren, every time, sir, straight along. "

When the carpet was done, Aunt Ri took the roll in her own independentarms, and strode with it to the Agent's house. She had been biding thetime when she should have this excuse for going there. Her mind wasburdened with questions she wished to ask, information she wished togive, and she chose an hour when she knew she would find the Agenthimself at home. 

"I allow yer heered why I wuz behind time with this yere carpet, " shesaid; "I wuz up ter San Jacinto Mounting, where thet Injun wuz murdered. We brung his widder 'n' ther baby daown with us, me 'n' her brother. He's tuk her home ter his house ter live. He's reel well off. "

Yes, the Agent had heard this; he had wondered why the widow did notcome to see him; he had expected to hear from her. 

"Wall, I did hent ter her thet p'raps yer could dew something, ef shewuz ter tell yer all abaout it; but she allowed thar wa'n't enny use intalkin'. Ther jedge, he sed her witnessin' wouldn't be wuth nuthin' tono jury; 'n' thet wuz what I wuz a wantin' to ask yeow, ef thet wuz so. "

"Yes, that is what the lawyers here told me, " said the Agent. "I wasgoing to have the man arrested, but they said it would be folly to bringthe case to trial. The woman's testimony would not be believed. "

"Yeow've got power ter git a man punished fur sellin' whiskey to Injuns, I notice, " broke in Aunt Ri; "hain't yer? I see yeour man 'n' themarshal here arrestin' 'em pooty lively last month; they sed 'twas yeourdoin'; yeow was a gwine ter prossacute every livin' son o' hell--themwuz thar words--thet sold whiskey ter Injuns. "

"That's so!" said the Agent. "So I am; I am determined to break up thisvile business of selling whiskey to Indians. It is no use trying to doanything for them while they are made drunk in this way; it's a sin anda shame. "

"Thet's so, I allow ter yeow, " said Aunt Ri. "Thar ain't any gainsayin'thet. But ef yeow've got power ter git a man put in jail fur sellin'whiskey 't 'n Injun, 'n' hain't got power to git him punished ef he goes'n' kills thet Injun, 't sems ter me thar's suthin' cur'us abaout thet. "

"That is just the trouble in my position here, Aunt Ri, " he said. "Ihave no real power over my Indians, as I ought to have. "

"What makes yer call 'em yeour Injuns?" broke in Aunt Ri. 

The Agent colored. Aunt Ri was a privileged character, but her logicalmethod of questioning was inconvenient. 

"I only mean that they are under my charge, " he said. "I don't mean thatthey belong to me in any way. "

"Wall, I allow not, " retorted Aunt Ri, "enny more 'n I dew. They airairnin' their livin', sech 's 'tis, ef yer kin call it a livin'. I'vebeen 'mongst 'em, naow, they hyar last tew weeks, 'n' I allow I've hadmy eyes opened ter some things. What's thet docter er yourn, him thetthey call the Agency doctor, --what's he got ter do?"

"To attend to the Indians of this Agency when they are sick, " repliedthe Agent, promptly. 

"Wall, thet's what I heern; thet's what yeow sed afore, 'n' thet's whyAlessandro, the Injun thet wuz murdered, --thet's why he put his namedown 'n yeour books, though 't went agin him orful ter do it. He wuzhigh-spereted, 'n' 'd allers took keer er hisself; but he'd ben druv outer fust one place 'n' then another, tell he'd got clar down, 'n' pore;'n' he jest begged thet doctor er yourn to go to see his little gal, 'n'the docter wouldn't; 'n' more'n thet, he laughed at him fur askin. ' 'N'they set the little thing on the hoss ter bring her here, 'n' she diedafore they'd come a mile with her; 'n' 't wuz thet, on top er all therest druv Alessandro crazy. He never hed none er them wandrin' spellstill arter thet. Naow I allow thet wa'n't right eh thet docter. Iwouldn't hev no sech docter's thet raound my Agency, ef I wuz yeow. Pr'aps yer never heered uv thet. I told Ramony I didn't bleeve yerknowed it, or ye'd hev made him go. "

"No, Aunt Ri, " said the Agent; "I could not have done that; he is onlyrequired to doctor such Indians as come here. "

"I allow, then, thar ain't any gret use en hevin' him at all, " said AuntRi; "'pears like thar ain't more'n a harndful uv Injuns raound here. Iexpect he gits well paid?" and she paused for an answer. None came. TheAgent did not feel himself obliged to reveal to Aunt Ri what salarythe Government paid the San Bernardino doctor for sending haphazardprescriptions to Indians he never saw. 

After a pause Aunt Ri resumed: "Ef it ain't enny offence ter yeow, Iallow I'd like ter know jest what 'tis yeow air here ter dew fur theseInjuns. I've got my feelin's considdable stirred up, bein' among 'em'n' knowing this hyar one, thet's ben murdered. Hev ye got enny power togiv' 'em ennything, --food or sech? They air powerful pore, most on 'em. "

"I have had a little fund for buying supplies for them in timesof special suffering;" replied the Agent, "a very little; and theDepartment has appropriated some money for wagons and ploughs; notenough, however, to supply every village; you see these Indians are inthe main self-supporting. "

"Thet's jest it, " persisted Aunt Ri. "Thet's what I've ben seein'; 'n'thet's why I want so bad ter git at what 'tis the Guvvermunt means terhev yeow dew fur 'em. I allow ef yeow ain't ter feed 'em, an' ef yercan't put folks inter jail fur robbin' 'n' cheatin' 'em, not ter saykillin' 'em, --ef yer can't dew ennythin' more 'n keep 'em from gettin'whiskey, wall, I'm free ter say--" Aunt Ri paused; she did not wish toseem to reflect on the Agent's usefulness, and so concluded her sentencevery differently from her first impulse, --"I'm free ter say I shouldn'tlike ter stan' in yer shoes. "

"You may very well say that, Aunt Ri, " laughed the Agent, complacently. "It is the most troublesome Agency in the whole list, and the leastsatisfactory. "

"Wall, I allow it mought be the least satisfyin', " rejoined theindefatigable Aunt Ri; "but I donno whar the trouble comes in, ef sobe's thar's no more kin be done than yer wuz er tellin'. " And she lookedhonestly puzzled. 

"Look there, Aunt Ri!" said he, triumphantly, pointing to a pile ofbooks and papers. "All those to be gone through with, and a report to bemade out every month, and a voucher to be sent for every lead-pencil Ibuy. I tell you I work harder than I ever did in my life before, and forless pay. "

"I allow yer hev hed easy times afore, then, " retorted Aunt Ri, good-naturedly satirical, "ef yeow air plum tired doin' thet!" And shetook her leave, not a whit clearer in her mind as to the real nature andfunction of the Indian Agency than she was in the beginning. 

Through all of Ramona's journey home she seemed to herself to be in adream. Her baby in her arms; the faithful creatures, Baba and Benito, gayly trotting along at a pace so swift that the carriage seemedgliding; Felipe by her side, --the dear Felipe, --his eyes wearing thesame bright and loving look as of old, --what strange thing was it whichhad happened to her to make it all seem unreal? Even the little onein her arms, --she too, seemed unreal! Ramona did not know it, buther nerves were still partially paralyzed. Nature sends mercifulanaesthetics in the shocks which almost kill us. In the very sharpnessof the blow sometimes lies its own first healing. It would be longbefore Ramona would fully realize that Alessandro was dead. Her worstanguish was yet to come. 

Felipe did not know and could not have understood this; and it was witha marvelling gratitude that he saw Ramona, day after day, placid, always ready with a smile when he spoke to her. Her gratitude for eachthoughtfulness of his smote him like a reproach; all the more that heknew her gentle heart had never held a thought of reproach in it towardshim. "Grateful to me!" he thought. "To me, who might have spared her allthis woe if I had been strong!"

Never would Felipe forgive himself, --no, not to the day of his death. His whole life should be devoted to her and her child; but what apitiful thing was that to render!

As they drew near home, he saw Ramona often try to conceal from him thatshe had shed tears. At last he said to her: "Dearest Ramona, do not fearto weep before me. I would not be any constraint on you. It is betterfor you to let the tears come freely, my sister. They are healing towounds. "

"I do not think so, Felipe, " replied Ramona. "Tears are only selfish andweak. They are like a cry because we are hurt. It is not possible alwaysto keep them back; but I am ashamed when I have wept, and think alsothat I have sinned, because I have given a sad sight to others. FatherSalvierderra always said that it was a duty to look happy, no matter howmuch we might be suffering. "

"That is more than human power can do!" said Felipe. 

"I think not, " replied Ramona. "If it were, Father Salvierderra wouldnot have commanded it. And do you not recollect, Felipe, what a smilehis face always wore? and his heart had been broken for many, many yearsbefore he died. Alone, in the night, when he prayed, he used to weep, from the great wrestling he had with God, he told me; but we neversaw him except with a smile. When one thinks in the wilderness, alone, Felipe, many things become clear. I have been learning, all these yearsin the wilderness, as if I had had a teacher. Sometimes I almost thoughtthat the spirit of Father Salvierderra was by my side putting thoughtsinto my mind. I hope I can tell them to my child when she is old enough. She will understand them quicker than I did, for she has Alessandro'ssoul; you can see that by her eyes. And all these things of which Ispeak were in his heart from his childhood. They belong to the air andthe sky and the sun, and all trees know them. "

When Ramona spoke thus of Alessandro, Felipe marvelled in silence. Hehimself had been afraid to mention Alessandro's name; but Ramona spokeit as if he were yet by her side. Felipe could not fathom this. Therewere to be many things yet which Felipe could not fathom in this lovely, sorrowing, sunny sister of his. 

When they reached the house, the servants, who had been on the watchfor days, were all gathered in the court-yard, old Marda and Juan Canheading the group; only two absent, --Margarita and Luigo. They had beenmarried some months before, and were living at the Ortegas ranch, whereLuigo, to Juan Can's scornful amusement, had been made head shepherd. 

On all sides were beaming faces, smiles, and glad cries of greeting. Underneath these were affectionate hearts quaking with fear lest thehome-coming be but a sad one after all. Vaguely they knew a little ofwhat their dear Senorita had been through since she left them; it seemedthat she must be sadly altered by so much sorrow, and that it wouldbe terrible to her to come back to the place so full of painfulassociations. "And the Senora gone, too, " said one of the outdoor hands, as they were talking it over; "it's not the same place at all that itwas when the Senora was here. "

"Humph!" muttered Juan Can, more consequential and overbearing thanever, for this year of absolute control of the estate. "Humph! that'sall you know. A good thing the Senora died when she did, I can tell you!We'd never have seen the Senorita back here else; I can tell you that, my man! And for my part, I'd much rather be under Senor Felipe and theSenorita than under the Senora, peace to her ashes! She had her day. They can have theirs now. "

When these loving and excited retainers saw Ramona--pale, but with herown old smile on her face--coming towards them with her babe in herarms, they broke into wild cheering, and there was not a dry eye in thegroup. 

Singling out old Marda by a glance, Ramona held out the baby towardsher, and said in her old gentle, affectionate voice, "I am sure you willlove my baby, Marda!"

"Senorita! Senorita! God bless you, Senorita!" they cried; and closedup their ranks around the baby, touching her, praising her, handing herfrom one to another. 

Ramona stood for a few seconds watching them; then she said, "Give herto me, Marda. I will myself carry her into the house;" and she movedtoward the inner door. 

"This way, dear; this way, " cried Felipe. "It is Father Salvierderra'sroom I ordered to be prepared for you, because it is so sunny for thebaby!"

"Thanks, kind Felipe!" cried Ramona, and her eyes said more than herwords. She knew he had divined the one thing she had most dreaded inreturning, --the crossing again the threshold of her own room. It wouldbe long now before she would enter that room. Perhaps she would neverenter it. How tender and wise of Felipe!

Yes; Felipe was both tender and wise, now. How long would the wisdomhold the tenderness in leash, as he day after day looked upon the faceof this beautiful woman, --so much more beautiful now than she had beenbefore her marriage, that Felipe sometimes, as he gazed at her, thoughther changed even in feature? But in this very change lay a spell whichwould for a long time surround her, and set her as apart from lover'sthoughts as if she were guarded by a cordon of viewless spirits. Therewas a rapt look of holy communion on her face, which made itself felt bythe dullest perception, and sometimes overawed even where it attracted. It was the same thing which Aunt Ri had felt, and formulated in her ownhumorous fashion. But old Marda put it better, when, one day, in replyto a half-terrified, low-whispered suggestion of Juan Can, to the effectthat it was "a great pity that Senor Felipe hadn't married the Senoritayears ago, --what if he were to do it yet?" she said, also under herbreath. "It is my opinion he'd as soon think of Saint Catharine herself!Not but that it would be a great thing if it could be!"

And now the thing that the Senora had imagined to herself so oftenhad come about, --the presence of a little child in her house, on theveranda, in the garden, everywhere; the sunny, joyous, blest presence. But how differently had it come! Not Felipe's child, as she proudlyhad pictured, but the child of Ramona: the friendless, banishedRamona returned now into full honor and peace as the daughter of thehouse, --Ramona, widow of Alessandro. If the child had been Felipe's own, he could not have felt for it a greater love. From the first, the littlething had clung to him as only second to her mother. She slept hours inhis arms, one little hand hid in his dark beard, close to his lips, and kissed again and again when no one saw. Next to Ramona herself inFelipe's heart came Ramona's child; and on the child he could lavish thefondness he felt that he could never dare to show to the mother, Monthby month it grew clearer to Felipe that the mainsprings of Ramona'slife were no longer of this earth; that she walked as one in constantfellowship with one unseen. Her frequent and calm mention of Alessandrodid not deceive him. It did not mean a lessening grief: it meant anunchanged relation. 

One thing weighed heavily on Felipe's mind, --the concealed treasure. Asense of humiliation withheld him, day after day, from speaking ofit. But he could have no peace until Ramona knew it. Each hour that hedelayed the revelation he felt himself almost as guilty as he had heldhis mother to be. At last he spoke. He had not said many words, beforeRamona interrupted him. "Oh, yes!" she said. "I knew about those things;your mother told me. When we were in such trouble, I used to wishsometimes we could have had a few of the jewels. But they were all givento the Church. That was what the Senora Ortegna said must be done withthem if I married against your mother's wishes. "

It was with a shame-stricken voice that Felipe replied: "Dear Ramona, they were not given to the Church. You know Father Salvierderra died;and I suppose my mother did not know what to do with them. She told meabout them just as she was dying. "

"But why did you not give them to the Church, dear?" asked Ramona, simply. 

"Why?" cried Felipe. "Because I hold them to be yours, and yours only. I would never have given them to the Church, until I had sure proof thatyou were dead and had left no children. "

Ramona's eyes were fixed earnestly on Felipe's face. "You have not readthe Senora Ortegna's letter?" she said. 

"Yes, I have, " he replied, "every word of it. "

"But that said I was not to have any of the things if I married againstthe Senora Moreno's will. "

Felipe groaned. Had his mother lied? "No, dear, " he said, "that was notthe word. It was, if you married unworthily. "

Ramona reflected. "I never recollected the words, " she said. "I wastoo frightened; but I thought that was what it meant. I did not marryunworthily. Do you feel sure, Felipe, that it would be honest for me totake them for my child?"

"Perfectly, " said Felipe. 

"Do you think Father Salvierderra would say I ought to keep them?"

"I am sure of it, dear. "

"I will think about it, Felipe. I cannot decide hastily. Your mother didnot think I had any right to them, if I married Alessandro. That waswhy she showed them to me. I never knew of them till then. I took onething, --a handkerchief of my father's. I was very glad to have it;but it got lost when we went from San Pasquale. Alessandro rode back ahalf-day's journey to find it for me; but it had blown away. I grievedsorely for it. "

The next day Ramona said to Felipe: "Dear Felipe, I have thought it allover about those jewels. I believe it will be right for my daughter tohave them. Can there be some kind of a paper written for me to sign, tosay that if she dies they are all to be given to the Church, --to FatherSalvierderra's College, in Santa Barbara? That is where I would ratherhave them go. "

"Yes, dear, " said Felipe; "and then we will put them in some saferplace. I will take them to Los Angeles when I go. It is wonderful no onehas stolen them all these years!"

And so a second time the Ortegna jewels were passed on, by a writtenbequest, into the keeping of that mysterious, certain, uncertain thingwe call the future, and delude our selves with the fancy that wecan have much to do with its shaping. 

 *****

Life ran smoothly in the Moreno household, --smoothly to the eye. Nothingcould be more peaceful, fairer to see, than the routine of its days, with the simple pleasures, light tasks, and easy diligence of all. Summer and winter were alike sunny, and had each its own joys. There wasnot an antagonistic or jarring element; and, flitting back and forth, from veranda to veranda, garden to garden, room to room, equally athome and equally welcome everywhere, there went perpetually, running, frisking, laughing, rejoicing, the little child that had so strangelydrifted into this happy shelter, --the little Ramona. As unconscious ofaught sad or fateful in her destiny as the blossoms with which it washer delight to play, she sometimes seemed to her mother to have beenfrom the first in some mysterious way disconnected from it, removed, setfree from all that could ever by any possibility link her to sorrow. 

Ramona herself bore no impress of sorrow; rather her face had now anadded radiance. There had been a period, soon after her return, whenshe felt that she for the first time waked to the realization of herbereavement; when every sight, sound, and place seemed to cry out, mocking her with the name and the memory of Alessandro. But she wrestledwith this absorbing grief as with a sin; setting her will steadfastlyto the purposes of each day's duty, and, most of all, to the duty ofjoyfulness. She repeated to herself Father Salvierderra's sayings, tillshe more than knew them by heart; and she spent long hours of the nightin prayer, as it had been his wont to do. 

No one but Felipe dreamed of these vigils and wrestlings. He knew them;and he knew, too, when they ceased, and the new light of a newvictory diffused itself over Ramona's face: but neither did the firstdishearten, nor the latter encourage him. Felipe was a clearer-sightedlover now than he had been in his earlier youth. He knew that into theworld where Ramona really lived he did not so much as enter; yet herevery act, word, look, was full of loving thoughtfulness of and forhim, loving happiness in his companionship. And while this was so, allFelipe's unrest could not make him unhappy. 

There were other causes entering into this unrest besides his yearningdesire to win Ramona for his wife. Year by year the conditions of lifein California were growing more distasteful to him. The methods, aims, standards of the fast incoming Americans were to him odious. Theirboasted successes, the crowding of colonies, schemes of settlement anddevelopment, --all were disagreeable and irritating. The passion formoney and reckless spending of it, the great fortunes made in one hour, thrown away in another, savored to Felipe's mind more of brigandage andgambling than of the occupations of gentlemen. He loathed them. Lifeunder the new government grew more and more intolerable to him; both hishereditary instincts and prejudices, and his temperament, revolted. He found himself more and more alone in the country. Even the Spanishtongue was less and less spoken. He was beginning to yearn forMexico, --for Mexico, which he had never seen, yet yearned for like anexile. There he might yet live among men of his own race and degree, and of congenial beliefs and occupations. Whenever he thought of thischange, always came the quick memory of Ramona. Would she be willingto go? Could it be that she felt a bond to this land, in which she hadknown nothing but sufferings. 

At last he asked her. To his unutterable surprise, Ramona cried:"Felipe! The saints be praised! I should never have told you. I did notthink that you could wish to leave this estate. But my most beautifuldream for Ramona would be, that she should grow up in Mexico. "

And as she spoke, Felipe understood by a lightning intuition, andwondered that he had not foreknown it, that she would spare her daughterthe burden she had gladly, heroically borne herself, in the bond ofrace. 

The question was settled. With gladness of heart almost more than hecould have believed possible, Felipe at once communicated with some richAmerican proprietors who had desired to buy the Moreno estate. Land inthe valley had so greatly advanced in value, that the sum he receivedfor it was larger than he had dared to hope; was ample for therealization of all his plans for the new life in Mexico. From the hourthat this was determined, and the time for their sailing fixed, a newexpression came into Ramona's face. Her imagination was kindled. Anuntried future beckoned, --a future which she would embrace and conquerfor her daughter. Felipe saw the look, felt the change, and for thefirst time hoped. It would be a new world, a new life; why not a newlove? She could not always be blind to his devotion; and when she sawit, could she refuse to reward it? He would be very patient, and waitlong, he thought. Surely, since he had been patient so long withouthope, he could be still more patient now that hope had dawned! Butpatience is not hope's province in breasts of lovers. From the day whenFelipe first thought to himself, "She will yet be mine, " it grew harder, and not easier, for him to refrain from pouring out his love in words. Her tender sisterliness, which had been such balm and comfort to him, grew at times intolerable; and again and again her gentle spiritwas deeply disquieted with the fear that she had displeased him, sostrangely did he conduct himself. 

He had resolved that nothing should tempt him to disclose to her hispassion and its dreams, until they had reached their new home. But therecame a moment which mastered him, and he spoke. 

It was in Monterey. They were to sail on the morrow; and had been onboard the ship to complete the last arrangements. They were rowed backto shore in a little boat. A full moon shone. Ramona sat bareheaded inthe end of the boat, and the silver radiance from the water seemed tofloat up around her, and invest her as with a myriad halos. Felipe gazedat her till his senses swam; and when, on stepping from the boat, sheput her hand in his, and said, as she had said hundreds of times before, "Dear Felipe, how good you are!" he clasped her hands wildly, and cried, "Ramona, my love! Oh, can you not love me?"

The moonlight was bright as day. They were alone on the shore. Ramonagazed at him for one second, in surprise. Only for a second; then sheknew all. "Felipe! My brother!" she cried, and stretched out her handsas if in warning. 

"No! I am not your brother!" he cried. "I will not be your brother! Iwould rather die!"

"Felipe!" cried Ramona again. This time her voice recalled him tohimself. It was a voice of terror and of pain. 

"Forgive me, my sweet one!" he exclaimed. "I will never say it again. But I have loved you so long--so long!"

Ramona's head had fallen forward on her breast, her eyes fixed on theshining sands; the waves rose and fell, rose and fell, at her feetgently as sighs. A great revelation had come to Ramona. In this suprememoment of Felipe's abandonment of all disguises, she saw his wholepast life in a new light. Remorse smote her. "Dear Felipe, " she said, clasping her hands, "I have been very selfish. I did not know--"

"Of course you did not, love, " said Felipe. "How could you? But I havenever loved any one else. I have always loved you. Can you not learn tolove me? I did not mean to tell you for a long time yet. But now I havespoken; I cannot hide it any more. "

Ramona drew nearer to him, still with her hands clasped. "I have alwaysloved you, " she said. "I love no other living man; but, Felipe, "--hervoice sank to a solemn whisper, --"do you not know, Felipe, that part ofme is dead, --dead? can never live again? You could not want me for yourwife, Felipe, when part of me is dead!"

Felipe threw his arms around her. He was beside himself with joy. "Youwould not say that if you did not think you could be my wife, " he cried. "Only give yourself to me, my love, I care not whether you call yourselfdead or alive!"

Ramona stood quietly in his arms. Ah, well for Felipe that he did notknow, never could know, the Ramona that Alessandro had known. Thisgentle, faithful, grateful Ramona, asking herself fervently now if shewould do her brother a wrong, yielding up to him what seemed to her onlythe broken fragment of a life; weighing his words, not in the light ofpassion, but of calmest, most unselfish action, --ah, how unlike was sheto that Ramona who flung herself on Alessandro's breast, crying, "Takeme with you! I would rather die than have you leave me!"

Ramona had spoken truth. Part of her was dead. But Ramona saw now, withinfallible intuition, that even as she had loved Alessandro, so Felipeloved her. Could she refuse to give Felipe happiness, when he had savedher, saved her child? What else now remained for them, these wordshaving been spoken? "I will be your wife, dear Felipe, " she said, speaking solemnly, slowly, "if you are sure it will make you happy, andif you think it is right. "

"Right!" ejaculated Felipe, mad with the joy unlooked for so soon. "Nothing else would be right! My Ramona, I will love you so, you willforget you ever said that part of you was dead!"

A strange look which startled Felipe swept across Ramona's face; itmight have been a moonbeam. It passed. Felipe never saw it again. 

General Moreno's name was still held in warm remembrance in the city ofMexico, and Felipe found himself at once among friends. On the day aftertheir arrival he and Ramona were married in the cathedral, old Mardaand Juan Can, with his crutches, kneeling in proud joy behind them. The story of the romance of their lives, being widely rumored, greatlyenhanced the interest with which they were welcomed. The beautiful youngSenora Moreno was the theme of the city; and Felipe's bosom thrilledwith pride to see the gentle dignity of demeanor by which she wasdistinguished in all assemblages. It was indeed a new world, a new life. Ramona might well doubt her own identity. But undying memories stoodlike sentinels in her breast. When the notes of doves, calling to eachother, fell on her ear, her eyes sought the sky, and she heard a voicesaying, "Majella!" This was the only secret her loyal, loving heart hadkept from Felipe. A loyal, loving heart indeed it was, --loyal, loving, serene. Few husbands so blest as the Senor Felipe Moreno. 

Sons and daughters came to bear his name. The daughters were allbeautiful; but the most beautiful of them all, and, it was said, themost beloved by both father and mother, was the eldest one: the onewho bore the mother's name, and was only step-daughter to theSenor, --Ramona, --Ramona, daughter of Alessandro the Indian.