ft 
 
 ELEN HUNT JACK 
 
University of California Berkeley 
 
 THE PETER AND ROSELL HARVEY 
 MEMORIAL FUND 
 
BARBARA PROSSER 
 BEECH ROAD 
 EN OLE WOOD, X. J. 
 
RAMONA 
 

 M O N A 
 
 PLATE I 
 
 THE MORENO HOUSE. (CAMULOS) 
 
 The Senora Moreno's house was one of the best specimens to be 
 found in California of the representative house of the half barbaric, 
 half elegant. . . . Page 21, Vol. I. 
 
 The house was of adobe, low, with a wide veranda on the three 
 sides of the inner court, and a still broader one across the entire front, 
 which looked to the south. . . . Page 26, Vol. I. 
 
 The room in which Father Salvierderra always slept when at the 
 Senora Moreno's house was the southeast corner room. . . . 
 
 Page 82, Vol. I. 
 

RAMON A 
 
 A STORT 
 
 BY 
 
 HELEN HUNT JACKSON 
 
 (H. H.) 
 
 AUTHOR OF "Errs OF TRAVEL," "GLIMPSES OF CALIFORNIA,' 
 ** NELLY'S SILVER MINE," ETC. 
 
 WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY 
 
 A. C. VROMAN 
 
 With Illustrations from Original Photographs 
 
 by A. C. Vroman and Decorative Headings 
 
 from Drawings by Henry Sandham 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 1916 
 
Copyright, 1884, 
 By ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 Copyright, 1900, 1913, 
 By LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 Copyright, 1912, 
 By WILLIAM S. JACKSON. 
 
 dll rights reserved 
 
 8. J. PAKKHILL & Co., BOSTON, U.8.A. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 THE story of Ramona has become so well known on 
 this continent that few who visit this land of sunshine 
 and flowers but take an interest in the location of the story 
 and the points and incidents that Mrs. Jackson has so 
 vividly pictured. As is generally understood, every incident 
 in the story has fact for its foundation, even down to the 
 minutest detail of the home of the Morenos. Yet we fre 
 quently hear the old adobe house at Old Town, San Diego, 
 called "Ramona's Home," while Guajome Rancho, about 
 four miles east of San Luis Rey Mission, is called the same ; 
 then the Camulos Rancho on the Southern Pacific line to 
 Santa Barbara, sixty miles northwest of Los Angeles, is also 
 pointed out, until the casual visitor to the coast becomes 
 bewildered in the numerous " homes," and interest therein 
 is lessened. 
 
 To unravel somewhat the tangle is the aim of this article, 
 and if possible work out the genesis of the story in such a 
 manner as seems necessary for the better understanding of 
 the book. With this thought the writer has made a careful 
 search for any information on the subject obtainable. 
 
 If it shall have helped any interested in explaining some 
 of the apparent inconsistencies as to the location of the 
 places, etc., its object will have been accomplished. 
 
 One need only go to any of the works of Helen Hunt 
 Jackson (" H. H." as she is best known) to find the deep 
 
vi INTRODUCTION 
 
 and sincere sympathy she always gave to that greatly 
 wronged and little understood race, the American Indian. 
 She had for years used the press to aid and secure a more 
 fair treatment for them by the United States government. 
 
 Her "A Century of Dishonor " should have had as strong 
 an influence on the people of this land as did "Uncle Tom's 
 Cabin." Possibly had "A Century of Dishonor" been 
 flavored with a little of the romance necessary for popular 
 reading it would have become better known. The work is 
 a plain, cold statement of facts, with copies of the evidence 
 to bear her out, of this government's failure to keep its 
 promises to the Indians, from early times up to the date 
 of its publication in 1880. 
 
 Had it not been for this work, or had it taken a more 
 popular hold upon the American people, we might never 
 have had "Ramona" from her pen. 
 
 "Ramona" was written with as high an aim and with 
 as deliberate a purpose as Mrs. Stowe's masterpiece. To 
 bring the treatment of our Indians to the people in such a 
 manner that they would stop and consider the unjust and 
 selfish laws enacted by Congress, was Mrs. Jackson's whole 
 desire and prayer. That she succeeded in this is shown 
 by the thousands of copies of the work that have been sold, 
 and the demand continues as strong as ever. 
 
 In "A Century of Dishonor," especially in the appendices, 
 pages 458 to 514, you will find many incidents that later 
 she wove into the story of Ramona. 
 
 In 1883 Mrs. Jackson, with the Hon. Abbott Kinney of 
 Los Angeles, was authorized by the Commissioner of Indian 
 Affairs to " Investigate and report on the condition and 
 needs of the Mission Indians of California." This report 
 was filed in July, 1883, and can be found in the Bureau 
 Reports and also in appendix pages 458-514 of "A Century 
 of Dishonor" published by Little, Brown, & Co., Boston. 
 
INTRODUCTION vii 
 
 During their investigation and travel among the Mission 
 Indians in Southern California, Mrs. Jackson became so 
 deeply interested, and her sensitive nature so wrought upon 
 at the gross injustice of the laws and their application by 
 the officers of the government, that she again felt it her 
 duty to try and awaken public sympathy in their behalf. 
 
 Knowing only too well the fate of Bureau Reports, she 
 decided that the only way was to weave into romance 
 incidents that had, to her personal knowledge, occurred, 
 and yet in such a manner that the public would read it and 
 give it thought; while possibly not all the good resulted 
 that Mrs. Jackson hoped for, yet there is no question but 
 what it was the means of bettering some of our Indian 
 legislation. 
 
 Having filed her report with the Commissioner of Indian 
 Affairs, she returned to California and went to the Guajome 
 Ranch about four miles east of San Luis Rey Mission and 
 nine miles from Oceanside, a station on the San Diego line 
 of the Santa Fe", seventy miles south of Los Angeles. 
 
 Here, twenty-five years ago, was the most typical of all 
 old California homes, and it is so today, though much of 
 the beauty of the place has gone the way of nearly all of the 
 Spanish homes, through neglect and decline of estates. 
 
 It was here that Mrs. Jackson wished to locate the story, 
 and the home of her heroine. Reaching the ranch she was 
 welcomed by the owner, the late Senora Ysador Coutts, and 
 by the Senora aided in many ways with bits of information 
 about the people, the country, and incidents that were in 
 addition to much already gathered during her previous 
 researches, to be woven so cleverly into a perfect whole. 
 
 A good old soul, who for years managed a small boarding- 
 house at San Jacinto, gave us "Aunt Ri." 
 
 At Temecula, a little store kept by a man named Wolfe, 
 where Mrs. Jackson had frequently stopped to talk with the 
 
viii INTRODUCTION 
 
 Indians coming to the store to trade, answered her purpose, 
 and gave us the Hartsel store where Alessandro sold his 
 violin. 
 
 The little graveyard close by looks very much as it might 
 have looked fifteen years ago the night Ramona and 
 Carmena awaited Alessandro's return from the Hartsel 
 store. 
 
 The killing of a poor half-crazed Indian, who had taken 
 another man's horse, was followed and killed under almost 
 the identical circumstances as was Alessandro, by a certain 
 Sam Temple, who, up to his death, some years ago, was 
 pointed out as the "Jim Farrer" mentioned in Ramona, 
 gave her one tragic incident. 
 
 The descriptions of the Indian villages Pachanga, 
 Temecula, San Ysidro, Saboba, etc., were from her own 
 observations. In this way she gathered up each piece of 
 a life and worked them into a romance that has reality for 
 its foundation in nearly every instance ; even the old 
 Senora and Ramona herself were founded on the lives, or 
 incidents in the lives, of perhaps a dozen or more people 
 woven into one. 
 
 Who that has talked with the Senora Coutts but has 
 thought, "Is not this the Senora Moreno herself?" 
 While the Senora Coutts might not have had such real 
 sympathy for the Indian as the Senora Moreno (and indeed 
 she was rather the extreme in this), yet she was as noble 
 in other ways. Herself a Bandini, belonging to one of the 
 oldest and most highly respected families of the Californias, 
 well might she resent the influx of scheming American 
 settlers with advanced ideas of civilization ; well might she 
 in late years long for the " old days " when there was less 
 need of cunningly devised* laws that no honest man pre 
 tended to understand. 
 
 Haughty and proud, years after the story of Ramona 
 
INTRODUCTION ix 
 
 was written, she had many characteristics that we see in 
 the Senora Moreno. 
 
 Returning to Guajome one day, from the Indian villages 
 close by, and in conversation with the Senora, Mrs. Jackson 
 said that she had the material for her story in view, but 
 needed a romance to make it readable ; that people would 
 not read plain, cold truths ; they must be made attractive 
 as well. " Did the Senora not have something in mind 
 that would give a realistic touch to the story, some elope 
 ment in the neighborhood, or romance that might be 
 worked in the story?" . . . Just what the trouble was 
 or how it happened, will probably never be known, but at 
 last their conversation turned from friendliness to a coldness 
 on the part of the Senora, and ended in Mrs. Jackson being 
 forbidden the use of the ranch, and it is understood she 
 left Guajome under the ban of the Senora's displeasure. 
 
 Almost heartbroken, she returned to Los Angeles to the 
 home of her old friend Don Antonio Coronel (whose death 
 a few years ago took from our midst one of the most prom 
 inent and worthy characters of the early California days). 
 To Don Antonio she opened her heart, full of trouble, say 
 ing she could not write the story unless she described the 
 Guajome Ranch, for here was all that she must picture 
 in words, the most beautiful of all California homes ; and 
 she was forbidden the use of it as the home of her heroine ; 
 where else could she find such another? 
 
 Don Antonio, who had always been much interested in 
 Mrs. Jackson, and had aided her many times before in her 
 literary work and research, could not let the matter end 
 thus ; and he bethought him of the Camulos Ranch. With 
 his face beaming with pleasure he said, "Let not the Senora 
 be dismayed. I will take her to another ranch almost 
 identical with the Guajome. Tomorrow we will go, and 
 the Senora will see for herself the Camulos." 
 
x INTRODUCTION 
 
 Arriving at the Camulos Ranch they found the family 
 absent, the servants only being about the house ; in haste 
 to return to Los Angeles, they spent but two hours on the 
 ranch, and never before or afterward did Mrs. Jackson see 
 Camulos Ranch, made famous on two continents by the 
 pen of this gifted writer as the " Home of Ramona." 
 
 That Mrs. Jackson could in two short hours impress on 
 her memory that which she later pictured so accurately, de 
 scribing the entire surroundings so minutely, is marvelous, 
 and illustrative of her great descriptive power. She had 
 her story ready for the setting, and this she found in this 
 beautiful old Spanish home, in one of California's most 
 beautiful (the Santa Clara) valleys, The. Camulos Ranch. 
 
 So accurately has Camulos been described that in but 
 one instance can we locate any great discrepancy. On 
 page 27 (Vol. I) she says, "The two westernmost rooms 
 had been added on, and made four steps higher than the 
 others." . . . There are eight steps on the south veranda 
 (Plate IV), and five on the north side (Plate VIII), evi 
 dently a confusion in this instance. 
 
 One might question if Guajome was not in mind when 
 describing the sheep sheds (Page 95, Vol. I) ; there is 
 nothing of the kind at Camulos at the present time that 
 answers the description so well as the old sheds at Guajome 
 (Plate XXII). Likewise the washing place. At neither 
 place is there anything at the present time that answers the 
 description on page 29 (Vol. I). At Guajome the watering 
 place (Plate XXI) is pointed out, and, as a convenience to 
 satisfy imaginative minds, is called the " Washing Place." It 
 is in reality a small reservoir or lake, about three hundred 
 feet in circumference, but about ten rods beyond the lake 
 can still be traced the water ditches where the washing 
 place was. It must have been very similar to the descrip 
 tion, although now it is so overgrown with rushes and 
 
INTRODUCTION xi 
 
 willows it can scarcely be traced. " The Willows " at 
 Camulos hardly answer the description so well, yet years 
 would change them also. But there can scarcely be a ques 
 tion as to the house. Among the illustrations will be found 
 several of Guajome as well as Camulos. One can readily 
 see the general similarity of the two places "The Inner 
 Courts" (Plates VI and XX) and of the south verauci^, 
 except as to the raised platforms or loggia (Plates IV and 
 XIX). 
 
 At Guajome the inner court is all surrounded ; a quad 
 rangle and verandas on the four sides, not as on page 26, 
 (Vol. I) "with a wide veranda on the three sides of the 
 inner court." 
 
 The little chapel at either place might answer the 
 description, except that at Camulos it stands in the garden 
 directly in front of the south veranda, while at Guajome 
 it stood on the east side of the house (but now, entirely 
 gone) and the surroundings do not in any manner coincide 
 with the descriptions. 
 
 The servants' quarters, the window of old Marda, the 
 cook, the white crosses on the hills, as seen today, all are 
 at Camulos. 
 
 We meet with little inconsistencies in reading "Ramona"; 
 for instance, it was always the Saints and Mission belong 
 ings from San Luis Rey Mission the Seiiora was caring for : 
 "... a carved bench, also of oak, which had been brought 
 to the Senora for safe keeping by the faithful old sacristan 
 of San Luis Rey." (Page 30, Vol. I ) Why San Luis Rey, 
 more than one hundred miles away, with Ventura, Santa 
 Barbara, San Fernando, and San Gabriel, all less than 
 half the distance and all going the same road to ruin? 
 Evidently Guajome, which is but five miles from San Luis 
 Rey, was still remembered ; or possibly portions of the 
 story were already written. 
 
xii INTRODUCTION 
 
 Again, on page 123 (Vol. I ), Alessandro sends the messen 
 ger all the way to Temecula, one hundred and thirty miles 
 or more, and back the same night, for his violin. From 
 Guajome it is but twenty miles to Temecula, a journey 
 easily made in that length of time. 
 
 After Alessandro and Ramona leave the ranch, there is 
 nothing more descriptive of the Home place, and the 
 description of the route traversed is identical with the 
 country between Guajome and San Diego by way of 
 the Temecula Canon ; they make the journey in three 
 nights, hiding in the canon during the day time. If we 
 take Camulos as the starting place, this would give upward 
 of two hundred miles, but from Guajome about fifty. These 
 and like instances are explained on the theory that the 
 story was planned to be located at the Guajome Ranch, and 
 possibly portions of the book were already written when the 
 difference arose which necessitated the use of another 
 place for the home of the heroine. There was no need of 
 remodeling the other portions of the work ; they answered 
 just as well for the purpose, but it brought some confusion 
 to the readers of the story to make the descriptions fit in 
 smoothly. 
 
 Reaching Old Town they found the chapel lighted 
 (Page 88, Vol. II ) ; the ceremony is performed in the 
 chapel, and they then go to the father's house and he enters 
 their names in the book of marriage records, "kept in 
 Father Gaspara's own rooms." . . . (Page 90, Vol. II ) 
 
 Thus the old adobe house at Old Town is the Father 
 Gaspara's house, and not, as some call it, a " Ramona 
 Home." 
 
 It was a delightful time that a small party spent at 
 Camulos one August day now eighteen years ago, but the 
 dear old Camulos has changed but little in all these years. 
 From Los Angeles on the Santa Barbara line of the Southern 
 
INTRODUCTION xiii 
 
 Pacific railway, to the little station of Camulos, is sixty miles, 
 a two hours' ride through the beautiful San Fernando, and 
 over the Newhall Pass and Tunnel, and into the still more 
 beautiful Santa Clara Valley. It is but a stone's throw from 
 the station to the ranch house so hidden in a mass of 
 orange, almond trees and shrubbery that you do not see 
 the building until close upon it. Passing the servants* 
 quarters we think of the Senora's "unspeakable satisfaction, 
 when the commissioners, laying out a road down the valley, 
 ran it at the back of her house, instead of past the front." 
 . . . " It is well," she said. " Let their travel be where it 
 belongs, behind our kitchens." . . . (Page 24, Vol. I) 
 
 Back high on the hill, across the railroad track, stands the 
 cross ..." that the heretics may know, when they go by, 
 that they are on the estate of a good Catholic," she said. 
 (Page 25, Vol. I) 
 
 A few steps past the end of the servants' quarters, and 
 we are at the inner court. How true the description ! 
 "The house was of adobe, low, with a wide veranda on the 
 three sides of the inner court." . . . (Page 26, Vol. I) 
 There it is, the servants' quarters making the third side of 
 the court, with flowers everywhere, and hedges at the fourth 
 or eastern side of the court, virtually making a quadrangle. 
 
 Yet a little farther, past the hedges and the eastern end 
 of the main building, after turning to the left, we are directly 
 at the south veranda, "a delightsome place, . . . eighty 
 feet long, at least. . . . Here the Senora kept her flowers ; 
 . . . great red water-jars, hand-made by the Indians of 
 San Luis Obispo Mission (Page 27, Vol. I), ... some 
 coming from the ground, and twining around the pillars of 
 the veranda; some growing in great bowls. . . . These 
 bowls were of gray stone, hollowed and polished, shining 
 smooth inside and out." Ah ! there they are, sitting 
 around the fountain's wall, four of them, and beauties they 
 
xiv INTRODUCTION 
 
 are ; nothing so fine as these old bowls could be passed by, 
 in even her two short hours, without notice. " They also 
 had been made by the Indians, nobody knew how many 
 ages ago, scooped and polished by the patient creatures, 
 with only stones for tools." (Page 28, Vol. I.) 
 
 We turn again to the veranda. Could anything be better 
 described? The raised platform or loggia, made four 
 (eight it should read) steps higher than the others, leading 
 to the Sefiora's room, then Felipe's and Ramona's at the 
 foot of the steps ; and at the southeast corner, the father's 
 room ; we almost expect to see the good old father throw 
 open the shutters and break the stillness with his sunrise 
 hymn : 
 
 "O Beautiful Queen, Princess of Heaven ! " (Page 86, 
 Vol. I.) 
 
 We have not yet taken the time to make our presence 
 known to the household, so interested in the surroundings 
 have we been. We step on the veranda ; how real it all is 
 almost the stillness, the solemness of a shrine it seems 
 as we gently tap on the open door. The sound has scarcely 
 died away ere our summons is answered. We present our 
 letter from the son in Los Angeles to the mother and sister, 
 requesting their hospitality to his good friend, Mr. L. and 
 his party. We are welcomed in -words that assure us that 
 the son and brother's request is all that is needed to give us 
 the freedom of the ranch. Even the father's own room at 
 the southeast corner of the veranda is designated as ours, 
 and here we once more feel the air of a sainted place, for 
 was not this the very window with the bolted shutters that 
 the father would open at break of day ; this the very table 
 where he sat? 
 
 But we cannot remain indoors, so anxious are we to see. 
 As we step out on the veranda one of the household proffers 
 her services as guide. The garden : " Between the veranda 
 
INTRODUCTION xv 
 
 and the river meadows, out on which it looked, all was 
 garden, orange grove, and almond orchard; . . . Nothing 
 was to be seen but verdure or bloom or fruit, at whatever 
 time of year you sat on the Senora's south veranda " 
 (Pages 28 and 29, Vol. I) ; in the center of the garden 
 the fine old fountain, with the " bowls," that were hung 
 from the veranda roof by cords, filled with flowers. 
 
 Close by, the chapel, "dearer to the Sefiora than her 
 house" (Page 31, Vol. I); just back of the chapel, the 
 bells brought from Spain, and across the garden "A wide 
 straight walk shaded by a trellis so knotted and twisted 
 with grapevines that little was to be seen of the trellis 
 wood- work, led straight down ... to a little brook . . in 
 the shade of a dozen gnarled old willow-trees, were set the 
 broad flat stone washboards on which was done all the 
 family washing " (Page 29, Vol. I). 
 
 The little chapel attracts us once more on our return 
 from the "willows." We step inside, for the door has been 
 unlocked that we may have free access to everything ; for 
 has not the beloved son's letter vouched for us ? No need 
 to hide the family silver and keep the chapel door locked. 
 So many people, they tell us, come unannounced and roam 
 about without so much as a gracious acknowledgment of 
 their presence on the premises ; some are even so rude and 
 contemptible as to slip a spoon from the table into their 
 pocket when hospitality is shown them and they are asked 
 to join the family at meal time. 
 
 We marvel at the patience of these good people when 
 we are told that within nine months, by actual count, more 
 than eight hundred meals were served to strangers, much 
 against their desires; but hospitality must never find an 
 ending in the old Spanish homes. No doubt it would be 
 a great relief to them if some other place could take the 
 honor of the " Home of Ramona." 
 
xvi INTRODUCTION 
 
 What most hurts these good people is the insistence with 
 which some of the thoughtless, or ignorant, almost demand 
 to see Ramona and Felipe. " Which one of the servants 
 is Margarita," and " Is the Senora as cross as she used to 
 be to Ramona?" Such ridiculous questions wound their 
 sensitive feelings, and one marvels at their patience with 
 the numbers who come and go. Many are a delight to 
 meet, they say. Many have come away expressing them 
 selves as charmed with their visit at Camulos and the 
 friendship extended. But we must remember that we are 
 on private, not public, property; that we owe it to the 
 many yet to follow us that we do our part well. 
 
 Inside the little chapel, always fragrant with flowers, one 
 must think of Mrs. Jackson's pleasure to find such to inspire 
 her descriptions nothing could be more to her needs. 
 
 Crossing the south veranda and passing through a hall 
 way the full width of the main building, some thirty feet, 
 we come out on the inner court with its wide verandas. 
 Close by the door is fhe old bench where Juan Can sat, 
 "his head leaning back against the whitewashed wall, his 
 long legs stretched out nearly across the whole width of 
 the veranda. ... He was the picture of placid content." 
 (Page n, Vol. I) Across the court are the servants' quar 
 ters, and we imagine old Marda's copper saucepan shining 
 through the open window still uplifted as she flung it " full 
 of not over-clean water so deftly past Juan's head, that not 
 a drop touched him." . . . And "at which bit of sleight-of- 
 hand the whole court-yard, young and old, babies, cocks, 
 hens, and turkeys, all set up a shout and a cackle." . . . 
 (Page 12, Vol. 1) And we wonder if Mrs. Jackson did 
 really see a similar performance somewhere, sometime. 
 Everything else is there. 
 
 We visit the stables, stock sheds, the old olive mill, the 
 orange and peach orchards, the vineyard, and at the tap 
 
INTRODUCTION xvii 
 
 of the dinner bell we are graciously asked to join at the 
 family table, and later sit and take much pleasure in 
 the conversation with the family on the south veranda. 
 They give us innumerable incidents of those who have 
 visited the ranch : how Mrs. Jackson came during the 
 absence of the family and remained but two hours, and 
 how if they had known they might also have forbidden the 
 use of the ranch, and yet with all the annoyance much 
 pleasure has come with it. 
 
 We go to the music room, and the guitar and piano, 
 songs and merry conversation drive time so fast that only 
 too soon does the time for our leave-taking come, which is 
 not over with until the train moves away. But it is not the 
 hospitality alone that has given us such pleasure, but the 
 knowing that we have spent a delightful day at The Home 
 of Ramona. 
 
 Of Guajome what more can we say than 
 
 " Of all sad words of tongue or pen, 
 The saddest are these, // might have been. 11 
 
 What Ramona would have been with Guajome Ranch as 
 the home of the heroine we cannot say, though surely it 
 would have had a setting worthy of its stateliness in its 
 prosperous days, but it is fast going the way of all our 
 landmarks ; already in a neglected state, it will soon be left 
 out of the list of possible homes of Ramona. 
 
 It is too bad to see it, but unless some "Landmarks 
 Club " takes hold, it is doomed. Undoubtedly the finest 
 specimen of the old Spanish times of California, it would 
 be a reasonably good investment for the town of Oceanside 
 or the State to own it and keep in repair for the attraction 
 it would have for the thousands of tourists who come each 
 year to Southern California. Let there be at least one of 
 these old Spanish homes preserved for those who follow us. 
 
xviii INTRODUCTION 
 
 We do not put the value upon them now that we will twenty, 
 forty, or sixty years hence, but then it will be too late to 
 save them. 
 
 The Guajome, the Los Cerritos, the Camulos, and the 
 Delaguarre places should be cared for at the public expense, 
 first for their historical value, and if not for this, then for 
 financial reasons as an attraction to the traveling public. 
 
 A. C. VROMAN 
 PASADENA, CALIFORNIA 
 August 15, 1913 
 
RAMONA 
 
 VOLUME I. 
 
LIST OF PLATES 
 
 VOLUME ONE 
 
 FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY A. C. VROMAN 
 PLATE 
 
 I The Moreno House. (Camulos) . . . Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 II The Moreno Estate. (Camulos) 4 
 
 III The Wooden Crosses. (Camulos) 30 
 
 IV The South Veranda and Raised Platform, or 
 
 Loggia. (Camulos) 56 
 
 V The Back of the House. (Camulos) 82 
 
 VI The Inner Court. (Camulos) 108 
 
 VII The Cook's (Old Marda's) Window 134 
 
 VIII The Old Bench where Juan Can Sat (Camulos) 160 
 
 IX View from the South Veranda. (Camulos) . . 186 
 
 X The Willows. (Camulos) 212 
 
 XI The Chapel Door. (Camulos) 238 
 
 XII The Altar in the Chapel. (Camulos) .... 264 
 
 XIII The Chapel Bells. (Camulos) 290 
 
DECORATIVE HEADINGS 
 
 VOLUME ONE 
 
 FROM DRAWINGS BY HENRY SANDHAM 
 
 CHAPTER PACK 
 
 I. Interior of Camulus Chapel 3 
 
 II. Santa Barbara 21 
 
 III. San Carlos Mission, Monterey . 41 
 
 IV. San Gabriel Church and Bells 60 
 
 V. Torn Altar Cloth, Camulus 82 
 
 VI. The Padre Cells, Mission San Luis Key ... 102 
 
 VII. Mission San Luis Key, from the Graveyard . . . 125 
 
 VIII. Inner Court, Santa Barbara 14? 
 
 IX. Indian Baskets 171 
 
 X. Temecula Village 190 
 
 XI. " To be given to my adopted daughter ". ... 212 
 
 XII. Mission Bells, Camulus 231 
 
 XIII. Our Lady Angels, Los Angeles 260 
 
 XIV. Indian Lace. Drawn from a piece of lace made 
 
 by Alessandro's kinspeople 277 
 
I 
 
 TT was sheep-shearing time in Southern California ; 
 ^ but sheep-shearing was late at the Senora 
 Moreno's. The Fates had seemed to combine to 
 put it off. In the first place, Felipe Moreno had 
 been ill. He was the Senora's eldest son, and 
 since his father's death had been at the head of 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 Senor 
 Felipe," " Senor Felipe will attend to it," ever since 
 Felipe had had the dawning of a beard on his hand 
 some face. 
 
4 RAMONA 
 
 In truth, it was not Felipe, but the Senora, who 
 really decided all questions from greatest to least, and 
 managed everything on the place, from the sheep- 
 pastures to the artichoke-patch ; but nobody except 
 the Senora herself knew this. An exceedingly clever 
 woman for her day and generation was Senora Gon- 
 zaga Moreno, as for that matter, exceedingly clever 
 for any day and generation ; but exceptionally clever 
 for the day and 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 and cold 
 over: sixty years of the best of old Spain and the 
 wildest of New Spain, Bay of Biscay, Gulf of Mexico, 
 Pacific Ocean, the waves of them all had tossed 
 destinies for the Senora. The Holy Catholic Church 
 had had its arms round her from first to last; and 
 that was what had brought her safe through, she 
 would have said, if she had ever said anything about 
 herself, which she never did, one of her many wis 
 doms. So quiet, so reserved, so gentle an exterior 
 never was known to veil such an imperious and pas 
 sionate nature, brimful of storm, always passing 
 through 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 suspect it, to see her gliding about, in her 
 scanty black gown, with her rosary hanging at her 
 side, her soft dark eyes cast down, and an expres 
 sion of mingled melancholy and devotion on ner 
 

 PL ATP: n 
 
 THE MORENO ESTATE. (CAMULOS) 
 
 . . . General Moreno owned all the land within a radius of fort] 
 miles forty miles westward, down the valley to the sea; forty miles 
 eastward, into the San Fernando mountains; and good forty miles 
 more or less along the coast. 
 
 The boundaries were not very strictly defined; there was no occa 
 sion, in those happy days, to reckon land by inches. 
 
 Page 2 2, Vol. I. 
 
RAMONA 5 
 
 face. She looked simply like a sad, spiritual-minded 
 old lady, amiable and indolent, like her race, but 
 sweeter and more thoughtful than their wont. Her 
 voice heightened this mistaken impression. She was 
 never heard to speak either loud or fast. There was 
 at times even a curious hesitancy in her speech, 
 which came near being a stammer, or suggested the 
 measured care with which people speak who have 
 been cured of stammering. It made her often ap 
 pear as if she did not know her own mind : at which 
 people sometimes took heart; when, if they had 
 only known the truth, they would have known that 
 the speech hesitated solely because the Senora knew 
 her mind so exactly that she was finding it hard to 
 make the words convey it as she desired, or in a way 
 to best attain her ends. 
 
 About this very sheep-shearing there had been, 
 between her and the head shepherd, Juan Canito, 
 called Juan Can for short, and to distinguish him 
 from Juan Jose, the upper herdsman of the cattle, 
 some discussions which would 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 were ill in bed, and though 
 that lazy shepherd Luigo had not yet got back with 
 the flock that had been driven up the coast for pas 
 ture. " There were plenty of sheep on the place to 
 begin with," he said one morning, " at least a 
 thousand ; " and by the time they were done, Luigo 
 would surely be back with the rest ; and as for Senof 
 
6 RAMONA 
 
 Felipe's being in bed, had not he, Juan Canito, stood 
 at the packing-bag, and handled the wool, when 
 Senor Felipe was a boy? Why could he not do it 
 again? The Senora did not realize how time was 
 going; there would be no shearers to be hired pres 
 ently, since the Senora was determined to have none 
 but Indians. Of course, if she would employ Mexi 
 cans, as all the other ranches in the valley did, it 
 would be different ; but she was resolved upon hav 
 ing Indians, " God knows why," he interpolated 
 surlily, under his breath. 
 
 " I do not quite understand you, Juan," interrupted 
 Senora Moreno at the precise instant the last syl 
 lable of this disrespectful ejaculation had escaped 
 Juan's lips ; " speak a little louder. I fear I am 
 growing deaf in my old age." 
 
 What gentle, suave, courteous tones ! and the calm 
 dark eyes rested on Juan Canito with a look to the 
 fathoming of which he was as unequal as one of his 
 own sheep would have been. He could not have 
 told why he instantly and involuntarily said, " Beg 
 your pardon, Senora." 
 
 "Oh, you need not ask my pardon, Juan," the 
 Senora replied with exquisite gentleness ; " it is not 
 you who are to blame, if I am deaf. I have 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 he had positively engaged the same 
 band of shearers we had last autumn, Alessandro's 
 band from Temecula? They will wait until we arc 
 
RAMONA 7 
 
 ready for them. Senor Felipe will send a messenger 
 for them. He thinks them the best 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 a pound, while it was on the sheep's 
 backs." 
 
 " Yes, Senora," answered the mollified Juan ; " the 
 poor beasts look wonderfully well considering the 
 scant feed they have had all winter. We '11 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 will bring his flock back." 
 
 The Senora smiled, in spite of herself, at the pause 
 and gulp with which Juan had filled in the hiatus 
 where he had longed to set a contemptuous epithet 
 before Luigo's name. 
 
 This was another of the instances where the Senora's 
 will and Juan Canito's had clashed and he did not 
 dream of it, having set it all down as usual to the 
 score of young Senor Felipe. 
 
 Encouraged by the Senora's smile, Juan proceeded : 
 " Senor Felipe can see no 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 sheep worse than dead on his hands, and no 
 thanks to anybody but Luigo. While I can have 
 him under my eye, here in the valley, it is all very 
 
8 RAMONA 
 
 well ; but he is no more fit to take responsibility of 
 a flock, than one of the very lambs themselves. He '11 
 drive them off their feet one day, and starve 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 out 
 burst of Juan's the Senora's countenance had been 
 slowly growing stern. Juan had not seen it. His 
 eyes had been turned away from her, looking down 
 into the upturned eager face of his favorite colley, 
 who was leaping and gambolling 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 sweet but 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 Father Salvierderra comes, next month, you 
 will not forget to confess this sin of 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 out homeless 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 will give you penance, when he hears what 
 you have said." 
 
 " Senora, it is not to harm the lad," Juan began, 
 
RAMONA 9 
 
 every fibre of his faithful frame thrilling with a sense 
 of the injustice of her reproach. 
 
 But the Senora had turned her back. Evidently 
 she would hear no more from him then. He stood 
 watching her as she walked away, at her usual slow 
 pace, her head slightly bent forward, her rosary 
 lifted in her left hand, and the fingers of the right 
 hand mechanically slipping the beads. 
 
 " Prayers, always prayers ! " thought Juan to him 
 self, as his eyes followed her. " If they '11 take one 
 to heaven, the Senora '11 go by the straight road, 
 that 's sure ! I 'm sorry I vexed her. But what 's 
 a man to do, if he 's the interest of the place at 
 heart, I 'd like to know. Is he to stand by, and see 
 a lot of idle mooning louts run away with every 
 thing? Ah, but it was an ill day for the estate 
 when the General died, an ill day ! an ill day ! 
 And they may scold me as much as they please, 
 and set me to confessing my sins to the Father; 
 it 's very well for them, they Ve got me to look 
 after matters. Senor Felipe will do well enough 
 when he 's a man, maybe ; but a boy like him ! 
 Bah ! " And the old man stamped his foot with a 
 not wholly unreasonable irritation, at the false posi 
 tion in which he felt himself put. 
 
 "Confess to Father Salvierderra, indeed!" he 
 muttered aloud. " Ay, that will I. He 's a man 
 of sense, if he is a priest," at which slip of the 
 tongue the pious Juan hastily crossed himself, 
 " and I '11 ask him to give me some good advice as 
 
io RAMONA 
 
 to how I 'm to manage between this young boy at 
 the head of everything, and a doting mother who 
 thinks he has the wisdom of a dozen grown men. 
 The Father knew the place in the olden time. 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 ill day indeed, the saints 
 rest his soul ! " Saying this, Juan shrugged his 
 shoulders, and whistling to Capitan, walked towards 
 the sunny veranda of the south side of the kitchen 
 wing of the house, where it had been for twenty 
 odd years his habit to sit on the long bench and 
 smoke his pipe of 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 quick sensitiveness of his breed, thought so 
 sudden a change of purpose could only come from 
 something in connection with sheep ; and, true to 
 his instinct 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's see. To-day is the 25th. 
 That's it. The sheep-shearing is not to come off 
 till the Father gets here. Then each morning it will 
 be mass in the chapel, and each night vespers; and 
 the crowd will be here at least two days longer to 
 feed, for the time they will lose by that and by the 
 confessions. That's what Senor Felipe is up to. 
 
RAMONA ii 
 
 He 's a pious lad. I recollect now, it was the same 
 way two years ago. Well, well, it is a good thing for 
 those poor Indian devils to get a bit of religion now 
 and then ; 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's heart to 
 see them all there, as if they belonged to the house, 
 as they used to : and now I know when it 's to be, I 
 have only to make my arrangements accordingly. It 
 is always in the first week of the month the Father 
 gets here. Yes ; she said, ' Senor Felipe will be well 
 enough in a week or two, he thinks.' Ha ! ha ! It 
 will be nearer two ; ten days or thereabouts. I '11 
 begin the booths next week. A plague on that Luigo 
 for not being back here. He 's the best hand I have 
 to cut the willow boughs for the roofs. He knows 
 the difference between one year's growth and an 
 other's ; I '11 say that much for him, spite of the silly 
 dreaming head he 's got on his shoulders." 
 
 Juan was so pleased with this clearing up in his 
 mind as to Senor Felipe's purpose about the time of 
 the sheep-shearing, that it put him in good humor 
 for the day, good humor with everybody, and him 
 self most of all. As he sat on the low bench, his 
 head leaning back against the whitewashed wall, his 
 long legs stretched out nearly across the whole width 
 of the veranda, his pipe firm wedged in the extreme 
 left corner of his mouth, his hands in his pockets, 
 he was the picture of placid content. The troop ol 
 youngsters which still swarmed around the kitchen 
 
12 RAMONA 
 
 quarters of Senora Moreno's house, almost as num 
 erous and inexplicable as in the grand old days of 
 the General's time, ran back and forth across Juan's 
 legs, fell down between them, and picked themselves 
 up by help of clutches at his leather trousers, all un- 
 reproved by Juan, though loudly scolded and warned 
 by their respective mothers from the kitchen. 
 
 " What 's come to Juan Can to be so good-natured 
 to-day?" saucily asked Margarita, the youngest and 
 prettiest of the maids, popping her head out of a 
 window, and twitching Juan's hair. He was so gray 
 and wrinkled that the maids all felt at ease with 
 him. He seemed to them as old as Methuselah; 
 but he was not really so old as they thought, nor 
 they so safe in their tricks. The old man had hot 
 blood in his veins yet, as the under-shepherds could 
 testify. 
 
 " The sight of your pretty face, Senorita Margarita," 
 answered Juan, quickly, cocking his eye at her, rising 
 to his feet, and making a mock bow towards the 
 window. 
 
 " He ! he ! Senorita, indeed ! " chuckled Margarita's 
 mother, old Marda the cook. " Senor Juan Canito is 
 pleased to be merry at the doors of his betters ; " 
 and- she flung a copper saucepan full of not over- 
 clean water so deftly past Juan's head, that not a 
 drop touched him, and yet he had the appearance of 
 having been ducked. At which bit of sleight-of-hand 
 the whole court-yard, young and old, babies, cocks, 
 hens, and turkeys, all set up a shout and a cackle, and 
 
RAMONA 13 
 
 dispersed to the four corners of the yard as if scat 
 tered by a volley of bird-shot. Hearing the racket, 
 the rest of the maids came running, Anita and 
 Maria, the twins, women forty years old, born on the 
 place the year after General Moreno brought home 
 his handsome young bride; their two daughters, 
 Rosa and Anita the Little, as she was still called, 
 though she outweighed her mother ; old Juanita, the 
 oldest woman in the household, of whom even the 
 Senora was said not to know the exact age or history ; 
 and she, poor thing, could tell nothing, having been 
 silly for ten years or more, good for nothing except 
 to shell beans : that she did as fast and well as ever, 
 and was never happy except she was at it. Luckily 
 for her, beans are the one crop never omitted or 
 stinted on a Mexican estate ; and for sake of old 
 Juanita they stored every year in the Moreno house, 
 rooms full of beans in the pod (tons of them, one 
 would think), enough to feed an army. But then, it 
 was like a little army even now, the Senora' s house 
 hold ; nobody ever knew exactly how many women 
 were in the kitchen, or how many men in the fields. 
 There were always women cousins, or brothers' wives 
 or widows or daughters, who had come to stay, or 
 men cousins, or sisters' husbands 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 another thing. It could not 
 enter into the head of a Mexican gentleman to 
 
i 4 RAMONA 
 
 make either count or account of that. It would be 
 a disgraceful niggardly thought. 
 
 To the Senora it seemed as if there were no longer 
 any people about the place. A beggarly handful, 
 she would have said, hardly enough to do the work 
 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 never less than fifty persons, 
 men, women, and children, were fed within his gates 
 each day; how many more, he did not care, nor 
 know. But that time had indeed gone, gone for 
 ever; and though a stranger, seeing the sudden 
 rush and muster at door and window, which fol 
 lowed on old Marda's letting fly the water at Juan's 
 head, would have thought, " Good heavens, do all 
 those women, children, and babies belong in that 
 one house ! " the Senora' 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 has to work too hard. I must spare Mar 
 garita more from the house to help her." And she 
 sighed deeply, and unconsciously held her rosary 
 nearer to her heart, as she went into the house and 
 entered her son's bedroom. The picture she saw 
 there was one to thrill any mother's heart; and as 
 it met her eye, she paused on the threshold for a 
 second, only a second, however ; and nothing could 
 have astonished Felipe Moreno so much as to have 
 been told that at the very moment when his mother's 
 calm voice was saying to him, " Good morning, my 
 
RAMONA 15 
 
 son, I hope you have slept well, and are better," 
 there was welling up in her heart a passionate ejacu 
 lation, " O my glorious son ! The saints have sent me 
 in him the face of his father ! He is fit for a kingdom ! " 
 
 The truth is, Felipe Moreno was not fit for a king 
 dom at all. If he had been, he would not have been 
 so ruled by his mother without ever finding it out. 
 But so far as mere physical beauty goes, there never 
 was a king born, whose face, stature, and bearing 
 would set off a crown or a throne, 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 the face of his father. 
 So strong a likeness is seldom seen. When Felipe 
 once, on the occasion of a grand celebration and pro 
 cession, put on the gold-wrought velvet mantle, gayly 
 embroidered short breeches fastened at the knee with 
 red ribbons, and gold-and-silver-trimmed sombrero, 
 which his father had worn twenty-five years before, 
 the Senora fainted at her first look at him, fainted 
 and fell ; and when she opened her eyes, and saw the 
 same splendid, gayly arrayed, dark-bearded man, bend 
 ing over her in distress, with words of endearment and 
 alarm, she fainted again. 
 
 " Mother, mother mia," cried Felipe, " I will not 
 wear them if it makes you feel like this ! Let me 
 take them off. I will not go to their cursed parade ; " 
 and he sprang to his feet, and began with trembling 
 fingers to unbuckle the sword-belt. 
 
16 RAMONA 
 
 " No, no, Felipe," faintly cried the Senora, from the 
 ground. " It is my wish that you wear them ; " and 
 staggering to her feet, with a burst of tears, she re- 
 buckled the old sword-belt, which her fingers had so 
 many times never unkissed buckled, in the days 
 when her husband had bade her farewell and gone 
 forth to the uncertain fates of war. " Wear them ! " 
 Bhe cried, with gathering fire in her tones, and her 
 eyes dry of tears, " wear them, and let the Ameri 
 can hounds see what a Mexican officer and gentleman 
 looked like before they had set their base, usurping 
 feet on our necks ! " And she followed him to the 
 gate, and stood erect, bravely waving her handker 
 chief as he galloped ofif, till he was out of sight. 
 Then with a changed face and a bent head she crept 
 slowly to her room, locked herself in, fell on her 
 knees before the Madonna at the head of her bed, 
 and spent the greater part of the day praying that 
 she might be forgiven, and that all heretics might be 
 discomfited. From which part of these supplica 
 tions she derived most comfort is easy to imagine. 
 
 Juan Canito had been right in his sudden surmise 
 that it was for Father Salvierderra's coming that the 
 sheep-shearing was being delayed, and not in con 
 sequence of Senor Felipe's illness, or by the non- 
 appearance of Luigo and his flock of sheep. Juan 
 would have chuckled to himself still more at his per 
 spicacity, had he overheard the conversation going 
 on between the Senora and her son, at the very time 
 when he, half asleep on the veranda, was, as he would 
 
RAMONA 17 
 
 have called it, putting two and two together and con 
 vincing 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," said the Senora. " I suppose you 
 are still of the same mind about it, Felipe, that it 
 is better to wait till Father Salvierderra comes? As 
 the only chance those Indians have of seeing him is 
 here, it would seem a Christian duty to so arrange it, 
 if it be possible; but Juan is very restive. He is 
 getting old, and chafes a little, I fancy, under your 
 control. He cannot forget that you were a boy on 
 his knee. Now I, for my part, am like to forget that 
 you were ever anything but a man for me to lean on." 
 
 Felipe turned his handsome face toward his mother 
 with a beaming smile of filial affection and gratified 
 manly vanity. " Indeed, my mother, if I can be 
 sufficient for you to lean on, I will ask nothing more 
 of the saints ; " and he took his mother's thin and 
 wasted little hands, both at once, in his own strong 
 right hand, and carried them to his lips as a lover 
 might have done. " You will spoil me, mother," he 
 said, "you make me so proud." 
 
 " No, Felipe, it is I who am proud," promptly re 
 plied the mother ; " and I do not call it being proud, 
 only grateful to God for having given me a son wise 
 enough to take his father's place, and guide and 
 protect me through the few remaining years I have 
 to live. I shall die content, seeing you at the head 
 
 VOL. I. 2 
 
18 RAMONA 
 
 of the estate, and living as a Mexican gentleman 
 should; that is, so far as now remains possible in 
 this unfortunate country. But about the sheep- 
 shearing, Felipe. Do you wish to have it begun 
 before the Father is here? Of course, Alessandro 
 is all ready with his band. It is but two days' jour 
 ney for a messenger to bring him. Father Salvier- 
 derra cannot be here before the loth of the month. 
 He leaves Santa Barbara on the 1st, and he will walk 
 all the way, a good six days' journey, for he is old 
 now and feeble ; then he must stop in Ventura for a 
 Sunday, and a day at the Ortega's ranch, and at the 
 Lopez's, there, there is a christening. Yes, the 
 loth is the very earliest that he can be here, near 
 two weeks from now. So far as your getting up is 
 concerned, it might perhaps be next week. You 
 will be nearly well by that time." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," laughed Felipe, stretching himself 
 out in the bed and giving a kick to the bedclothes 
 that made the high bedposts and the fringed canopy 
 roof shake and creak ; " I am well now, if it were 
 not for this cursed weakness when I stand on my 
 feet. I believe it would do me good to get out of 
 doors." 
 
 In truth, Felipe had been hankering for the sheep- 
 shearing himself. It was 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 lasts many weeks. I am not sure 
 
RAMONA 19 
 
 that you will be strong enough even in two weeks to 
 do the packing ; but, as Juan Can said this morning, 
 he stood at the packing-bag when you were a boy, 
 and there was no need of waiting for you for that ! " 
 
 " He said that, did he ! " exclaimed Felipe, wrath- 
 fully. " The old man is getting insolent. I '11 tell 
 him that nobody will pack the sacks but myself, 
 while I am master here ; and I will have the sheep- 
 shearing when I please, and not before." 
 
 " I suppose it would not be wise to say that it is 
 not to take place till the Father comes, would it?" 
 asked the Senora, hesitatingly, as if the thing were 
 evenly balanced in her mind. " The Father has not 
 that hold on the younger men he used to have, and 
 I have thought that even in Juan himself I have de 
 tected a remissness. The spirit of unbelief is spread 
 ing in the country since the Americans are running 
 up and down everywhere seeking money, like dogs 
 with their noses to the ground ! It might 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 for my pleasure," answered 
 Felipe, still wrathful, " and that is the end of it." 
 And so it was; and, moreover, precisely the end 
 which Senora Moreno had had in her own mind from 
 the beginning; but not even Juan Canito himself 
 suspected its being solely her purpose, and not her 
 son's. As for Felipe, if any person had suggested 
 to him that it was his mother, and not he, who had 
 
20 RAMONA 
 
 decided that the sheep-shearing would better be de 
 ferred until the arrival of Father Salvierderra from 
 Santa Barbara, and that nothing should be said on 
 the ranch about this being the real reason of the 
 postponing, Felipe would have stared in astonish 
 ment, and have thought that person either crazy or 
 a fool. 
 
 To attain one's ends in this way is the consum 
 mate triumph of art. Never to appear as a factor 
 in the situation ; to be able to wield other men, as 
 instruments, with the same direct and implicit re 
 sponse to will that one gets from a hand or a foot, 
 this is to triumph, indeed : to be as nearly controller 
 and conqueror of Fates as fate permits. There have 
 been men prominent in the world's affairs at one 
 time and another, who have sought and studied such 
 a power and have acquired it to a great degree. By 
 it they have manipulated legislators, ambassadors, 
 sovereigns ; and have grasped, held, and played with 
 the destinies of empires. But it is to be questioned 
 whether even in these notable instances there has 
 ever been so marvellous completeness of success as 
 is sometimes seen in the case of a woman in whom 
 the power is an instinct and not an attainment; a 
 passion rather than a purpose. Between the two 
 results, between the two processes, there is just that 
 difference which is always to be seen between the 
 stroke of talent and the stroke of genius. 
 
 Senora Moreno's was the stroke of genius. 
 
II 
 
 / T~ V HE Senora Moreno's house was one of the best 
 -* specimens to be found in California of the 
 representative house of the half barbaric, half elegant, 
 wholly generous and free-handed life led there by 
 Mexican men and women of degree in the early part 
 of this century, under the rule of the Spanish and 
 Mexican viceroys, when the laws of the Indies were 
 still the law of the land, and its old name, " New 
 Spain," was an ever-present link and stimulus to the 
 warmest memories and deepest patriotisms of its 
 people. 
 
 It was a picturesque life, with more of sentiment 
 and gayety in it, more also that was truly dramatic, 
 
22 RAMONA 
 
 more romance, than will ever be seen again on those 
 sunny shores. The aroma of it all lingers there still ; 
 industries and inventions have not yet slain it ; it will 
 last out its century, in fact, it can never be quite 
 lost, so long as there is left standing one such house 
 as the Senora Moreno's. 
 
 When the house was built, General Moreno owned 
 all the land within a radius of forty miles, forty 
 miles westward, down the valley to the sea; forty 
 miles eastward, into the San Fernando Mountains; 
 and good forty miles more or less along the coast. 
 The boundaries were not very strictly defined ; there 
 was no occasion, in those happy days, to reckon land 
 by inches. It might be asked, perhaps, just how 
 General Moreno owned all this land, and the question 
 might not be easy to answer. It was not and could 
 not be answered to the satisfaction of the United 
 States Land Commission, which, after the surrender 
 of California, undertook to sift and adjust Mexican 
 land-titles ; and that was the way it had come about 
 that the Senora Moreno now called herself a poor 
 woman. Tract after tract, her lands had been taken 
 away from her; it looked for a time as if nothing 
 would be left. Every one of the claims based on 
 deeds of gift from Governor Pio Pico, her husband's 
 most intimate friend, was disallowed. They all went 
 by the board in one batch, and took away from the 
 Senora in a day the greater part of her best pasture- 
 lands. They were lands which had belonged to the 
 Bonaventura Mission, and lay along the coast at the 
 
RAMON A 23 
 
 mouth of the valley down 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 was young, to ride that forty miles by her 
 husband's side, all the way on their own lands, straight 
 from their house to their own strip of shore. No 
 wonder she believed the Americans thieves, and spoke 
 of them always as hounds. The people of the United 
 States have never in the least realized that the taking 
 possession of California was not only a conquering of 
 Mexico, but a conquering of California as well ; that 
 the real bitterness of the surrender was not so much 
 to the empire which gave up the country, as to the 
 country itself which was given up. Provinces passed 
 back and forth in that way, helpless in the hands of 
 great powers, have all the ignominy and humiliation 
 of defeat, with none of the dignities or compensations 
 of the transaction. 
 
 Mexico saved much by her treaty, spite of having 
 to acknowledge herself beaten; but California lost 
 all. Words cannot tell the sting of such a transfer. 
 It is a marvel that a Mexican remained in the coun 
 try ; probably none did, except those who were abso 
 lutely forced to it. 
 
 Luckily for the Senora Moreno, her title to the lands 
 midway in the valley was better than to those lying 
 to the east and the west, which had once belonged to 
 the Missions of San Fernando and Bonaventura ; and 
 after all the claims, counter-claims, petitions, appeals, 
 and adjudications were ended, she still was left in un 
 
24 RAMONA 
 
 disputed possession of what would have been thought 
 by any new-comer into the country to be a handsome 
 estate, but which seemed to the despoiled and indig 
 nant Senora a pitiful fragment of one. Moreover, she 
 declared that she should never feel secure of a foot of 
 even this. Any day, she said, the United States Gov 
 ernment might send out a new Land Commission to 
 examine the decrees of the first, and revoke such as 
 they saw fit. Once a thief, always a thief. Nobody 
 need feel himself safe under American rule. There 
 was no knowing what might happen any day; and 
 year by year the lines of sadness, resentment, anxiety, 
 and antagonism deepened on the Senora's fast aging 
 face. 
 
 It gave her unspeakable satisfaction, when the 
 Commissioners, laying out a road down the valley, 
 ran it at the back of her house instead of past the 
 front. " It is well," she said. " Let their travel be 
 where it belongs, behind our kitchens ; and no one 
 have sight of the front doors of our houses, except 
 friends who have come to visit us." Her enjoyment 
 of this never flagged. Whenever she saw, passing 
 the place, wagons or carriages belonging to the hated 
 Americans, it gave her a distinct thrill of pleasure to 
 think that the house turned its back on them. She 
 would 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 any rate, would 
 always keep the attitude of contempt, its face turned 
 away. 
 
RAMONA 25 
 
 One other pleasure she provided herself with, soon 
 after this road was opened, a pleasure in which 
 religious devotion and race antagonism were so closely 
 blended that it would have puzzled the subtlest of 
 priests to decide whether her act were a sin or a 
 virtue. She caused to be set up, upon every one 
 of the soft rounded hills which made the beautiful 
 rolling sides of that part of the valley, a large wooden 
 cross; not a hill 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 the 
 estate of a good Catholic," she said, " and that the 
 faithful may be reminded to pray. There have been 
 miracles of conversion wrought on the most hard 
 ened by a sudden sight of the Blessed Cross." 
 
 There they stood, summer and winter, rain and 
 shine, the silent, solemn, outstretched arms, and be 
 came landmarks to many a guideless traveller who 
 had been told that his way would be by the first 
 turn to the left or the right, after passing the last 
 one of the Senora Moreno's crosses, which he 
 could n't miss seeing. And who shall say that it 
 did not often happen that the crosses bore a sudden 
 message to some idle heart journeying by, and thus 
 justified the pious half of the Senora's impulse? 
 Certain it is, that many a good Catholic halted and 
 crossed himself when he first beheld them, in the 
 lonely places, standing out in sudden relief against 
 the blue sky ; and if he said a swift short prayer at 
 the sight, was he not so much the better? 
 
26 RAMONA 
 
 The house was of adobe, low, with a wide verand* 
 on the three sides of the inner court, and a still 
 broader one across the entire front, which looked to 
 the south. These verandas, especially those on the 
 inner court, were supplementary rooms to the house. 
 The greater part of the family life went on in them. 
 Nobody stayed inside the walls, except when it was 
 necessary. All the kitchen work, except the actual 
 cooking, was done here, in front of the kitchen doors 
 and windows. Babies slept, were washed, sat in the 
 dirt, and played, on the veranda. The women said 
 their prayers, took their naps, and wove their lace 
 there. Old Juanita shelled her beans there, and 
 threw the pods down on the tile floor, till towards 
 night they were sometimes piled up high around 
 her, like corn-husks at a husking. The herdsmen 
 and shepherds smoked there, lounged there, trained 
 their dogs there; there the young made love, and 
 the old dozed ; the benches, which ran the entire 
 length of the walls, were worn into hollows, and 
 shone like satin ; the tiled floors also were broken 
 and sunk in places, making little wells, which filled 
 up in times of hard rains, and were then an invalu 
 able addition to the children's resources for amuse 
 ment, and also to the comfort of the dogs, cats, and 
 fowls, who picked about among them, taking sips 
 from each. 
 
 The arched veranda along the front was a delight 
 some place. It must have been eighty feet long, 
 at least, for the doors of five large rooms opened 
 
RAMONA 27 
 
 on it. The two westernmost rooms had been added 
 on, and made four steps higher than the others; 
 which gave to that end of the veranda the look of 
 a balcony, or loggia. Here the Senora kept her 
 flowers ; great red water-jars, hand-made by the 
 Indians of San Luis Obispo Mission, stood in close 
 rows against the walls, and in them were always 
 growing fine geraniums, carnations, and yellow- 
 flowered musk. The Senora' s passion for musk she 
 had inherited from her mother. It was so strong 
 that she sometimes wondered at it; and one day, 
 as she sat with Father Salvierderra in the veranda, 
 she picked a handful of the blossoms, and giving 
 them to him, said, " I do not know why it is, but 
 it seems to me if 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 in your 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 so filled the room with its 
 odor that I was like to faint. But she said it 
 cured her of diseases, and without it she fell ill. 
 You were a baby then." 
 
 "Yes," cried the Senora, "but I recollect that 
 balcony. I recollect being lifted up to a window, 
 and looking down into a bed of blooming yellow 
 flowers ; but I did not know what they were. How 
 strange ! " 
 
 " No. Not strange, daughter," replied Father Sal- 
 
28 RAMONA 
 
 vierderra. " It would have been stranger if you had 
 not acquired the taste, thus drawing it in with the 
 mother's milk. It would behoove mothers to remem 
 ber this far more than they do." 
 
 Besides the geraniums and carnations and musk in 
 the red jars, there were many sorts of climbing vines 
 some coming from the ground, and twining around 
 the pillars of the veranda; some growing in great 
 bowls, swung by cords from the roof of the veranda, 
 or set on shelves against the 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 patient creatures, with 
 only stones for tools. 
 
 Among these vines, singing from morning till night, 
 hung the Senora's canaries and finches, half a dozen 
 of each, all of different generations, raised by the 
 Senora. She was never without a young bird-family 
 on hand ; and all the way from Bonaventura to Mon 
 terey, it was thought a piece of good luck to come 
 into possession of a canary or finch of Senora 
 Moreno's raising. 
 
 Between the veranda and the river meadows, out 
 on which it looked, all was garden, orange grove, and 
 almond orchard; the orange grove always green, 
 never without snowy bloom or golden fruit; the 
 garden never without flowers, summer or winter; 
 and the almond orchard, in early spring, a fluttering 
 canopy of pink and white petals, which, seen from 
 
RAMONA 29 
 
 the hills on the opposite side of the river, looked as 
 if rosy sunrise clouds had fallen, and become tangled 
 in the tree-tops. On either hand stretched away 
 other orchards, peach, apricot, pear, apple, pome 
 granate ; and beyond these, vineyards. Nothing was 
 to be seen but verdure or bloom or fruit, at whatever 
 time of year you sat on the Senora's south veranda. 
 
 A wide straight walk shaded by a trellis so knotted 
 and twisted with grapevines that little was to be seen 
 of the trellis wood-work, led straight 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 shade of a dozen gnarled old willow-trees, were 
 set the broad flat stone washboards 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 to the eye of the Senora at the upper end 
 of the garden ; and if they had known how pictur 
 esque they looked there, kneeling on the grass, lift 
 ing the dripping linen out of the water, rubbing it 
 back and forth on the stones, sousing it, wringing it, 
 splashing the clear water in each other's faces, they 
 would have been content to stay at the washing day 
 in 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 still a person of 
 note ; her house the natural resting-place for all who 
 journeyed through the valley; and whoever came, 
 spent all of his time, when not eating, sleeping, or 
 walking over the place, sitting witk the Senora on 
 
30 RAMONA 
 
 the sunny veranda. Few days in winter were cold 
 enough, and in summer the day must be hot in 
 deed to drive the Senora and her friends indoors. 
 There stood on the veranda three carved oaken 
 chairs, and a carved bench, also of oak, which had 
 been brought to the Senora for safe keeping by the 
 faithful old sacristan of San Luis Rey, at the time of 
 the occupation of that Mission by the United States 
 troops, soon after the conquest of California. Aghast 
 at the sacrilegious acts of the soldiers, who were 
 quartered in the very church itself, and amused 
 themselves 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 some articles in 
 cottonwood copses, hiding others in his own poor 
 little hovel, until he had wagon-loads of sacred treas 
 ures. Then, still more stealthily, he carried them, a 
 few at a time, concealed in the bottom of a cart, 
 under a load of hay or of brush, to the house of the 
 Senora, who felt herself deeply honored by his con 
 fidence, and received everything as 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 all Catholics had good hope. And so 
 it had come about that no bedroom in the Senora's 
 house was without a picture or a statue of a saint 
 or of the Madonna ; and some had two ; and in the 
 little chapel in the garden the altar was surrounded 
 by a really imposing row of holy and apostolic fig- 
 
PLATE III 
 
 THE WOODEN CROSSES. (CAMULOS) 
 
 She caused to be set up, upon every one of the soft rounded hills 
 which made the beautiful rolling sides of that part of the valley, a 
 large wooden cross ; . . . " That the heretics may know, when they 
 go by, that they are on the estate of a good Catholic," she said, "and 
 that the faithful may be reminded to pray." 
 
 There they stood, summer and winter, rain and shine, the silent, 
 solemn, outstretched arms, and became landmarks to many a guide- 
 less traveler. . . . 
 
 And who shall say that it did not often happen that the crosses 
 bore a sudden message to some idle heart, . . . and if he said a 
 swift, short prayer at the sight, was he not so much the better ? 
 
 Page 25, Vol. I. 
 
RAMONA 31 
 
 ures, which had looked down on the splendid cere 
 monies of the San Luis Rey Mission, in Father 
 Peyri's time, no more benignly than they now did on 
 the humbler worship of the Senora's family in its 
 diminished estate. That one had lost an eye, an 
 other an arm, that the once brilliant colors of the 
 drapery were now faded and shabby, only enhanced 
 the tender reverence with which the Senora knelt be 
 fore them, her eyes filling with indignant tears at 
 thought of the heretic hands which had wrought such 
 defilement. Even the crumbling wreaths which had 
 been placed on some of these statues' heads at the 
 time of the last ceremonial at which they had fig 
 ured in the Mission, had been brought away with 
 them 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 built by the General in the 
 second year of their married life. In it her four 
 children had been christened, and from it all but 
 one, her handsome Felipe, had been buried while 
 they were yet infants. In the General's time, while 
 the estate was at its best, and hundreds of Indians 
 living within its borders, there was many a Sunday 
 when the scene to be witnessed there was like the 
 scenes at the Missions, the chapel full of kneeling 
 men and women; those who could not find room 
 inside kneeling on the garden walks outside ; Father 
 Salvierderra, in gorgeous vestments, coming, at close 
 
32 RAMONA 
 
 of the services, slowly down the aisle, the close- 
 packed rows of worshippers parting to right and 
 left to let him through, all looking up eagerly for 
 his blessing, women giving him offerings of fruit or 
 flowers, and holding up their babies that he might 
 lay his hands on their heads. No one but Father 
 Salvierderra had ever officiated in the Moreno chapel, 
 or heard the confession of a Moreno. He was a 
 Franciscan, one of the few now left in the country ; 
 so revered and beloved by all who had come under 
 his influence, that they would wait long months with 
 out the offices of the Church, rather than confess 
 their sins or confide their perplexities to any one 
 else. From this deep-seated attachment on the part 
 of the Indians and the older Mexican families in the 
 country to the Franciscan Order, there had grown 
 up, not unnaturally, some jealousy of them in the 
 minds of the later-come secular priests, and the 
 position of the few monks left was not wholly a 
 pleasant one. It had even been rumored that they 
 were to be forbidden to continue longer their prac 
 tice of going up and down the country, ministering 
 everywhere; were to be compelled to restrict their 
 labors to their own colleges at Santa Barbara and 
 Santa Inez. When something to this effect was one 
 day said in the Senora Moreno's presence, two scar 
 let spots sprang on her cheeks, and before she be 
 thought herself, she exclaimed, "That day, I burn 
 down my chapel ! " 
 
 Luckily, nobody but Felipe heard the rash threat, 
 
RAMONA 33 
 
 and his exclamation of unbounded astonishment re 
 called 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 of their 
 own order; and there is no one in this land who has 
 the authority to forbid their journeying and minister 
 ing to whoever desires their offices. As for these 
 Catalan priests who are coming in here, I cannot 
 abide them. No Catalan but has bad blood in his 
 veins ! " 
 
 There was every reason in the world why the 
 Senora should be thus warmly attached to the Fran 
 ciscan Order. From her earliest recollections the 
 gray gown and cowl had been familiar to her eyes, 
 and had represented the things which she was taught 
 to hold most sacred and dear. Father Salvierderra 
 himself had come from Mexico to Monterey in the 
 same ship which had brought her father to be the 
 commandante of the Santa Barbara Presidio ; and her 
 best-beloved uncle, her father's eldest brother, was at 
 that time the Superior of the Santa Barbara Mission. 
 The sentiment and romance of her youth were almost 
 equally divided between the gayeties, excitements, 
 adornments of the life at the Presidio, and the cere 
 monies and devotions of the life at the Mission. She 
 was famed as the most beautiful girl in the country. 
 Men of the army, men of the navy, and men of the 
 Church, alike adored her. Her name was a toast 
 from Monterey to S.an Diego. When at last she was 
 VOL. i. 3 
 
34 RAMONA 
 
 wooed and won by Felipe Moreno, one of the most 
 distinguished of the Mexican generals, her wedding 
 ceremonies were the most splendid ever seen in the 
 country. The right tower of the Mission church at 
 Santa Barbara had been just completed, and it was 
 arranged that the consecration of this tower should 
 take place at the time of her wedding, and that her 
 wedding feast should be spread in the long outside 
 corridor of the Mission building. The whole coun 
 try, far and near, was bid. The feast lasted three 
 days ; open tables to everybody ; singing, dancing, eat 
 ing, drinking, and making merry. At that time there 
 were long streets of Indian houses stretching east 
 ward from the Mission ; before each of these houses 
 was built a booth of green boughs. The Indians, as 
 well as the Fathers from all the other Missions, were 
 invited to come. The Indians came in bands, sing 
 ing songs and bringing gifts. As they appeared, the 
 Santa Barbara Indians went out to meet them, also 
 singing, bearing gifts, and strewing seeds on the 
 ground, in token of welcome. The young Senora 
 and her bridegroom, splendidly clothed, were seen of 
 all, and greeted, whenever they appeared, by showers 
 of seeds and grains and blossoms. On the third day, 
 still in their wedding attire, and bearing lighted can 
 dies in their hands, they walked with the monks in 
 a procession, round and round the new tower, the 
 monks chanting, and sprinkling incense and holy 
 water on its walls, the ceremony seeming to all de 
 vout beholders to give a blessed consecration to the 
 
RAMONA 35 
 
 union of the young pair as well as to the newly com 
 pleted tower. After this they journeyed in state, 
 accompanied by several of the General's aids and 
 officers, and by two Franciscan Fathers, up to Mon 
 terey, stopping on their way at all the Missions, and 
 being warmly welcomed and entertained at each. 
 
 General Moreno was much beloved by both army 
 and Church. In many of the frequent clashings be 
 tween the military and the ecclesiastical powers he, 
 being as devout and enthusiastic a Catholic as he was 
 zealous and enthusiastic a soldier, had had the good 
 fortune to be of material assistance to each party. 
 The Indians also knew his name well, having heard 
 it many times mentioned with public thanksgivings 
 in the Mission churches, after some signal service 
 he had rendered to the Fathers either in Mexico or 
 Monterey. And now, by taking as his bride the 
 daughter of a distinguished officer, and the niece of 
 the Santa Barbara Superior, he had linked himself 
 anew to the two dominant powers and interests of 
 the country. 
 
 When they reached San Luis Obispo, the whole 
 Indian population turned out to meet them, the Padre 
 walking at the head. As they approached the Mis 
 sion doors the Indians swarmed closer and closer and 
 still closer, took the General's horse by the head, and 
 finally almost by actual force compelled him to allow 
 himself to be lifted into a blanket, held high up by 
 twenty strong men ; and thus he was borne up the 
 steps, across the corridor, and into the Padre's room. 
 
36 RAMONA 
 
 It was a position ludicrously undignified in itself, but 
 the General submitted to it good-naturedly. 
 
 " Oh, let them do it, if they like," he cried, laugh 
 ingly, to Padre Martinez, 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 all his resources for entertaining his 
 distinguished guests, caused to be driven past the cor 
 ridors, for their inspection, all the poultry belonging 
 to the Mission. The procession took an hour to pass. 
 For music, there was the squeaking, cackling, hissing, 
 gobbling, crowing, quacking of the fowls, combined 
 with the screaming, scolding, and whip-cracking of 
 the excited Indian marshals of the lines. First came 
 the turkeys, then the roosters, then the white hens, 
 then the black, and then the yellow, next the ducks, 
 and at the tail of the spectacle long files of geese, 
 some strutting, some half flying and hissing in resent 
 ment and terror at the unwonted coercions to which 
 they were subjected. The Indians had been hard 
 at work all night capturing, sorting, assorting, and 
 guarding the rank and file of their novel pageant. 
 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 done with, the General and his 
 bride had nearly died with laughter ; and the General 
 could never allude to it without laughing almost as 
 heartily again. 
 
 At Monterey they were more magnificently feted ; 
 
RAMONA 37 
 
 at the Presidio, at the Mission, on board Spanish, 
 Mexican, and Russian ships lying in harbor, balls, 
 dances, bull-fights, dinners, all that the country knew 
 of festivity, was lavished on the beautiful and winning 
 young bride. The belles of the coast, from San Diego 
 up, had all gathered at Monterey for these gayeties; 
 but not one of them could be for a moment compared 
 to her. 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 look thoughtful, tender, earnest, at times enthusi 
 astic. This look was the reflection of those qualities 
 in her, then hardly aroused, which made her, as years 
 developed her character and stormy fates thickened 
 around her life, the unflinching comrade of her sol 
 dier husband, the passionate adherent 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 and fierily a Cath 
 olic, and a lover of the Franciscans. 
 
 During the height of the despoiling and plunder 
 ing of the Missions, under the Secularization Act, 
 she was for a few years almost beside herself. 
 More than once she journeyed alone, when the 
 journey was by no means without danger, to Mon 
 terey, to stir up the Prefect of the Missions to 
 more energetic action, to implore the governmental 
 
38 RAMONA 
 
 authorities to interfere, and protect the Church's 
 property. It was largely in consequence of her 
 eloquent entreaties that Governor Micheltorena is 
 sued his bootless order, restoring to the Church all 
 the Missions south of San Luis Obispo. But this 
 order cost Micheltorena his political head, and 
 General Moreno was severely wounded in one of 
 the skirmishes of the insurrection which drove 
 Micheltorena out of the country. 
 
 In silence and bitter humiliation the Senora nursed 
 her husband back to health again, and resolved to 
 meddle no more in the affairs of her unhappy 
 country and still more unhappy Church. As year 
 by year she saw the ruin of the Missions steadily 
 going on, their vast properties melting away, like 
 dew before the sun, in the hands of dishonest ad 
 ministrators and politicians, the Church powerless 
 to contend with the unprincipled greed in high 
 places, her beloved Franciscan Fathers driven from 
 the country or dying of starvation at their posts, 
 she submitted herself to what, she was forced to 
 admit, seemed to be the inscrutable will of God for 
 the discipline and humiliation of the Church. In 
 a sort of bewildered resignation she waited to see 
 what farther sufferings were to come, to fill up the 
 measure of the punishment which, for some mysteri 
 ous purpose, the faithful must endure. But when 
 close upon all this discomfiture and. humiliation of 
 her Church followed the discomfiture and humilia 
 tion of her country in war, and the near and evident 
 
RAMONA 39 
 
 danger of an English-speaking people's possessing 
 the land, all the smothered fire of the Senora's 
 nature broke out afresh. With unfaltering hands 
 she buckled on her husband's sword, and with dry 
 eyes saw him go forth to fight. She had but one 
 regret, that she was not the mother of sons to fight 
 also. 
 
 " Would thou wert a man, Felipe ! " she exclaimed 
 again and again in tones the child never forgot. 
 " Would thou wert a man, that thou might go also 
 to fight these foreigners ! " 
 
 Any race under the sun would have been to the 
 Senora less hateful than the American. She had 
 scorned them in her girlhood, when they came 
 trading to post after post. She scorned them still. 
 The idea of being forced to wage a war with pedlers 
 was to her too monstrous to be believed. In the 
 outset she had no doubt that the Mexicans would 
 win in the contest. 
 
 " What ! " she cried, " shall we who won inde 
 pendence from Spain, be beaten by these traders? 
 It is impossible ! " 
 
 When her husband was brought home to her 
 dead, killed in the last fight the Mexican forces 
 made, she said icily, " He would have chosen to die 
 rather than to have been forced to see his country 
 in the hands of the enemy." And she was almost 
 frightened at herself to see how this thought, as it 
 dwelt in her mind, slew the grief in her heart. She 
 had believed she could not live if her husband were 
 
40 RAMONA 
 
 to be taken away from her; but she found herself 
 often glad that he was dead, glad that he was 
 spared the sight and the knowledge of the things 
 which happened; and even the yearning tenderness 
 with which her imagination pictured him among the 
 saints, was often turned into a fierce wondering 
 whether indignation did not fill his soul, even in 
 heaven, at the way things were going in the land 
 for whose sake he had died. 
 
 Out of such throes as these had been born the 
 second nature which made Senora Moreno the 
 silent, reserved, stern, implacable woman they knew, 
 who knew her first when she was sixty. Of the gay, 
 tender, sentimental girl, who danced and laughed 
 with the officers, and prayed and confessed with 
 the Fathers, forty years before, there was small 
 trace left now, in the low-voiced, white-haired, aged 
 woman, silent, unsmiling, placid-faced, who ma 
 noeuvred with her son and her head shepherd alike, 
 to bring it about that a handful of Indians might 
 once more confess their sins to a Franciscan mook 
 in the Moreno chapel. 
 
Ill 
 
 YUAN CANITO and Senor Felipe were not the 
 ** only members of the Senora's family who were 
 impatient for the sheep-shearing. There was also 
 Ramona. Ramona was, to the world at large, a 
 far more important person than the Senora herself. 
 The Senora was of the past; Ramona was of the 
 present. For one eye that could see the significant, 
 at times solemn, beauty of the Senora's pale and 
 shadowed countenance, there were a hundred that 
 flashed with eager pleasure at the barest glimpse of 
 Ramona's face; the shepherds, the herdsmen, the 
 maids, the babies, the dogs, the poultry, all loved 
 the sight of Ramona; all loved her, except the 
 
42 RAMONA 
 
 Senora. The Senora loved her not; never had 
 loved her, never could love her; and yet she had 
 stood in the place of mother to the girl ever since 
 her childhood, and never once during the whole 
 sixteen years of her life had shown her any unkind- 
 ness in act. She had promised to be a mother to 
 her; and with all the inalienable stanchness of her 
 nature she fulfilled the letter of her promise. More 
 than the bond lay in the bond ; but that was not 
 the Senora's fault. 
 
 The story of Ramona the Senora never told. To 
 most of the Senora's acquaintances now, Ramona 
 was a mystery. They did not know and no one 
 ever asked a prying question of the Senora Moreno 
 who Ramona's parents were, whether they were 
 living or dead, or why Ramona, her name not being 
 Moreno, lived always in the Senora's house as a 
 daughter, tended and attended equally with the 
 adored Felipe. A few gray-haired men and women 
 here and there in the country could have told the 
 strange story of Ramona; but its beginning was 
 more than a half-century back, and much had hap 
 pened since then. They seldom thought of the 
 child. They knew she was in the Senora Moreno's 
 keeping, and that was enough. The affairs of the 
 generation just going out were not the business of 
 the young people coming in. They would have 
 tragedies enough of their own presently; what was 
 the use of passing down the old ones? Yet the 
 story was not one to be forgotten; and now and 
 
RAMONA 43 
 
 then it was told in the twilight of a summer even 
 ing, or in the shadows of vines on a lingering after 
 noon, and all young men and maidens thrilled who 
 heard it. 
 
 It was an elder sister of the Senora's, a sister 
 old enough to be wooed and won while the Senora 
 was yet at play, who had been promised in mar 
 riage to a young Scotchman named Angus Phail. 
 She was a beautiful woman ; and Angus Phail, from 
 the day that he first saw her standing in the Presidio 
 gate, became so madly her lover, that he was like a 
 man bereft of his senses. This was the only excuse 
 ever to be made for Ramona Gonzaga's deed. It 
 could never be denied, by her bitterest accusers, 
 that, at the first, and indeed for many months, she 
 told Angus she did not love him, and could not 
 marry him ; and that it was only after his stormy 
 and ceaseless entreaties, that she did finally promise 
 to become his wife. Then, almost immediately, she 
 went away to Monterey, and Angus set sail for San 
 Bias. He was the owner of the richest line of ships 
 which traded along the coast at that time ; the rich 
 est stuffs, carvings, woods, pearls, and jewels, which 
 came into the country, came in his ships. The 
 arrival of one of them was always an event; and 
 Angus himself, having been well-born in Scotland, 
 and being wonderfully well-mannered for a seafaring 
 man, was made welcome in all the best houses, 
 wherever his ships went into harbor, from Monterey 
 to San Diego. 
 
44 RAMONA 
 
 The Senorita Ramona Gonzaga sailed for Mon 
 terey the same day and hour her lover sailed for 
 San Bias. They stood on the decks waving signals 
 to each 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 the Senorita, 
 that she ceased to wave her signals, and had turned 
 her face away, 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 the Monterey ship had long before 
 disappeared from view. 
 
 This was to be his last voyage. He went on this 
 only because his honor was pledged to do so. Also, 
 he comforted himself by thinking that he would 
 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. Through the long weeks of the 
 voyage he sat on deck, gazing dreamily at the waves, 
 and letting his imagination feed on pictures of jewels, 
 satins, velvets, laces, which would best deck his wife's 
 form and face. When he could no longer bear the 
 vivid fancies' heat in his blood, he would pace the 
 deck, swifter and swifter, till his steps were like those 
 of one flying in fear; at such times the men heard 
 him muttering and whispering to himself, " Ramona ! 
 Ramona ! " Mad with love from the first to the 
 last was Angus Phail; and there were many who 
 believed that if ke had ever seen the hour when he 
 
RAMONA 45 
 
 called Ramona Gonzaga his own, his reason would 
 have fled forever at that moment, and he would have 
 killed either her or himself, as men thus mad have 
 been known to do. But that hour never came. 
 When, eight months later, the " San Jose " sailed 
 into the Santa Barbara harbor, and Angus Phail 
 leaped breathless on shore, the second man he met, 
 no friend of his, looking him maliciously in the face, 
 said : " So, ho ! You 're just too late for the wed 
 ding ! Your sweetheart, the handsome Gonzaga girl, 
 was married here, yesterday, to a fine young officer 
 of the Monterey Presidio ! " 
 
 Angus reeled, struck the man a blow full in the 
 face, and fell on the ground, foaming at the mouth. 
 He was lifted and carried into a house, and, speedily 
 recovering, burst with the strength of a giant from 
 the hands of those who were holding him, sprang out 
 of the door, and ran bareheaded up the road towards 
 the Presidio. At the gate he was stopped by the 
 guard, who knew him. 
 
 " Is it true? " gasped Angus. 
 
 " Yes, Senor," replied the man, who said afterward 
 that his knees shook under him with terror at the 
 look on the Scotchman's face. He feared he would 
 strike him dead for his reply. But, instead, Angus 
 burst into a 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 was seen lying on the floor, 
 dead drunk; and from that day he sank lower and 
 
4 6 RAMONA 
 
 lower, till one of the commonest sights to be seen in 
 Santa Barbara was Angus Phail reeling about, tipsy, 
 coarse, loud, profane, dangerous. 
 
 " See what the Senorita escaped ! " said the 
 thoughtless. " She was quite right not to have 
 married such a drunken wretch." 
 
 In the rare intervals when he was partially sober, 
 he sold all he possessed, ship after ship sold for a 
 song, and the proceeds squandered in drinking or 
 worse. He never had a sight of his lost bride. He 
 did not seek it; and she, terrified, took every pre 
 caution to avoid it, and soon returned with her hus 
 band to Monterey. 
 
 Finally Angus disappeared, and after a time the 
 news came up from Los Angeles that he was there, 
 had gone out to the San Gabriel Mission, and was 
 living with the Indians. Some years later came the 
 still more surprising news that he had married a 
 squaw, a squaw with several Indian children, 
 had been legally married by the priest in the San 
 Gabriel Mission Church. And that was the last that 
 the faithless Ramona Gonzaga ever heard of her 
 lover, until twenty-five years after her marriage, 
 when one day he suddenly appeared in her presence. 
 How he had gained admittance to the house was 
 never known ; but there he stood before her, bearing 
 in his arms a beautiful babe, asleep. Drawing him 
 self up to the utmost of his six feet of height, and 
 looking at her sternly, with eyes blue like steel, he 
 said : " Senora Ortegna, you once did me a great 
 
RAMONA 47 
 
 wrong. You sinned, and the Lord has punished you. 
 He has denied you children. I also have done a 
 wrong; I have sinned, and the Lord has punished 
 me. He has given me a child. I ask once more at 
 your hands a boon. Will you take this child of 
 mine, and bring it up as a child of yours, or of 
 mine, ought to be brought up ? " 
 
 The tears were rolling down the Senora Ortegna's 
 cheeks. The Lord had indeed punished her in more 
 ways than Angus Phail knew. Her childlessness, 
 bitter as that had been, was the least of them. 
 Speechless, she rose, and stretched out her arms for 
 the child. He placed it in them. Still the child 
 slept on, undisturbed. 
 
 " I do not know if I will be permitted," she said 
 falteringly ; " my husband " 
 
 " 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 you wish," she said. Then a 
 strange embarrassment came upon her, and looking 
 down upon the infant, she said inquiringly, " But 
 the child's mother?" 
 
 Angus's face turned swarthy red. Perhaps, face 
 to face with this gentle and still lovely woman he 
 had once so loved, he first realized to the full how 
 wickedly he had thrown away his life. With a 
 quick wave of his hand, which spoke volumes, he 
 said : " That is nothing. She has other children, 
 of her own blood. This is mine, my only one, 
 
48 RAMONA 
 
 my daughter. I wish 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 in her arms, Ramona Ortegna's 
 heart had more and more yearned towards the in 
 fant. 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 in their graves. He gazed at 
 the sad and altered face, once so beautiful, so dear. 
 " I should hardly have known you, Senora ! " burst 
 from him involuntarily. 
 
 She smiled piteously, with no resentment. " That 
 is not strange. I hardly know myself," she whis 
 pered. " Life has dealt very hardly with me. I 
 should not have known you either Angus." She 
 pronounced his name hesitatingly, half appealingly. 
 At the sound of the familiar syllables, so long un 
 heard, the man's heart broke down. He buried 
 his face in his hands, 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 you sure 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 I feel that she is a mercy from 
 the Lord. If my husband sees no offence in her 
 presence, she will be a joy in my life. Has she 
 been christened?" 
 
RAMONA 49 
 
 Angus cast his eyes down. A sudden fear smote 
 him. " Before I had thought of bringing her to 
 you," he stammered, " at first I had only the 
 thought of giving her to the Church. I had had 
 her christened by " the words refused to leave 
 his lips " the name Can you not guess, Senora, 
 what name she bears? " 
 
 The Senora knew. " My own?" she said. 
 
 Angus bowed his head. "The only woman's 
 name that my lips ever spoke with love," he said, 
 reassured, " was the name my daughter should 
 bear." 
 
 " It is well," replied the Senora. Then a great 
 silence fell between them. Each studied the other's 
 face, tenderly, bewilderedly. Then by a simul 
 taneous impulse they drew nearer. Angus stretched 
 out both his arms with a gesture of infinite love 
 and despair, bent down and kissed the hands 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 thresh 
 old of the door, but only to say in a low tone, 
 u There is no need to be alarmed if the child does 
 not wake 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 two lovers, so strangely parted, still 
 
 more strangely met, had parted again, forever. 
 
 The quarter of a century which had lain between 
 
 VOL. i 4 
 
50 RAMONA 
 
 them had been bridged in both their hearts as if 
 it were but a day. In the heart of the man it was 
 the old passionate adoring love reawakening; a 
 resurrection of the buried dead, to full life, with 
 lineaments unchanged. In the woman it was not 
 that; there was no buried love to come to such 
 resurrection in her heart, for she had never loved 
 Angus Phail. But, long unloved, ill-treated, heart 
 broken, she woke at that moment to the realization 
 of what manner of love it had been which she had 
 thrown away in her youth ; her whole being yearned 
 for it now, and Angus was avenged. 
 
 When Francis Ortegna, late that night, reeled, 
 half-tipsy, into his wife's room, he was suddenly 
 sobered by the sight which met his eyes, his 
 wife kneeling by the side of a 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 your 
 first 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 since passed when unkind words 
 from her husband could give her keen pain. But 
 it was a warning not lost upon her new-born mother 
 instinct, and from that day the little Ramona was 
 carefully kept and tended in apartments where there 
 was no danger of her being seen by the man to 
 
RAMONA 51 
 
 whom the sight of her baby face was only a signal 
 for anger and indecency. 
 
 Hitherto Ramona Ortegna had, so far as was 
 possible, carefully concealed from her family the 
 unhappiness of her married life. Ortegna's char 
 acter was indeed well known ; his neglect of his wife, 
 his shameful dissipations 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 
 of complaint. She was a Gonzaga, and she knew 
 how to suffer in silence. But now she saw a reason 
 for taking her sister into her confidence. It was 
 plain to her that she had not many years to live ; 
 and what then would become of the child ? Left to 
 the tender mercies of Ortegna, it was only too cer 
 tain what would become of her. Long sad hours 
 of perplexity the lonely woman passed, with the 
 little laughing babe in her arms, vainly endeavoring 
 to forecast her future. The near chance of her own 
 death had not occurred to her mind when she 
 accepted the trust. 
 
 Before the little Ramona was a year old, Angus 
 Phail died. An Indian messenger from San Gabriel 
 brought the news to Senora Ortegna. He brought 
 her also a box and a letter, given to him by Angus 
 the day before his death. The box contained jewels 
 of value, of fashions a quarter of a century old. 
 They were the jewels which Angus had bought for 
 his bride. These alone remained of all his fortune, 
 Even in the lowest depths of his degradation, a 
 
52 RAMONA 
 
 certain sentiment had restrained him from parting 
 with them. The letter contained only these words : 
 " I send you all I have to leave my daughter. I 
 meant to bring them myself this year. 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 not till she had persuaded Senora 
 Moreno to journey to Monterey, and had put the 
 box into her keeping as a sacred trust. She also 
 won from her a solemn promise that at her own 
 death she would adopt the little Ramona. This 
 promise came hard from Senora Moreno. Except 
 for Father Salvierderra's influence, she had not given 
 it. She did not wish any dealings with such alien 
 and mongrel blood. " If the child were pure Indian, 
 I would like it better/' she said. " I like not these 
 crosses. It is the worst, and not the best of each, 
 that remains." 
 
 But the promise once given, Senora Ortegna was 
 content. Well she knew that her sister would not lie, 
 nor evade a trust. The little Ramona's future was 
 assured. During the last years of the unhappy 
 woman's life the child was her only comfort. Or- 
 tegna's conduct had become so openly and defiantly 
 infamous, that he even flaunted his illegitimate rela 
 tions in his wife's presence ; subjecting her to gross 
 insults, spite of her helpless invalidism. This last 
 outrage was too much for the Gonzaga blood to 
 endure; the Senora never afterward left her apart- 
 
RAMONA 53 
 
 ment, or spoke to her husband. Once more she sent 
 for her sister to come; this time, to see her die. 
 Every valuable she possessed, jewels, laces, brocades, 
 and damasks, she gave into her sister's charge, to 
 save them from falling into the hands of the base 
 creature that she knew only too well would stand in 
 her place as soon as the funeral services had been 
 said over her dead body. 
 
 Stealthily, as if she had been a thief, the sorrowing 
 Senora Moreno conveyed her sister's wardrobe, arti 
 cle by article, out of the house, to be sent to her own 
 home. It was the wardrobe of a princess. The 
 Ortegnas lavished money always on the women 
 whose hearts they broke ; and never ceased to de 
 mand of them that they should sit superbly arrayed 
 in their lonely wretchedness. 
 
 One hour after the funeral, with a scant and icy 
 ceremony of farewell to her dead sister's husband, 
 Senora Moreno, leading the little four-year-old Ra- 
 mona by the hand, left the house, and early the 
 next morning set sail for home. 
 
 When Ortegna discovered that his wife's jewels 
 and valuables of all kinds were gone, he fell into a 
 great rage, and sent a messenger off, post-haste, with 
 an insulting letter to the Senora Moreno, demanding 
 their return. For answer, he got a copy of his wife's 
 memoranda of instructions to her sister, giving all 
 the said valuables to her in trust for Ramona; also 
 a letter from Father Salvierderra, upon reading 
 which he sank into a fit of despondency that lasted 
 
54 
 
 RAMONA 
 
 a day or two, and gave his infamous associates con 
 siderable alarm, lest they had lost their comrade, 
 But he soon shook off the influence, whatever it was, 
 and settled 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 Sefiora Moreno never told the story. No won 
 der, perhaps, that she never loved the child. It was 
 a sad legacy, indissolubly linked with memories 
 which had in them nothing but bitterness, shame, 
 and sorrow from first to last. 
 
 How much of all this the young Ramona knew or 
 suspected, was locked in her own breast. Her 
 Indian blood had as much proud reserve in it as 
 was ever infused into the haughtiest Gonzaga's veins. 
 While she was yet a little child, she had one day 
 said to the Senora Moreno, " Senora, why did my 
 mother give me to the Senora Ortegna?" 
 
 Taken unawares, the Senora replied hastily: "Your 
 mother had nothing whatever 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 ; which was literally true, but 
 had the spirit of a lie in it. " I never saw your 
 mother." 
 
 "Did the Senora Ortegna ever see her?" persisted 
 Ramona. 
 
 " No, never," answered the Senora, coldly, the old 
 
RAMONA 55 
 
 wounds burning at the innocent child's unconscious 
 touch. 
 
 Ramona felt the chill, and was silent for a time, 
 her face sad, and her eyes 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 to stay 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 of these 
 things, Ramona? " 
 
 "Juan Can," she replied. 
 
 "What did he say?" asked the Senora, with a 
 look in her eye which boded no 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 various reminiscences on the subject. 
 " Twice I heard him. He said that my mother was 
 no good, and that my father was bad too." And the 
 tears rolled down the 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 ear 
 nestness which sank deep into the child's mind, 
 " Ramona must not 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 
 know nothing about them. I knew your father very 
 well. He was not a bad man. He was my friend, 
 
56 RAMONA 
 
 and the friend of the Senora Ortegna ; and that was 
 the reason he gave you to the Senora Ortegna, 
 because she had no child of her own. And I think 
 your mother had a good many." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Ramona, relieved, for the moment, at 
 this new view of the situation, that the gift had 
 been not as a charity to her, but to the Senora 
 Ortegna. " Did the Senora Ortegna want a little 
 daughter very much?" 
 
 "Yes, very much indeed," said the Senora, heartily 
 and with fervor. " She had grieved many years be 
 cause 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 thrusts into the per 
 plexities hedging it about, and presently electrified 
 the Senora by saying in a half-whisper, "Why did 
 not my father bring me to you first? Did he know 
 you did not want any daughter ? " 
 
 The Senora was dumb for a second ; then recover 
 ing herself, she said : " Your father was the Senora 
 Ortegna's friend more than he was mine. I was only 
 a child, then." 
 
 " Of course you did not need any daughter when 
 you had Felipe," continued Ramona, pursuing her 
 original line of inquiry and reflection without notic 
 ing the Senora's reply. "A son is more than a 
 daughter; but most people have both," eying the 
 Senora keenly, to see what response this would 
 bring. 
 
PLATE IV 
 
 THE SOUTH VERANDA AND RAISED PLATFORM, 
 OR LOGGIA. (CAMULOS) 
 
 The arched veranda along the front was a delightsome place. It 
 must have been eighty feet long, at least, for the doors of five large 
 rooms opened on it. The two westernmost rooms had been added 
 on, and made four steps higher than the others; which gave to that 
 end of the veranda the look of a balcony, or a loggia. Here the 
 Senora kept her flowers. Pages 26, 27, Vol. T. 
 
RAMONA 57 
 
 But the Senora was weary and uncomfortable with 
 the talk. At the very mention of Felipe, a swift 
 flash of consciousness of her inability to love Ramona 
 had swept through her mind. " Ramona," she said 
 firmly, " while you are a little girl, you cannot under 
 stand any of these things. When you are a woman, 
 I will tell you all that I know myself about your 
 father and your mother. It is very little. Your 
 father died when you were 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 be pleased with you. And he will not be 
 pleased if you ask troublesome questions. Don't 
 ever speak to me again about this. When the 
 proper time comes I will tell you myself." 
 
 This was when Ramona was ten. She was now 
 nineteen. She had never again asked the Senora 
 a question bearing on the forbidden subject. She 
 had been a good child and said her prayers, and 
 Father Salvierderra had been always pleased with 
 her, growing more and more deeply attached to her 
 year by year. But the proper time had not yet 
 come for the Senora to tell her anything more about 
 her father and mother. There were few mornings on 
 which the girl did not think, " Perhaps it may be 
 to-day that she will tell me." But she would not 
 ask. Every word of that conversation was as vivid 
 in her mind as it had been the day it occurred ; and 
 it would hardly be an exaggeration to say that 
 during every day of the whole nine years had deep- 
 
58 RAMONA 
 
 ened in her heart the conviction which had prompted 
 the child's question, " Did he know that you did not 
 want any daughter ? " 
 
 A nature less gentle than Ramona's would have 
 been embittered, or at least hardened, by this con 
 sciousness. But Ramona's was riot. She never put 
 it in words to herself. She accepted it, as those born 
 deformed seem sometimes to accept the pain and 
 isolation caused by their deformity, with an unques 
 tioning acceptance, which is as far above resignation, 
 as resignation is above rebellious repining. 
 
 No one would have known, from Ramona's face, 
 manner, or habitual conduct, that she had ever experi 
 enced a sorrow or had a care. Her face was sunny, 
 she had a joyous voice, and never was seen to pass 
 a human being without a cheerful greeting, to high 
 est and lowest the same. Her industry was tireless. 
 She had had two years at school, in the Convent of 
 the Sacred Heart at Los Angeles, where the Senora 
 had placed her at much personal sacrifice, during one 
 of the hardest times the Moreno estate 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 her all the dainty arts of lace- 
 weaving, embroidery, and simple fashions of painting 
 and drawing, which they knew ; not overmuch learn 
 ing out of books, but enough to make her a pas 
 sionate lover of verse and romance. For serious 
 study or for deep thought she had no vocation. She 
 was a simple, joyous, gentle, clinging, faithful nature. 
 
RAMONA 59 
 
 like a clear brook rippling along in the sun, a 
 nature as unlike as possible to the Senora'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 only express by- 
 renewed industry, and tireless endeavor to fulfil every 
 duty possible in the house. This gentle faithfulness 
 was not wholly lost on Senora Moreno, though its 
 source ,she never suspected ; and it won no new rec 
 ognition from her for Ramona, no increase of love. 
 
 But there was one on whom not an act, not a look, 
 not a smile of all this graciousness was thrown away. 
 That one was Felipe. Daily more and more he won 
 dered at his mother's lack of affection of Ramona. 
 Nobody knew so well as he how far short she stopped 
 of loving her. Felipe knew what it meant, how it 
 felt, to be loved by the Senora Moreno. But Felipe 
 had learned while he was a boy that one sure way to 
 displease his mother was to appear to be aware that 
 she did not treat Ramona as she treated him. And 
 long before he had become a man he had acquired 
 the habit of keeping to himself most of the things he 
 thought and felt about his little playmate sister, 
 a dangerous habit, out of which were slowly ripen 
 ing bitter fruits for the Senora's gathering in later 
 years. 
 
IV 
 
 TT was longer even than the Senora had thought 
 -* it would be, before Father Salvierderra arrived. 
 The old man had grown feeble during the year that 
 she had not seen him, and it was a very short day's 
 journey that he could make now without too great 
 fatigue. It was not only his body that had failed. 
 He had lost heart ; and the miles which would have 
 been nothing to him, had he walked in the compan 
 ionship of hopeful and happy thoughts, stretched out 
 wearily as he brooded over sad memories and still 
 sadder anticipations, the downfall of the Missions, 
 the loss of their vast estates, and the growing power 
 of the ungodly in the land. The final decision of 
 
RAMONA 61 
 
 the United States Government in regard to the Mis 
 sion-lands had been a terrible blow to him. He had 
 devoutly believed that ultimate restoration of these 
 great estates to the Church was inevitable. In the 
 long vigils which he always kept when at home at 
 the Franciscan Monastery in Santa Barbara, kneeling 
 on the stone pavement in the church, and praying 
 ceaselessly from midnight till dawn, he had often 
 had visions vouchsafed him of a new dispensation, 
 in which the Mission establishments should be rein 
 stated in all their old splendor and prosperity, and 
 their Indian converts again numbered by tens of 
 thousands. 
 
 Long after every one knew that this was impos 
 sible, he would narrate these visions with the faith of 
 an old Bible seer, and declare that they must come 
 true, and that it was a sin to despond. But as year 
 after year he journeyed up and down the country, 
 seeing, at Mission after Mission, the buildings crum 
 bling into ruin, the lands all taken, sold, resold, and 
 settled by greedy speculators; the Indian converts 
 disappearing, driven back to their original wilder 
 nesses, the last traces of the noble work of his order 
 being rapidly swept away, his courage faltered, his 
 faith 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 as Francis of 
 Assisi. To wear a shoe in place of a sandal, to take 
 money in a purse for a journey, above all to lay aside 
 the gray gown and cowl for any sort of secular gar- 
 
6?, RAMONA 
 
 ment, seemed to him wicked. To own comfortable 
 clothes while there were others suffering for want of 
 them and there were always such seemed to him 
 a sin for which one might not undeservedly be smitten 
 with sudden and terrible punishment. In vain the 
 Brothers again and again supplied him with a warm 
 cloak ; he gave it away to the first beggar he met : 
 and as for food, the refectory would have been left 
 bare, and the whole brotherhood starving, if the 
 supplies had not been carefully hidden and locked, 
 so that Father Salvierderra could not give them all 
 away. He was fast becoming that most tragic yet 
 often sublime sight, a man who has survived, not only 
 his own time, but the ideas and ideals of it. Earth 
 holds no sharper loneliness : the bitterness of exile, 
 the anguish of friendlessness at their utmost, are in 
 it; and yet it is so much greater than they, that 
 even they seem small part of it. 
 
 It was with thoughts such as these that Father 
 Salvierderra drew near the home of the Senora 
 Moreno late in the afternoon of one of those mid 
 summer days of which Southern California has so 
 many in spring. The almonds had bloomed and the 
 blossoms fallen; the apricots also, and the peaches 
 and pears; on all the orchards of these fruits had 
 come a filmy tint 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 and 
 glossy like laurel. The billowy hills on either side 
 the valley were covered with verdure and bloom, - 
 
RAMONA 63 
 
 myriads of low blossoming plants, so close 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 each other and blend into a 
 changeful color. 
 
 The countless curves, hollows, and crests of the 
 coast-hills in Southern California heighten these 
 chameleon effects of the spring verdure; they are 
 like nothing in nature except the glitter of a brilliant 
 lizard in the sun or the iridescent sheen of a pea 
 cock's neck. 
 
 Father Salvierderra paused many times to gaze at 
 the beautiful picture. Flowers were always dear to 
 the Franciscans. Saint Francis himself permitted all 
 decorations which could be made of flowers. He 
 classed them with his brothers and sisters, the sun, 
 moon, and stars, all members of the sacred choir 
 praising God. 
 
 It was melancholy to see how, after each one of 
 these pauses, each fresh drinking in of the beauty of 
 the landscape and the balmy air, the old man re 
 sumed his slow pace, with a long sigh and his eyes 
 cast down. The fairer this beautiful land, the sadder 
 to know it lost to the Church, * 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 set 
 tling up of the country, farms opening, towns grow 
 ing ; the Americans pouring in, at all points, to reap 
 the advantages of their new possessions. It was this 
 
64 RAMONA 
 
 which had made his journey heavy-hearted, and 
 made him feel, in approaching the Senora Moreno's, 
 as if he were coming to one of the last sure strong 
 holds of the Catholic faith left in the country. 
 
 When he was within two miles of the house, he 
 struck off from the highway into a narrow path that 
 he recollected led by a short-cut through the hills, 
 and saved nearly a third of the distance. It was 
 more than a year since he had trod this path, and as 
 he found it growing fainter and fainter, and more 
 and more overgrown with the wild mustard, he said 
 to himself, " I think no one can have passed through 
 here this year." 
 
 As he proceeded he found the mustard thicker and 
 thicker. The wild mustard in Southern California 
 is like that spoken of in the New Testament, 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 find starting-point in an inch, it darts up, 
 a slender straight shoot, five, ten, twenty feet, with 
 hundreds of fine feathery branches locking and in 
 terlocking with all the other hundreds around it, till 
 it is an inextricable network like lace. Then it bursts 
 into yellow bloom still finer, more feathery and lace- 
 like. The stems are so infinitesimally small, and of 
 so dark a green, that at a short distance they do 
 not show, and the cloud of blossom seems floating 
 in the air ; at times it looks like golden dust. With 
 a clear blue sky behind it, as it is often seen, it looks 
 like a golden snow-storm. The plant is a tyrant and 
 
RAMONA 65 
 
 a nuisance, the terror of the farmer; it takes riot 
 ous possession of a whole field in a season ; once in, 
 never out; for one plant this year, a million the 
 next; but it is impossible to wish that the land 
 were freed from it. Its gold is as distinct a value to 
 the eye as the nugget gold is in the pocket. 
 
 Father Salvierderra soon found himself in a verit 
 able thicket of these delicate branches, high above 
 his head, and so interlaced that he could make head 
 way only by slowly and patiently disentangling them, 
 as one would disentangle a skein of silk. It was a 
 fantastic sort of dilemma, and not unpleasing. Ex 
 cept that the Father was in haste to reach his jour 
 ney's end, he would have enjoyed threading his way 
 through the golden meshes. Suddenly he heard 
 faint notes of singing. He paused, - listened. It 
 was the voice of a woman. It was slowly drawing 
 nearer, apparently from the direction in which he 
 was going. At intervals it ceased abruptly, then 
 began again ; as if by a sudden but brief interrup 
 tion, like that made by question and answer. Then, 
 peering ahead through the mustard blossoms, he saw 
 them waving and bending, and heard sounds as if 
 they were being broken. Evidently some one enter 
 ing on the path from the opposite end had been 
 caught in the fragrant thicket as he was. The notes 
 grew clearer, though still low and sweet as the twi 
 light notes of the thrush; the mustard branches 
 waved more and more violently; light steps were 
 now to be heard. Father Salvierderra stood still 
 
 VOL.1. 5 
 
66 RAMONA 
 
 as one in a dream, his eyefs straining forward into 
 the golden mist of blossoms. In a moment more 
 came, distinct and clear to his ear, the beautiful 
 words of the second stanza of Saint Francis's inimit 
 able lyric, " The Canticle of the Sun : " 
 
 " Praise be to thee, O Lord, for all thy creatures, and 
 especially for our brother the Sun, who illuminates the 
 day, and by his beauty and splendor 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 in a sway 
 ing frame of the blossoms, as she parted them lightly 
 to right and left with her hands, and half crept, half 
 danced through the loop-hole openings thus made. 
 Father Salvierderra was past eighty, but his blood 
 was not too old to move quicker at the sight of this 
 picture. A man must be dead not to thrill at it. 
 Ramona's beauty was of the sort to be best en 
 hanced by the waving gold which now framed her 
 face. She had just enough of olive tint in her com 
 plexion to underlie and enrich her skin without mak 
 ing it swarthy. Her hair was like her Indian mother's, 
 heavy and black, but her eyes were like her father's, 
 steel-blue. Only those who came very near to Ra 
 mona knew, however, that her eyes were blue, for 
 the heavy black eyebrows and long black lashes so 
 shaded and shadowed them that they looked black 
 as night. At the same instant that Father Salvier- 
 
RAMONA 67 
 
 derra first caught sight of her face, Ramona also saw 
 him, and crying out joyfully, "Ah, Father, I knew 
 you would come by this path, and something told 
 me you were near ! " she sprang forward, and sank 
 on her knees before him, bowing her head for his 
 blessing. In silence he laid his hands on her brow. 
 It would not have been easy for him to speak to her 
 at that first moment. She had looked to the devout 
 old monk, as she sprang through the cloud of golden 
 flowers, the sun falling on her bared head, her cheeks 
 flushed, her eyes shining, more like an apparition of 
 an angel or saint, than like the flesh-and-blood maiden 
 whom 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 been sent 
 for, and will be here to-night, and that was the reason 
 I felt so sure you would come. I knew the Virgin 
 would bring you in time for mass in the chapel on 
 the first morning." 
 
 The monk smiled half sadly. " Would there were 
 more with such faith as yours, daughter," he said. 
 " Are all well on the place ? " 
 
 " Yes, Father, all well," she answered. " Felipe 
 has been ill with a fever ; but he is out now, these 
 ten days, and fretting for for your coming." 
 
 Ramona had like to have said the literal truth, 
 " fretting for the sheep-shearing," but recollected 
 herself in time. 
 
68 RAMONA 
 
 " And the Senora? " said the Father. 
 
 " She is well," answered Ramona, gently, but with 
 a slight change of tone, so slight as to be almost 
 imperceptible; but an acute observer would have 
 always detected it in the girl's tone whenever she 
 spoke of the Senora Moreno. " And you, are you 
 well yourself, Father?" she asked affectionately, not 
 ing with her quick, loving eye how feebly the old 
 man walked, and that he carried what she had never 
 before seen in his hand, a stout staff to steady his 
 steps. " You must be very tired with the long jour 
 ney on foot." 
 
 " Ay, Ramona, I am tired," he replied. " Old age 
 is conquering me. It will not be many times more 
 that I shall see this place." 
 
 " Oh, do not say that, Father," cried Ramona ; 
 " you can ride, when it tires you too much to walk. 
 The Senora said, only the other day, that she wished 
 you would let her give you a horse ; that it was not 
 right for you to take these long journeys on foot. 
 You know we have hundreds of horses. It is noth 
 ing, one horse," she added, seeing the Father slowly 
 shake his head. 
 
 " No," he said ; " it is not that. I could not refuse 
 anything at the hands of the Senora. But it was the 
 rule of our order to go on foot. We must deny the 
 flesh. Look at our beloved master in this land, 
 Father Junipero, 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 men 
 
RAMONA 69 
 
 would have taken to a bed, to be healed. It is a sin 
 ful fashion that is coming in, for monks to take their 
 ease doing God's work. I can no longer walk swiftly, 
 but I must walk all the more diligently." 
 
 While they were talking, they had been slowly 
 moving forward, Ramona slightly in advance, grace 
 fully bending the mustard branches, and holding 
 them down till the Father had followed in her steps. 
 As they came out from the thicket, she exclaimed, 
 laughing, "There is Felipe, in the 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 and the Father approaching. 
 Throwing down the knife with which he had been 
 cutting 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 wind blow 
 ing his hair loosely off his brow, his large brown eyes 
 lifted in gentle reverence to the Father's face, and his 
 face full of affectionate welcome, Ramona thought to 
 herself, as she had thought hundreds of times since 
 she became a woman, " How beautiful Felipe is ! No 
 wonder the Senora loves him so much ! If I had 
 been beautiful like that she would have liked me 
 better." Never was a little child more unconscious 
 of her own beauty than Ramona still was. All the 
 admiration which was expressed to 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 
 
7 o RAMONA 
 
 her. She compared her straight, massive black eye 
 brows with Felipe's, arched and delicately pencilled, 
 and found her own ugly. The expression of gentle 
 repose which her countenance wore,- seemed to her 
 an expression of stupidity. " Felipe looks so bright ! " 
 she thought, as she noted his mobile changing face, 
 never for two successive seconds the same. " There 
 is nobody like Felipe." And when his brown eyes 
 were fixed on her, as they so often were, in a long 
 lingering gaze, she looked steadily back into their 
 velvet depths with an abstracted sort of intensity 
 which profoundly puzzled Felipe. It was this look, 
 more than any other one thing, which had for two 
 years held Felipe's tongue in leash, as it were, and 
 made it impossible for him to say to Ramona any of 
 the loving things of which his heart had been full ever 
 since he could remember. The boy had spoken them 
 unhesitatingly, unconsciously; but the man found 
 himself suddenly afraid. " What is it she thinks 
 when she looks into my eyes so?" he wondered. If 
 he had known that the thing she was usually thinking 
 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 
 a girl who looked at a man thus, would be hard to 
 win to look at him as a lover. But being a lover, he 
 could not see this. He saw only enough to perplex 
 and deter him. 
 
 As they drew near the house, Ramona saw Mar- 
 
RAMONA 71 
 
 garita standing at the gate of the garden. She was 
 holding something white in her hands, looking down 
 at it, and crying piteously. As she perceived Ramona, 
 she made an eager leap forward, and then shrank back 
 again, making dumb signals of distress to her. Her 
 whole attitude was one of misery and entreaty. Mar 
 garita was, of all the maids, most beloved by Ramona. 
 Though they were nearly of the same age, it had been 
 Margarita who first had charge of Ramona ; the nurse 
 and her charge had played together, grown up to 
 gether, become women together, and were now, 
 although Margarita never presumed on the relation, 
 or forgot to address Ramona as Senorita, more like 
 friends than like mistress and maid. 
 
 " Pardon me, Father," said Ramona. " I see that 
 Margarita there is in trouble. I will leave Felipe to 
 go with you to the house. I will be with you again 
 in a few moments." And kissing his hand, she flew 
 rather than ran across the field to the foot of the 
 garden. 
 
 Before she reached the spot, Margarita had dropped 
 on the ground and buried her face in her hands. A 
 mass of crumpled and stained linen lay at her feet. 
 
 " What is it ? What has happened, Margarita mia ? " 
 cried Ramona, in the affectionate Spanish phrase. 
 For answer, Margarita removed one wet hand from 
 her eyes, and pointed with a gesture of despair to the 
 crumpled linen. Sobs choked her voice, and she 
 buried her face again in her hands. 
 
 Ramona stooped, and lifted one corner of the linen, 
 
72 RAMONA 
 
 An involuntary cry of dismay broke from her. at 
 which Margarita's sobs redoubled, and she gasped 
 out, " Yes, Senorita, it is totally ruined ! It can 
 never be mended, and it will be needed for the mass 
 to-morrow morning. When I saw the 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 cloth which the Senora Moreno had with 
 her own hands made into one solid front of beautiful 
 lace of the Mexican fashion, by drawing out part of 
 the threads and sewing the remainder into intricate 
 patterns, the cloth which had always been on the 
 altar, when mass was said, since Margarita'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 the worst of it ! If it were not for 
 that, I would not be so afraid. If it had happened 
 any other way, the Senora might have forgiven me ; 
 but she never will. I would rather die than tell her ; " 
 and she shook from head to foot. 
 
 " Stop crying, Margarita ! " said Ramona, firmly, 
 " and tell me all about it. It is n't so bad as it looks. 
 I think I can mend it." 
 
 " Oh, the saints bless you ! " cried Margarita, look- 
 
RAMONA 73 
 
 ing up for the first time. " Do you really think you 
 can mend it, Senorita? If you will mend that lace, 
 I '11 go on my knees for you all the rest of my life ! " 
 
 Ramona laughed in spite of herself. " You '11 serve 
 me better by keeping on your feet," she said merrily ; 
 at which Margarita laughed too, through her tears. 
 They were both young. 
 
 " Oh, but Senorita," Margarita began again in a 
 tone of anguish, her tears flowing afresh, " there is 
 not time! It must be washed and ironed to-night, 
 for the mass to-morrow morning, and I have to help 
 at the supper. Anita and Rosa are both ill in bed, 
 you know, and Maria has gone away for a week. 
 The Senora said if the Father came to-night I must 
 help mother, and must wait on table. It cannot be 
 done. I was just going to iron it now, and I found 
 it so It was in the artichoke-patch, and Capitan, 
 the beast, had been tossing it among the sharp pricks 
 of the old last year's seeds." 
 
 " In the artichoke-patch ! " ejaculated Ramona. 
 " How under heavens did it get there ? " 
 
 " Oh, that was what I meant, Senorita, when I said 
 she never would forgive me. She has forbidden me 
 many times to hang anything to dry on the fence 
 there; and if I had only washed it when she first told 
 me, two days 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 sun lies on 
 the artichoke-patch, and I put a strong cloth over the 
 fence, so that the wood should not pierce the lace, 
 
74 
 
 RAMONA 
 
 and I did not leave it more than half an hour, just 
 while I said a few words to Luigo, and there was 
 no wind ; and I believe the saints must have fetched 
 it down to the ground to punish me for my dis 
 obedience." 
 
 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 
 I can, so that it will not show, for to-morrow, and 
 then, after the Father is 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 the sun. " Oh, yes, there are good three 
 hours of daylight yet. I can do it. You put irons 
 on the fire, to have them hot, to iron it as soon as 
 it is partly dried. You will see it will not show that 
 anything has happened to it." 
 
 "Will the Senora know?" asked poor Margarita, 
 calmed and reassured, but still in mortal terror. 
 
 Ramona turned her steady glance full on Marga 
 rita's face. " You would not be any happier if she 
 were deceived, do you think?" she said gravely. 
 
 " O Senorita, after it is mended ? If it really does 
 not show? " pleaded the 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 it is to have the Senora 
 displeased with one." 
 
RAMONA 75 
 
 " Nothing can be so bad as to be displeased with 
 one's self," retorted Ramona, as she walked swiftly 
 away to her room with the linen rolled up under 
 her arm. Luckily for Margarita's cause, she met no 
 one on the way. The Sefiora had welcomed Father 
 Salvierderra at the foot of the veranda steps, and 
 had immediately closeted herself with him. She had 
 much to say to him, much about which she wished 
 his help and counsel, and much which she wished to 
 learn from him as to affairs in the Church and in the 
 country, generally. 
 
 Felipe had gone off at once to find Juan Canito 
 to see if everything were ready for the sheep-shear 
 ing to begin on the next day, if the shearers arrived 
 in time; and there was very good chance of their 
 coming in by sundown this day, Felipe thought, for 
 he had privately instructed his messenger to make 
 all possible haste, and to impress on the Indians the 
 urgent need of their losing no time on the road. 
 
 It had been a great concession on the Senora's 
 part to allow the messenger to be sent off before 
 she had positive intelligence as to the Father's move 
 ments. But as day after day passed and no news 
 came, even she perceived that it would not do to 
 put off the sheep-shearing much longer, or, as Juan 
 Canito said, " forever." The Father might have 
 fallen ill ; and if that were so, it might very easily 
 be weeks before they heard of it, so scanty were 
 the means of communication between the remote 
 places on his route of visitation. The messenger 
 
76 RAMONA 
 
 had therefore been sent to summon the Temecula 
 shearers, and the Senora had resigned herself to 
 the inevitable; piously praying, however, morning 
 and night, and at odd moments in the day, that 
 the Father might arrive before the Indians did. 
 When she saw him coming up the garden-walk, 
 leaning on the arm of her Felipe, on the afternoon 
 of the very day which was the earliest possible day 
 for the Indians to arrive, it was not strange that she 
 felt, mingled with the joy of her greeting to her 
 long-loved friend and confessor, a triumphant exul 
 tation that the saints had heard her prayers. 
 
 In the kitchen all was bustle and stir. The com 
 ing of any guest into the house was a signal for 
 unwonted activities there, even the coming of 
 Father Salvierderra, who never knew whether the 
 soup had forcemeat balls in it or not, old Marda 
 said ; and that was to her the last extreme of indif 
 ference 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 was enlisted in setting 
 forth as goodly an array of viands as her larder 
 afforded. She grew suddenly fastidious over the 
 size and color of the cabbages to go into the beef- 
 pot, and threw away one whole saucepan full of 
 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 always two onions ? " she exclaimed. 
 " It is the dish he most favors of all ; and it is a 
 
RAMONA 77 
 
 pity too, old as he is. It makes him no blood. It 
 is good beef he should take now." 
 
 The dining-room was on the opposite side of the 
 court-yard from the kitchen, and there was a per 
 petual procession of small messengers going back 
 and forth between the rooms. It was the highest 
 ambition of each child to be allowed to fetch and 
 carry dishes in the preparation of the meals at all 
 times; but when by so doing they could perchance 
 get a glimpse through the dining-room door, open 
 on the veranda, of strangers and guests, their rest 
 less rivalry became unmanageable. Poor Margarita, 
 between her own private anxieties and her multiplied 
 duties of helping in the kitchen, and setting the 
 table, restraining and overseeing her army of infant 
 volunteers, was nearly distraught; not so distraught, 
 however, but that she remembered and found time 
 to seize a lighted candle in the kitchen, run and set 
 it before the statue of Saint Francis of Paula in 
 her bedroom, hurriedly whispering a prayer that 
 the lace might be made whole like new. Several 
 times before the afternoon had waned she snatched 
 a moment to fling herself down at the statue's feet 
 and pray her foolish little prayer over again. We 
 think we are quite sure that it is a foolish little 
 prayer, when people pray to have torn lace made 
 whole. But it would be hard to show the odds be 
 tween asking that, and asking that it may rain, of 
 that the sick may get well. As the grand old 
 Russian says, what men usually ask for, when they 
 
78 RAMONA 
 
 pray to God, is, that two and two may not make 
 four. All the same he is to be pitied who prays 
 not. It was only the thought of that candle at 
 Saint Francis's feet, which enabled Margarita to 
 struggle through this anxious and unhappy after 
 noon and evening. 
 
 At last supper was ready, a great dish of spiced 
 beef and cabbage in the centre of the table ; a tureen 
 of thick soup, with forcemeat balls and red peppers 
 in it; two red earthen platters heaped, one with the 
 boiled rice and onions, the other with the delicious 
 frijoles (beans) so dear to all Mexican hearts; cut- 
 glass dishes filled with hot stewed pears, or preserved 
 quinces, or grape jelly; plates of frosted cakes of 
 various sorts; and a steaming silver teakettle, from 
 which went up an aroma 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 she entered the dining-room. 
 " Margarita, go tell the Senorita that we are wait 
 ing for her." 
 
 Margarita started tremblingly, with flushed face, 
 towards the door. What would happen now! " O 
 Saint Francis," she inwardly prayed, " help us this 
 once ! " 
 
 "Stay," said Felipe. "Do not call Senorita Ra 
 mona." Then, turning to his mother, " Ramona can 
 not come. She is not in the house. She has a duty 
 to perform for to-morrow," he said ; and he looked 
 
RAMONA 79 
 
 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 a mechanical way, and began, 
 " But " Felipe, seeing that questions were to fol 
 low, interrupted her : " I have just spoken with her. 
 It is impossible for her to come; " and turning to 
 Father Salvierderra, he at once engaged him in con 
 versation, and left the baffled Senora to bear her un 
 satisfied curiosity 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. 
 Seeing him under her window, she had called 
 cautiously to him, and said : " Dear Felipe, do you 
 think you can save me from having to come to sup 
 per? A dreadful accident has happened to the altar- 
 cloth, and I must mend it and wash it, and there is 
 barely time before dark. Don't let them call me ; I 
 shall be down at the brook, and they will not find me, 
 and your mother will be displeased." 
 
 This wise precaution of Ramona's was the salva 
 tion of everything, so far as the altar-cloth was con 
 cerned. The rents had proved far less serious than 
 she had feared ; the daylight held out till the last of 
 them was skilfully mended ; and just as the red 
 beams of the sinking sun came streaming through 
 the willow-trees at the foot of the garden, Ramona, 
 darting down the garden, had reached the brook, and 
 
8o RAMONA 
 
 kneeling on the grass, had dipped the linen into the 
 water. 
 
 Her hurried working over the lace, and her anxiety, 
 had made her cheeks scarlet. As she ran down the 
 garden, her comb had loosened and her hair fallen to 
 her waist. Stopping only to pick up the comb and 
 thrust it in her pocket, she had sped on, as it would 
 soon be too dark for her to see the stains on the linen, 
 and it was going to be no small trouble to get them 
 out without fraying the lace. 
 
 Her hair in disorder, her sleeves pinned loosely on 
 her shoulders, her whole face aglow with the earnest 
 ness of her task, she bent low over the stones, rinsing 
 the altar-cloth up and down in the water, anxiously 
 scanning it, then plunging it in again. 
 
 The sunset beams played around her hair like a 
 halo; the whole place was aglow with red light, 
 and her face was kindled into transcendent beauty. 
 A sound arrested her attention. She looked up. 
 Forms, dusky black against the fiery western sky, 
 were coming down the valley. It was the band of 
 Indian shearers. They turned to the left, and went 
 towards the sheep sheds and booths. But there was 
 one of them that Ramona did not see. He had been 
 standing for some minutes concealed behind a large 
 willow-tree a few rods from the place where Ramona 
 was kneeling. It was Alessandro, son of Pablo Assis, 
 captain of the shearing band. Walking slowly along 
 in advance of his men, he had felt a light, as from a 
 mirror held in the sun, smite his eyes. It was the 
 
RAMONA 81 
 
 red sunbeam on* the glittering 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 his disappearance. 
 Cautiously he moved a few steps nearer, into the 
 shelter of a gnarled old willow, from behind which he 
 could gaze unperceived on the beautiful vision, 
 for so it seemed to him. 
 
 As he gazed, his senses seemed leaving him, and 
 unconsciously he spoke aloud : " Christ ! What shall 
 I do ! " 
 
 . O 
 
V 
 
 room in which Father Salvierderra always 
 slept when at the Senora Moreno's house was 
 the southeast corner room. It had a window to the 
 south 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 on watch 
 for it, having usually been at prayer for hours. As 
 the first ray reached the window, he would throw the 
 casement wide open, and standing there with bared 
 head, strike up the melody of the sunrise hymn sung 
 in all devout Mexican families. It was a beautiful 
 custom, not yet wholly abandoned. At the first 
 
PLATE V 
 
 THE BACK OF THE HOUSE. (CAMULOS) 
 
 . . . Antagonism deepened on the Senora's fast aging face. 
 
 It gave her unspeakable satisfaction when the Commissioners lay 
 ing out a road down the valley, ran it at the back of her house instead 
 of past the front. "It is well," she said. "Let their travel be where 
 it belongs, behind our kitchens." . . . Her enjoyment of this never 
 flagged. ... It gave her a distinct thrill of pleasure to think that 
 the house turned its back on them. Page 24, Vol. I. 
 
RAMONA 83 
 
 dawn of light, the oldest member of the family 
 arose, and began singing some hymn familiar to the 
 household. It was the duty of each person hearing 
 it to immediately rise, or at least sit up in bed, and 
 join in the singing. In a few moments the whole 
 family would be singing, and the joyous sounds 
 pouring out from the house like the music of the 
 birds in the fields at dawn. The hymns were usually 
 invocations to the Virgin, or to the saint of the day, 
 and the melodies were sweet and simple. 
 
 On this morning there was another watcher for 
 the dawn besides Father Salvierderra. It was Ales- 
 sandro, who had been restlessly wandering about 
 since midnight, and had finally seated himself under 
 the willow-trees by the brook, at the spot where he 
 had seen Ramona the evening before. He recol 
 lected this custom of the sunrise hymn when he and 
 his band were at the Senora's the last year, and he 
 had chanced then to learn that the Father slept in 
 the southeast room. From the spot where he sat, he 
 could see the south window of this room. He could 
 also see the low eastern horizon, at which a faint 
 luminous line already showed. The sky was like 
 amber; a few stars still shone faintly in the zenith. 
 There was not a sound. It was one of those rare 
 moments in which one can without difficulty realize 
 the noiseless spinning of the earth through space. 
 Alessandro knew nothing of this ; he could not have 
 been made to believe that the earth was moving. 
 He thought the sun was coming up apace, and the 
 
84 RAMONA 
 
 earth was standing still, a belief just as grand, just 
 as thrilling, so far as all that goes, as the other : men 
 worshipped the sun long before they found out that 
 it stood still. Not the most reverent astronomer, 
 with the mathematics of the heavens at his tongue's 
 end, could have had more delight in the wondrous 
 phenomenon of the dawn, than did this simple- 
 minded, unlearned man. 
 
 His eyes wandered from the horizon line of slowly 
 increasing light, to the 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 side of the house? Who can she be? She 
 was not here last year. Saw the saints ever so beau 
 tiful a creature ! " 
 
 At last came the full red ray across the meadow. 
 Alessandro sprang to his feet. In the next second 
 Father Salvierderra flung up his south window, and 
 leaning out, his cowl thrown off, his thin gray locks 
 streaming back, began in a feeble but not unmelodi- 
 ous voice to sing, 
 
 " O beautiful Queen, 
 Princess of Heaven." 
 
 Before he had finished the second line, a half-dozen 
 voices had joined in, the Senora, from her room at 
 the west end of the veranda, beyond the flowers ; 
 Felipe, from the adjoining room ; Ramona, from 
 hers, the next; and Margarita and other of the 
 maids already astir in the wings of the house. 
 
RAMONA 85 
 
 As the volume of melody swelled, the canaries 
 waked, and the finches and the linnets in the veranda 
 roof. The tiles of this roof were laid on bundles of 
 tule reeds, in which the linnets delighted to build 
 their nests. The roof was alive with them, scores 
 and scores, nay hundreds, tame as chickens; their 
 tiny shrill twitter was like the tuning 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's voices joined in, Juan and 
 Luigo, and a dozen more, walking slowly up from 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 been the leader of the choir at the 
 San Luis Rey Mission in the last years of its splen 
 dor, 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 not 
 only sang well, but was a good player on the violia 
 
86 RAMONA 
 
 There was not at any of the Missions so fine a band 
 of performers on stringed instruments as at San Luis 
 Rey. Father Peyri was passionately fond of music, 
 and spared no pains in training all of the neophytes 
 under his charge who showed any special talent in 
 that direction. Chief Pablo, after the breaking up of 
 the Mission, had settled at Temecula, with a small 
 band of his Indians, and endeavored, so far as was in 
 his power, to keep up the old religious services. 
 The music in the little chapel of the Temecula 
 Indians was a surprise to all who heard it. 
 
 Alessandro had inherited his father's love and 
 talent for music, and knew 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 verse rising, he could not forbear strik 
 ing in. 
 
 At the first notes of this rich new voice, Ramona's 
 voice ceased in surprise ; and, throwing up her win 
 dow, she leaned out, eagerly looking in all directions 
 to see who it could be. Alessandro saw her, and 
 sang no more. 
 
 "What could it have been? Did I dream it?" 
 thought Ramona, drew in her head, and began to 
 sing again. 
 
 With the next stanza of the chorus, the same rich 
 barytone notes. They seemed to float in under al! 
 
RAMONA 87 
 
 the rest, and bear them along, as a great wave bears 
 a boat. Ramona had never heard such a voice. 
 Felipe had a good tenor, and she liked to sing 
 with him, or to hear him ; but this this was from 
 another world, this sound. Ramona felt every note 
 of it penetrating her consciousness with a subtle 
 thrill almost like pain. When the hymn ended, she 
 listened eagerly, hoping Father Salvierderra would 
 strike up a second hymn, as he often did; but he 
 did not this morning; there was too much to be 
 done; everybody was in a hurry to be at work: 
 windows shut, doors opened; the sounds of voices 
 from all directions, ordering, questioning, answering, 
 began to be heard. The sun rose and let a flood of 
 work-a-day light on the whole place. 
 
 Margarita ran and unlocked the chapel door, put 
 ting up a heartfelt thanksgiving to Saint Francis and 
 the Senorita, as she saw the snowy altar-cloth in its 
 place, looking, from that distance at least, as good 
 as new. 
 
 The Indians and the shepherds, and laborers of all 
 sorts, were coming towards the chapel. The Senora, 
 with her best black silk handkerchief bound tight 
 around her forehead, the ends hanging down each 
 side of her face, making her look like an Assyrian 
 priestess, was descending the veranda steps, Felipe 
 at her side; and Father Salvierderra had already 
 entered the chapel before Ramona appeared, or Ales- 
 sandro stirred from his vantage-post of observation 
 at the willows. 
 
88 RAMONA 
 
 When Ramona came out from the door she bore 
 in her hands a high silver urn filled with ferns. She 
 had been for many days gathering and hoarding 
 these. They were hard to find, growing only in one 
 place in a rocky canon, several miles away. 
 
 As she stepped from the veranda to the ground, 
 Alessandro walked slowly up the garden-walk, facing 
 her. She met his eyes, and, without knowing why, 
 thought, " That must be the Indian who sang." As 
 she turned to the right and entered the chapel, 
 Alessandro followed her hurriedly, and knelt on the 
 stones close to the chapel door. He would be near 
 when she came 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 in front 
 of the altar. Felipe turned towards her, smiling 
 slightly, with a look as of secret intelligence. 
 
 " Ah, Senor Felipe has married. She is his wife/* 
 thought Alessandro, and a strange pain seized him. 
 He did not analyze it ; hardly knew what it meant. 
 He was only twenty-one. He had not thought much 
 about women. He was 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 like white men. If the Fathers 
 could have stayed, and the life at the Mission have 
 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-hand man at the Mis- 
 
RAMONA 89 
 
 sion; had kept all the accounts about the cattle; 
 paid the wages; handled thousands of dollars of 
 gold every month. But that was " in the time of 
 the king ; " it was very different now. The Ameri 
 cans would 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 teaching Alessandro all he knew him 
 self. Pablo was, for one of his race, wise and far- 
 seeing. He perceived the danger threatening his 
 people on all sides. Father Peyri, before he left the 
 country, had said to him : " Pablo, your people will 
 be driven like sheep to the slaughter, unless you 
 keep them together. Knit firm bonds between them ; 
 band them into pueblos; make them work; and 
 above all, keep peace with the whites. It is your 
 only chance." 
 
 Most strenuously Pablo had striven to obey Father 
 Peyri's directions. He had set his people the ex 
 ample of constant industry, working steadily in his 
 fields and caring well for his herds. He had built 
 a chapel in his little village, and kept up forms of 
 religious service there. Whenever there were troubles 
 with the whites, or rumors of them, he went from 
 house to house, urging, persuading, commanding his 
 people to keep the peace. At one time when there 
 was an insurrection of some of the Indian tribes 
 farther south, and for a few days it looked as ii 
 there would be a general Indian war, he removed 
 
9 o RAMONA 
 
 the greater part of his band, men, women, and chil 
 dren driving their flocks and herds with them, to 
 Los Angeles, and camped there for several days, 
 that they might be identified with the whites in 
 case hostilities became serious. 
 
 But his labors did not receive the reward that they 
 deserved. With every day that the intercourse be 
 tween his people and the whites increased, he saw 
 the whites gaining, his people surely losing ground, 
 and his anxieties deepened. The Mexican owner 
 of the Temecula valley, a friend of Father Peyri's, 
 and a good friend also of Pablo's, had returned to 
 Mexico in disgust with the state of affairs in Califor 
 nia, and was reported 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 the promise was given, it was all that 
 was necessary. The lines marking off the Indians' 
 lands were surveyed, and put on the map of the 
 estate. No Mexican proprietor ever broke faith with 
 an Indian family or village thus placed on his lands. 
 
 But Pablo had heard rumors, which greatly dis 
 quieted him, that such pledges and surveyed lines 
 as these were coming to be held as of no value, not 
 binding on purchasers of grants. He was intelligent 
 enough to see that if this were so, he and his people 
 were ruined. All these perplexities and fears he con 
 fided to Alessandro ; long anxious hours the father 
 and son spent together, walking back and forth in 
 
RAMONA 91 
 
 the village, or sitting in front of their little adobe 
 house, discussing what could be done. 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 igno 
 rant and thoughtless young men and women of his 
 village, a cold and distant lad. He was made old 
 before his time. He was carrying in his heart bur 
 dens of which they knew nothing. So long as the 
 wheat-fields came up well, and there was no drought, 
 and the horses and sheep had good pasture, in plenty, 
 on the hills, the Temecula people could be merry, 
 go day by day to their easy work, play games at sun 
 set, and sleep sound all night. But Alessandro and 
 his father looked beyond. And this was the one 
 great reason why Alessandro had not yet thought 
 about women, in way of love ; this, and also the fact 
 that even the little education he had received was 
 sufficient to raise a slight barrier, of which he was 
 unconsciously aware, between him and the maidens 
 of the village. If a quick, warm fancy for any one 
 of them ever stirred in his veins, he found himself 
 soon, he knew not how, cured of it. For a dance, 
 or a game, or a friendly chat, for the trips into the 
 mountains after acorns, or to .the marshes for grasses 
 and reeds, he was their good comrade, and they 
 were his; but never had the desire to take one of 
 them for his wife, entered into Alessandro's mind. 
 The vista of the future, for him, was filled full by 
 thoughts which left no room for love's dreaming; 
 
9 2 RAMONA 
 
 one purpose and one 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 ruin 
 were in store for them all. 
 
 It was of these things he had been thinking as he 
 walked alone, in advance of his men, on the previous 
 night, when he first saw Ramona kneeling at the 
 brook. Between that moment and the present, it 
 seemed to Alessandro that some strange miracle 
 must have happened to him. The purposes and the 
 fears had alike gone. A face replaced them ; a vague 
 wonder, pain, joy, he knew not what, filled him so 
 to overflowing that he 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 sensa 
 tions at leisure. But he was not a civilized man ; he 
 had to bring to bear on his present situation only 
 simple, primitive, uneducated instincts and impulses. 
 If Ramona had been a maiden of his own people or 
 race, he would have drawn near to her as quickly as 
 iron to the magnet. But now, if he had gone so far 
 as to even think of her in such a way, she would 
 have been, to his view, as far removed from him as 
 was the morning star beneath whose radiance he had 
 that 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 have been impos 
 sible. He only knelt on the stones outside the chapel 
 door, mechanically repeating the prayers with the 
 
RAMONA 93 
 
 rest, waiting for her to reappear. He had no doubt, 
 now, that she was Senor Felipe's wife ; all the same 
 he wished to kneel there till she came out, that he 
 might see her face again. His vista of purpose, fear, 
 hope, had narrowed now down to that, just one 
 more sight of her. Ever so civilized, he could hardly 
 have worshipped a woman better. The mass seemed 
 to him endlessly long. Until near the last, he forgot 
 to sing; then, in the closing of the final hymn, he 
 suddenly remembered, and the clear deep-toned voice 
 pealed out, as before, like the undertone of a great 
 sea-wave, sweeping along. 
 
 Ramona heard the first note, and felt again the 
 same thrill. She was as much a musician born as 
 Alessandro himself. As she rose from her knees, 
 she whispered to Felipe : " Felipe, do find out which 
 one of the Indians it is has that superb voice. I 
 never heard anything like it." 
 
 "Oh, that is Alessandro," replied Felipe, "old 
 Pablo's son. He is a splendid 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, he was here. They made him 
 captain of the shearing-band, though he was only 
 twenty, and he managed the men splendidly. They 
 saved nearly all their money to carry home, and I 
 never knew them do such a thing before. Father 
 Salvierderra was here, which might have had some 
 thing to do with it; but I think it was quite as much 
 
94 RAMONA 
 
 Alessandro. He plays the violin beautifully. I hope 
 he has brought it along. He plays the old San Luis 
 Rey music. His father was band-master there." 
 
 Ramona's eyes kindled with pleasure. " Does 
 your mother like it, to have him play?" she asked. 
 
 Felipe nodded. " We '11 have him up on the 
 veranda to-night," 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. Alessan 
 dro lingered at the doorway as long as he dared, till 
 he was sharply called by Juan Canito, looking back : 
 "What are you gaping at there, you Alessandro? 
 Hurry, now, and get your men to work. After wait 
 ing till near midsummer for this shearing, we '11 
 make as quick work of it as we can. Have you 
 got your best shearers here ? " 
 
 "Ay, that I have," answered Alessandro; " not a 
 man of them but can shear his hundred in a day. 
 There is not such a band as ours in all San Diego 
 County ; and we don't turn out the sheep all bleed 
 ing, either; you '11 see scarce a scratch on their 
 sides." 
 
 " Humph ! " retorted Juan Can. " 'T is a poor 
 shearer, indeed, that draws blood to speak of. I Ve 
 sheared many a thousand sheep in my day, and 
 never a red stain on the shears. But the Mexicans 
 have always been famed for good shearers." 
 
 Juan's invidious emphasis on the word " Mexicans " 
 did not escape Alessandro. " And we Indians also," 
 
RAMONA 95 
 
 he answered good-naturedly, betraying no annoy 
 ance ; " but as for these Americans, I saw one at 
 work the other day, that man Lomax, who has set 
 tled near Temecula, and upon my faith, 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 to this easy assumption, on 
 Alessandro's part, of the equal superiority of Indians 
 and Mexicans in the sheep-shearing art; so, much 
 vexed, with another " Humph ! " he walked away ; 
 walked away so fast, that he lost the sight of a smile 
 on Alessandro's face, which would have vexed him 
 still farther. 
 
 At the sheep-shearing sheds and pens all was stir 
 and bustle. The shearing shed was a huge carica 
 ture of a summer-house, a long, narrow structure, 
 sixty feet long by twenty or thirty wide, all roof and 
 pillars ; no walls ; the supports, slender rough posts 
 as far apart as was safe, for the upholding the roof, 
 which was of rough planks loosely laid from beam 
 to beam. On three sides of this were the sheep- 
 pens filled with sheep and lambs. 
 
 A few rods away stood the booths in which the 
 shearers' food was to be cooked and the shearers fed. 
 These were mere temporary affairs, roofed only by 
 willow boughs with the leaves left on. Near these, 
 the Indians had already arranged their camp ; a hut 
 or two of green boughs had been built, but for the 
 most part they would sleep rolled up in theif 
 
96 RAMONA 
 
 blankets, on the ground. There was a brisk wind, 
 and the gay-colored wings of the windmill blew 
 furiously round and round, pumping out into the 
 tank below a stream of water so swift and strong, 
 that as the men crowded around, wetting and sharp 
 ening their knives, they got well spattered, and had 
 much merriment, pushing and elbowing each other 
 into the spray. 
 
 A high four-posted frame stood close to the shed ; 
 in this, swung from the four corners, hung one of the 
 great sacking bags in which the fleeces were to be 
 packed. A big pile of these bags lay on the ground 
 at foot of the posts. Juan Can eyed them with a 
 chuckle. " We '11 fill more than those before night, 
 Senor Felipe," he said. He was in his element, Juan 
 Can, at shearing times. Then came his reward for 
 the somewhat monotonous and stupid year's work. 
 The world held no better feast for his 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 sub 
 stantial," he thought ; " no chance of wool going 
 amiss in market ! " 
 
 If a year's crop were good, Juan's happiness was 
 assured for the next six months. If it proved poor, 
 he turned devout immediately, and spent the next 
 six months calling on the saints for better luck, and 
 redoubling his exertions with the sheep. 
 
 On one of the posts of the shed short project 
 ing slats were nailed, like half-rounds of a ladder. 
 
RAMONA 
 
 97 
 
 Lightly as a rope-walker Felipe ran up these, to the 
 roof, and took his stand there, ready to take the 
 fleeces and pack 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 with 
 five-cent pieces, took his stand in the ^centre of the 
 shed. The thirty shearers, running into the nearest 
 pen, dragged each his sheep into the shed, in a 
 twinkling of an eye had the creature between his 
 knees, helpless, immovable, and the sharp sound of 
 the shears set in. The sheep-shearing had begun. 
 No rest now. Not a second's silence from the bleat 
 ing, baa-ing, opening and shutting, clicking, sharpen 
 ing of shears, flying of fleeces through the air to the 
 roof, pressing and stamping them down in the bales ; 
 not a second's intermission, except the hour of rest 
 at noon, from sunrise till sunset, till the whole eight 
 thousand of the Senora Moreno's sheep were shorn. 
 It was a dramatic spectacle. As soon as a sheep was 
 shorn, the shearer ran with the fleece in his hand 
 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, and in less than five 
 minutes was back again with a second fleece. The 
 shorn sheep, released, bounded off into another pen, 
 where, light in the head no doubt from being three 
 to five pounds lighter on their legs, they trotted 
 round bewilderedly for a moment, then flung up 
 their heels and capered for joy. 
 
 It was warm work. The dust from the fleeces and 
 VOL. i. 7 
 
9 8 RAMONA 
 
 the trampling feet filled the air. As the sun rose 
 higher in the sky the sweat poured off the men's 
 faces; and Felipe, standing without shelter on the 
 roof, found out very soon that he had by no means 
 yet got back his full strength since the fever. Long 
 before noon, ^ except for sheer pride, and for the 
 recollection of Juan Canito's speech, he would have 
 come down and yielded 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 throb 
 bing. After the bag of fleeces is half full, the packer 
 stands in it, jumping with his full weight on the wool, 
 as he throws in the fleeces, to compress them as 
 much as possible. When Felipe began to do this, 
 he found that he had indeed overrated his strength. 
 As the first cloud of the sickening dust came up, 
 enveloping his head, choking his breath, he turned 
 suddenly dizzy, and calling faintly, " Juan, I am ill," 
 sank helpless down in the wool. He had fainted. 
 At Juan Canito's scream of dismay, a great hubbub 
 and outcry arose; all saw instantly what had hap 
 pened. Felipe's head was hanging limp over the 
 edge of the bag, Juan in vain endeavoring to get 
 sufficient foothold by his side to lift him. One after 
 another the men rushed up the ladder, until they 
 were all standing, a helpless, excited crowd, on the 
 roof, one proposing one thing, one another. Only 
 Luigo had had the presence of mind to run to the 
 house for help. The Senora was away from home. 
 She had gone with Father Salvierderra to a friend's 
 
RAMONA 99 
 
 house, a half-day's journey off. But Ramona was 
 there. Snatching all she could think of in way of 
 restoratives, she came flying back with Luigo, fol 
 lowed by every servant of the establishment, all 
 talking, groaning, gesticulating, suggesting, wring 
 ing their hands, as disheartening a Babel as ever 
 made bad matters worse. 
 
 Reaching the shed, Ramona looked up to the roof 
 bewildered. "Where is he?" she cried. The next 
 instant she saw his head, held in Juan Canito's arms, 
 just above the edge of the wool-bag. She groaned, 
 " Oh, how will he ever be lifted out ! " 
 
 " I will lift him, Senora," cried Alessandro, coming 
 to the front. " I am very strong. Do not be afraid ; 
 I will bring him safe down." And swinging himself 
 down the ladder, he ran swiftly to the camp, and 
 returned, bringing in his hands blankets. Spring 
 ing quickly to the roof again, he knotted the blankets 
 firmly together, and tying them at the middle around 
 his waist, threw the ends to his men, telling them to 
 hold him firm. He spoke in the Indian tongue as he 
 was hurriedly doing this, and Ramona did not at first 
 understand his plan. But when she saw the Indians 
 move a little back from the edge of the roof, holding 
 the blankets firm grasped, while Alessandro stepped 
 out on one of the narrow cross-beams from which the 
 bag swung, she saw what he meant to do. She held 
 her breath. Felipe was a slender man ; Alessandro 
 was much heavier, and many inches taller. Still, 
 could any man carry such a burden safely on that 
 
ioo RAMONA 
 
 narrow beam ! Ramona looked away, and shut her 
 eyes, through the silence which followed. It was 
 only a few moments ; but it seemed an eternity be 
 fore a glad murmur of voices told her that it was 
 done, and looking up, she saw Felipe lying on the 
 roof, unconscious, his face white, 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 under Felipe's shirt. " He is not 
 dead. It is only a faint." 
 
 At this the first tears rolled down Ramona' s face. 
 She looked piteously at the ladder up and down 
 which she had seen Alessandro run as if it were an 
 easy indoors staircase. " If I could only get up 
 there ! " she said, looking from one to another. " I 
 think I can ; " and she put one foot on the lower 
 round. 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! " cried Juan Can, seeing her move 
 ment. " Senorita ! Senorita ! do not attempt it. It 
 is not too easy for a man. You will break your neck. 
 He is fast coming to his senses." 
 
 Alessandro caught the words. Spite of all the 
 confusion and terror of the scene, his heart heard the 
 word, " Senorita." Ramona was not the wife of Felipe, 
 or of any man. Yet Alessandro recollected that he 
 had addressed her as Senora, and she did not seem 
 
RAMONA 101 
 
 surprised. Coming to the front of the group he said, 
 bending forward, " Senorita ! " There must have been 
 something in the tone which made Ramona start. 
 The simple word could not have done it. " Senorita," 
 said Alessandro, " it will be nothing to bring Senor 
 Felipe down the ladder. He is, in my arms, no more 
 than one of the lambs yonder. I will bring him down 
 as soon as he is recovered. He is better here till then. 
 He will very soon be himself again. It was only the 
 heat." Seeing that the expression of anxious distress 
 did not grow less on Ramona's face, he continued, in 
 a tone still more earnest, " Will not the Senorita trust 
 me to bring him safe down ? " 
 
 Ramona smiled faintly through her tears. " Yes," 
 she said, " I will trust you. 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's sheep-shearing this 
 year. One as superstitiously prejudiced against Ro 
 man Catholic rule as she was in favor of it, would 
 have found, in the way things fell out, ample reason 
 for a belief that the Senora was being punished for 
 having let all the affairs of her place come to a 
 stand-still, to await the coming of an old monk. 
 But the pious Senora, looking at the other side of 
 the shield, was filled with gratitude that, since all this 
 ill luck was to befall her, she had the good Father 
 Salvierderra at her side to give her comfort and 
 counsel. 
 
RAMONA 103 
 
 ft was not yet quite noon of the first day, when 
 Felipe fainted and fell in the wool ; and it was only 
 a little past noon of the third, when Juan Canito, 
 who, not without some secret exultation, had taken 
 Senor Felipe'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's bones 
 were much too old for fresh knitting. He would 
 never again be able to do more than hobble about on 
 crutches, dragging along the useless leg. It was a 
 cruel blow to the old man. He could not be resigned 
 to it. He lost faith in his saints, and privately in 
 dulged in blasphemous beratings and reproaches of 
 them, which would have filled the Senora with terror, 
 had she known that such blasphemies were being com 
 mitted under her roof. 
 
 " As many times as I have crossed that plank, 
 in my day ! " cried Juan ; " only the fiends them 
 selves could have made me trip ; and there was that 
 whole box of candles I paid for with my own money 
 last month, and burned to Saint Francis in the chapel 
 for this very sheep-shearing ! He may sit in the 
 dark, for all me, to the end of time ! He is no saint 
 at all ! What are they for, if not to keep us from 
 harm when we. pray to them? I'll pray no more. 
 I believe the Americans are right, who laugh at us." 
 From morning till night, and nearly from night till 
 morning, for the leg ached so he slept little, poor 
 Juan groaned and grumbled and swore, and swore 
 and grumbled and groaned. Taking care of him was 
 
io 4 RAMONA 
 
 enough, Margarita said, to wear out the patience 
 of the Madonna herself. There was no pleasing 
 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 fiends had pushed him 
 off the plank, and that the saints had had their 
 reasons for leaving him to his fate. A coldness and 
 suspicion gradually grew up in the minds of all the 
 servants towards him. His own reckless language, 
 combined with Margarita's reports, gave the super 
 stitious fair ground for believing that something had 
 gone mysteriously wrong, and that the Devil was 
 in a fair way to get his soul, which was very hard 
 for the old man, in addition to all the rest he had 
 to bear. The only alleviation he had for his tor 
 ments, was in having his fellow-servants, men and 
 women, drop in, sit by his pallet, and chat with 
 him, telling him all that was going on; and when 
 by degrees they dropped off, coming more and more 
 seldom, and one by one leaving off coming alto 
 gether, it was the one drop that overflowed his cup 
 of misery; and he turned his face to the wall, left 
 off grumbling, and spoke only when he must. 
 
 This phase frightened Margarita even more than 
 the first. Now, she thought, surely the dumb terror 
 and remorse of one who belongs to the Devil had 
 seized him, and her hands trembled as she went 
 through the needful ministrations for him each day. 
 Three months, at least, the doctor, who had come 
 from Ventura to set the leg, had said he must lie 
 
RAMONA 105 
 
 still in bed and be thus tended. " Three months ! " 
 sighed Margarita. " If I be not dead or gone crazy 
 myself before the end o that be come ! " 
 
 The Senora was too busy with Felipe to pay 
 attention or to give thought to Juan. Felipe's faint 
 ing had been the symptom and beginning of a fierce 
 relapse of the fever, and he was lying in his bed, 
 tossing and raving in delirium, always about the 
 wool. 
 
 " Throw them faster, faster ! That 's a good 
 fleece; five pounds more; a round ton in those 
 bales. Juan! Alessandro ! Capitan ! Jesus, how 
 this sun burns my head ! " 
 
 Several times he had called " Alessandro " so 
 earnestly, that Father Salvierderra advised bringing 
 Alessandro into the room, to see if by'any chance 
 there might have been something in his mind that 
 he wished to say to him. But when Alessandro 
 stood by the bedside, Felipe gazed at him 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 out Ramona. " He was telling 
 me how beautifully Alessandro played, and said he 
 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 Atessandro, "I did 
 not bring it." 
 
106 RAMONA 
 
 " Perhaps it would do him good if you were to 
 sing, then," said Ramona. " He was speak'ing of 
 your voice also." * 
 
 " Oh, try, try ! " said the Senora, turning to Ales- 
 sandro. " Sing something low and soft." 
 
 Alessandro walked from the bed to the open win 
 dow, and after thinking for a moment, began a slow 
 strain from one of the masses. 
 
 At the first note, Felipe became suddenly quiet, 
 evidently listening. An expression of pleasure spread 
 over his feverish face. He turned his head to one 
 side, put his hand under his cheek and closed his 
 eyes. The three watching 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 a second ; then lifting it, she gazed at 
 Alessandro as if she were praying to 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. As they ceased, 
 Felipe opened his eyes. 
 
 " Oh, go on, go on ! " the Senora implored in a 
 whisper shrill with anxiety. " Do not stop ! " 
 
 Alessandro repeated the strain, slow, solemn; his 
 voice trembled ; the air in the room seemed stifling, 
 spite of the open windows; he felt something like 
 
RAMONA 107 
 
 terror, as he saw Felipe evidently sinking to sleep 
 by reason of the notes of his voice. There had been 
 nothing in Alessandro's healthy outdoor experience 
 to enable him to understand such a phenomenon. 
 Felipe breathed more and more slowly, softly, regu 
 larly; 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, and remained standing by the window. 
 Father Salvierderra was kneeling on one side of the 
 bed, the Senora at the other, Ramona at the foot, 
 all praying; the silence was so great that the slight 
 sounds of the rosary beads 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 side a picture of Santa Barbara. Candles 
 were burning before each. The long wicks smoul 
 dered and died down, sputtering, then flared up 
 again as the ends fell into the melted wax. The 
 Senora's eyes were fixed on the Madonna. The 
 Father's were closed. Ramona gazed at Felipe with 
 tears streaming down her face as she mechanically 
 told her beads. 
 
 " She is his betrothed, no doubt," thought Ales 
 sandro. " The saints will not let him die ; " and 
 Alessandro also prayed. But the oppression of the 
 scene was too much for him. Laying his hand on 
 
io8 <RAMON A 
 
 the low window-sill, he vaulted 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 he awakes." 
 
 Once in the open air, he drew a long breath, and 
 gazed bewilderedly about him, like one just recover 
 ing consciousness after a faint. Then he threw him 
 self on the ground under the window, and lay looking 
 up into the sky. Capitan came up, and with a low 
 whine stretched himself out at full length by his side. 
 The dog knew as well as any other one of the house 
 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 Senora had not 
 changed their attitudes; their lips were yet moving 
 in prayer. But Ramona had yielded to her fatigue ; 
 slipped from her knees into a sitting posture, with 
 her head leaning against the post of the bedstead, 
 and fallen asleep. Her face was swollen and dis 
 colored by weeping, and heavy circles under her 
 eyes told how tired she was. For three days and 
 nights she had scarcely rested, so constant were the 
 demands on her. Between Felipe's illness and Juan 
 Can's, there was not a moment without something to 
 be done, or some perplexing question to be settled, 
 and above all, and through all, the terrible sorrow. 
 Ramona was broken down with grief at the thought 
 of Felipe's death. She had never known till she saw 
 him lying there delirious, and as she in her inexperi- 
 
PLATE VI 
 
 THE INNER COURT. (CAMULOS) 
 
 These verandas, especially those on the inner court, were supple 
 mentary rooms to the house. The greater part of the family life 
 went on in them. Nobody stayed inside the walls, except when it 
 was necessary. . . . Babies slept, were washed, sat in the dirt, and 
 played, on the veranda. The women said their prayers, took their 
 naps, and wove their lace there. . . . There the young made love, 
 and the old dozed. Page 26, Vol. I. 
 
 The house was of adobe, low, with a wide veranda on the three 
 sides of the inner court. . . . Page 26, Vol. I. 
 
RAMONA 109 
 
 ence thought, dying, how her whole life was entwined 
 with his. But now, at the very thought of what it 
 would be to live without him, her heart sickened. 
 "When he is buried, I will ask Father Salvierderra 
 to take me away. I never can live here alone," she 
 said to herself, never for a moment perceiving that 
 the word " alone" was a strange one to have come 
 into her mind in the connection. The thought of 
 the Senora did not enter into her imaginations of 
 the future which so smote her with terror. In the 
 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's eyes she 
 had not looked beautiful now ; but to Alessandro 
 she looked more beautiful than the picture of Santa 
 Barbara on the wall beyond. With a lover's instinct 
 he knew the thoughts which had written such lines 
 on 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." And Alessandro threw 
 himself on the ground again, his face down. He 
 did not know whether it were an hour or a day 
 that he had lain there, when he heard Father 
 Salvierderra's voice speaking his name. He sprang 
 up, to see 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 
 has broken out on his skin ; he still sleeps, but 
 when he wakes he will be in his right mind. The 
 
no RAMONA 
 
 strength of the fever is broken. But, Alessandro, 
 we know not how to spare you. Can you not let 
 the men go without you, and remain here? The 
 Senora would like to have you remain in Juan Can's 
 place till he is about. She will give you the same 
 wages he had. Would it not be a good thing for 
 you, Alessandro? You cannot be sure of earning 
 so much as that for the next three months, can 
 you?" 
 
 While the Father was speaking, a tumult had 
 been going on in Alessandro's breast. He did not 
 know by name any of the impulses which were 
 warring there, tearing him in twain, as it were, by 
 their pulling in opposite directions; one saying 
 " Stay ! " and the other saying " Go ! " He would 
 not have known what any one meant, who had said 
 to him, "It is danger to stay; it is safety to fly." 
 All the same, he felt as if he could do neither. 
 
 " There is another shearing yet, Father," he 
 began, " at the Ortega's ranch. I had promised to 
 go to them as soon as I had finished here, and they 
 have been wroth enough with us for the delay 
 already. It will not do 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 win 
 dow, and leaning out, whispered, " Are you talking 
 about Alessandro's staying? Let me come and talk 
 
RAMONA in 
 
 to him. He must not go." And running swiftly 
 through the hall, across the veranda, and down the 
 steps, she stood by Alessandro's side in a moment. 
 Looking up in his face pleadingly, she said : " We 
 can't let you go, Alessandro. The Sefiora will pay 
 wages to some other to go in your place with the 
 shearers. We want you to stay here in Juan Can's 
 place till he is well. Don't say you can't stay ! 
 Felipe may need you to sing again, and what would 
 we do then? Can't you stay ? " 
 
 " Yes, I can stay, Senorita," answered Alessandro, 
 gravely. " I will stay so long as you need me." 
 
 " Oh, thank you, Alessandro ! " Ramona cried. 
 "You are good, to stay. The Senora will see that 
 it is no loss to you ; " and she flew back to the 
 house. 
 
 " It is not for the wages, Senorita," Alessandro be 
 gan ; but Ramona was gone. She did not hear him, 
 and he turned away with a sense of humiliation. " I 
 don't want the Senorita to think that it was the money 
 kept me," he said, turning to Father Salvierderra. 
 " I would not leave the band for money ; it is to help, 
 because they are in trouble, Father." 
 
 " Yes, yes, son. I understand that," replied the 
 monk, who had known Alessandro since he was a 
 little fellow playing in the corridors of San Luis Rey, 
 the pet of all the Brothers there. "That is quite 
 right of you, and the Senora will not be insensible 
 of it. It is not for such things that money can pay. 
 They are indeed in great trouble now, and only the 
 
H2 RAMONA 
 
 two women in the house ; and I must soon be going 
 on my way North again." 
 
 " Is it sure that Senor Felipe will get well? " asked 
 Alessandro. 
 
 " I think so," replied Father Salvierderra. " These 
 relapses are always worse than the first attack ; but 
 I have never known one to die, after he had the 
 natural sweat to break from the skin, and got good 
 sleep. I doubt not he will be in his bed, though, for 
 many days, and there will be 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 most rebellious frame of mind, and blasphemes 
 impiously." 
 
 " That does he ! " said Alessandro. " He swears 
 the saints gave him over to the fiends to push him 
 off the plank, and he '11 have none of them from this 
 out ! I told him to beware, or they might bring him 
 to worse things yet if he did not mend his speech of 
 them." 
 
 Sighing deeply as they walked along, the monk 
 said : " It is but a sign of the times. Blasphemers are 
 on the highway. The people are being corrupted. 
 Keeps your father the worship in the chapel still, 
 and does a priest 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 the chapel open, 
 and each Sunday we sing what we know of the mass ; 
 and the people are often there praying." 
 
RAMONA 113 
 
 " Ay, ay ! Ever for money ! " groaned Father 
 Salvierderra, not heeding the latter part of the 
 sentence. " Ever for money ! It is a shame. But 
 that it were sure to be held as a trespass, I would 
 go myself to Temecula once in three months; 
 but I may not. The priests do not love our 
 order." 
 
 " Oh, if you could, Father," exclaimed Alessandro, 
 " it would make my father very glad ! He speaks 
 often to me of the difference he sees between the 
 words of the Church now and in the days of the 
 Mission. He is very sad, Father, and in great fear 
 about our village. They say the Americans, when 
 they buy the Mexicans' lands, drive the Indians away 
 as if they were dogs ; they say we / have no right to 
 our lands. Do you think that can be so, Father, 
 when we have always lived on them, and the owners 
 promised them to us forever? " 
 
 Father Salvierderra was silent a long time before 
 replying, and Alessandro watched his face anxiously. 
 He seemed to be hesitating for words to convey his 
 meaning. At last he said : " Got your father any 
 notice, at any time since the Americans took the 
 country, notice to appear before a court, or any 
 thing about a title to the land?" 
 
 " No, Father," replied Alessandro. 
 
 " There has to be some such paper, as I understand 
 their laws," continued the monk ; " some notice, be 
 fore any steps can be taken to remove Indians from 
 an estate. It must be done according to the law, in 
 VOL. i. 8 
 
ii4 RAMONA 
 
 the courts. If you have had no such notice, you 
 are not in danger." 
 
 " But, Father," persisted Alessandro, " how could 
 there be a law to take away 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 at is marked in red lines on 
 the map. It was marked off by Jose" Ramirez, of 
 Los Angeles, when they marked all the boundaries 
 of Senor Valdez's estate. They had many instru 
 ments of brass and wood to measure 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's house, Senor Valdez, and Ramirez, and 
 the man who made the measures. He hired one of 
 our men to carry his instruments, and I went to help, 
 for I wished to see how it was done; but I could 
 understand nothing, and Jose told me a man must 
 study many years to learn the way of it. It seemed 
 to me our way, by the stones, was much better. But 
 I know it is all marked on the map, for it was with 
 a red line; and my father understood it and Jose 
 Ramirez and Senor Valdez both pointed to it with 
 their finger, and they said, ' All this here is your land, 
 Pablo, always.' I do not think my father need fear, 
 do you ? " 
 
 " I hope not," replied Father Salvierderra, cau 
 tiously ; " but since the way that all the lands of the 
 Missions have been taken away, I have small faith in 
 the honesty of the Americans. I think they will take 
 
RAMONA 115 
 
 all that they can. The Church has suffered terrible 
 loss at their hands." 
 
 " That is what my father says," replied Alessandro. 
 " He says, ' Look at San Luis Rey ! Nothing but the 
 garden and orchard left, of all their vast lands where 
 they used to pasture thirty thousand sheep. If the 
 Church and 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 room where Juan Can lay on his narrow 
 bed, longing yet fearing to see Father Salvierderra's 
 face coming in. " We are all alike helpless in their 
 hands, Alessandro. They possess the country, and 
 
 
 
 can make what laws they please. We can only say, 
 ' God's will be done ; ' " and he crossed himself de 
 voutly, repeating the words twice. 
 
 Alessandro did the same, and with a truly devout 
 spirit, for he was full of veneration for the Fathers 
 and their teachings ; but as he walked on towards 
 the shearing-shed he thought : " Then, again, how 
 can it be God's will that wrong be done? It cannot 
 be God's will that one man should steal from another 
 all he has. That would make God no better than a 
 thief, 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, had grappled with 
 the problem in one shape or another. 
 
n6 RAMONA 
 
 At the shearing-shed, Alessandro found his men 
 in confusion and ill-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, it was now near sunset, with nothing to do, 
 and still worse with not much of anything to eat, had 
 made them all cross ; and no wonder. The economi 
 cal Juan Can, finding that the work would be done 
 by ten, and supposing they would be off before noon, 
 had ordered only two sheep killed for them the day 
 before, and the mutton was all gone, and old Marda, 
 getting her cue from Juan, had cooked no more 
 frijoles than the family needed themselves; so the 
 poor shearers had indeed had a sorry day of it, in no 
 wise alleviated either by the reports brought from 
 time to time that their captain was lying on the 
 ground, face down, under Senor Felipe's window, and 
 must not be spoken to. 
 
 It was not a propitious moment for Alessandro to 
 make the announcement of his purpose to leave the 
 band; but he made a clean breast of it in few 
 words, and diplomatically diverted all resentment 
 from himself by setting them immediately to voting 
 for a new captain to take his place for the remainder 
 of the season. 
 
 " Very well ! " they said hotly ; " captain for this 
 year, captain for next, too ! " It was n't so easy 
 to step out and in again of the captaincy of the 
 shearers ! 
 
 " All right," said Alessandro ; " please yourselves ! 
 
RAMONA 117 
 
 It is all the same to me. But here I am going to stay 
 for the present. Father Salvierderra wishes it." 
 " Oh, if the Father wishes it, that is different ! " 
 " Ah, that alters the case ! " " Alessandro is right ! " 
 came up in confused murmur from the appeased 
 crowd. They were all good Catholics, every one of 
 the Temecula men, and would never think of going 
 against the Father's orders. But when they under 
 stood that Alessandro's intention was to remain until 
 Juan Canito's leg should be well enough for him to 
 go about again, fresh grumblings began. That would 
 not do. It would be all summer. Alessandro must 
 be at home for the Saint Juan's Day fete, in mid 
 summer, no doing anything without Alessandro 
 then. What was he thinking of? Not of the mid 
 summer fete, that was certain, when he promised to 
 stay as long as the Senorita Ramona should need 
 him. Alessandro had remembered nothing except 
 the Senorita's voice, while she was speaking to him. 
 If he had had a hundred engagements for the sum 
 mer, he would have forgott-en them all. Now that he 
 was reminded of the midsummer fete, it must be 
 confessed he was for a moment dismayed at the recol 
 lection ; for that was a time when, as he well knew, 
 his father could not do without his help. There were 
 sometimes a thousand Indians at this fete, and dis 
 orderly whites took advantage of the occasion to sell 
 whiskey and encourage all sorts of license and dis 
 turbance. Yes, Alessandro's clear path of duty lay at 
 Temecula when that fete came off. That was certain, 
 
RAMONA 
 
 " I will manage to be at home then," he said. " II 
 I am not through here by that time, I will at least 
 come for the fete. That you may depend on." 
 
 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 only old 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 was getting old, and he did not like to 
 have to sit up and walk about the first half of every 
 night, to see that the shearers were not gambling 
 away all their money at cards ; he preferred to roll 
 himself up in his blanket at sunset and sleep till dawn 
 the next morning. But just for these few remaining 
 weeks he had no objection to taking the office again. 
 And Alessandro was right, entirely right, in remain 
 ing ; they ought all to see that, Fernando said ; and 
 his word had great weight with the men. 
 
 The Senora Moreno, he reminded them, had always 
 been a good friend of theirs, and had said that so 
 long as she had sheep to shear, the Temecula shearers 
 should do it ; and it would be very ungrateful now if 
 they did not do all they could to help her in her 
 need. 
 
 The blankets were rolled up, the saddles collected, 
 the ponies caught and driven up to the shed, when 
 Ramona and Margarita were seen coming at full 
 speed from the house. 
 
RAMONA 119 
 
 " Alessandro ! Alessandro ! " cried Ramona, out of 
 breath, " I have only just now heard that the men 
 have had no dinner to-day. I am ashamed ; but you 
 know it would not have happened except for the 
 sickness in the house. Everybody thought they were 
 going away this morning. Now they must have a 
 good supper before they go. It is already cooking. 
 Tell them to wait." 
 
 Those of the men who understood the Spanish lan 
 guage, in which Ramona spoke, translated it to those 
 who did not, and there was a cordial outburst of 
 thanks to the Senorita from all lips. All were only 
 too ready to wait for the supper. Their haste to 
 begin on the Ortega sheep-shearing had suddenly 
 faded from their minds. Only Alessandro hesitated. 
 
 " It is a good six hours' ride to Ortega's," he said 
 to the men. " You '11 be 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 are off," 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 the shearers go 
 away hungry. I am afraid they are very hungry 
 indeed," she added ruefully. " It must be dreadful to 
 
120 RAMONA 
 
 go a whole day without anything to eat; they had 
 their breakfast soon after sunrise, did they not? " 
 
 " Yes, Senorita," answered Alessandro, " but that 
 is not long ; one can do without food very well for 
 one day. I often do." 
 
 " Often ! " exclaimed Ramona ; " but why should 
 you do that?" Then suddenly bethinking herself, 
 she said in her heart, " Oh, what a thoughtless ques 
 tion ! Can it be they are so poor as that? " And to 
 save Alessandro from 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 Ales 
 sandro, wondering at his own boldness, " if there 
 is anything I can do ? " 
 
 " Oh, no," she cried, " there is not. Yes, there is, 
 too. You can help carry the things down to the 
 booth ; for we are short of hands now, with Juan Can 
 in bed, and Luigo gone to Ventura for the doctor. 
 You and some of your men might carry all the supper 
 over. I '11 call you when we are ready." 
 
 The men sat down in a group and waited content 
 edly, smoking, chatting, and laughing. Alessandro 
 walked up and down between the kitchen and the 
 shed. He could hear the sounds of rattling dishes, 
 jingling spoons, frying, pouring water. Savory smells 
 began to be wafted out. Evidently old Marda meant 
 to atone for the shortcoming of the noon. Juan Can, 
 in his bed, also heard and smelled what was going on. 
 " May the fiends get me," he growled, " if that waste- 
 
RAMONA 121 
 
 ful old hussy is n't getting up a feast for those beast 
 of Indians ! There 's mutton and onions, and peppers 
 stewing, and potatoes, I '11 be bound, and God knows 
 what else, for beggars that are only too thankful to 
 get a handful of roasted wheat or a bowl of acorn 
 porridge at home. Well, they '11 have to say they 
 were well feasted at the Moreno's, that 's one com 
 fort. I wonder if Margarita '11 think I am worthy 
 of tasting that stew ! San Jose ! but it smells well ! 
 Margarita ! Margarita ! " he called at top of his 
 lungs ; but Margarita 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 
 which the 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, Margarita 
 was absent-minded to-night. She was more than half 
 in love with the handsome Alessandro, who, when 
 he had been on the ranch the year before, 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. Senor Felipe's illness, she thought, 
 and the general misery and confusion, had perhaps 
 put everything else out of his head ; but now he was 
 going to stay, and it would be good fun having him 
 there, if only Senor Felipe got well, which he seemed 
 like to do. And as Margarita flew about, here, there, 
 
122 RAMONA 
 
 and everywhere, she cast frequent glances at the tall 
 straight figure pacing up and down in the dusk 
 outside. 
 
 Alessandro did not see her. He did not see any 
 thing. He was looking off at the sunset, and listen 
 ing. Ramona had said, " I will call you when we 
 are 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 in sight. 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 there holding in her arms a huge 
 smoking platter of the stew which had so roused 
 poor Juan Can's longings ; and it was Ramona who 
 said, as she gave it into Alessandro's hands, " Take 
 care, Alessandro, it is very full. The gravy will run 
 over if you are not careful. You are not used to 
 waiting on table ; " and as she said it, she smiled 
 full into Alessandro's eyes, a little flitting, gentle, 
 friendly smile, which went near to making him drop 
 the platter, mutton, gravy, and all, then and there, 
 at her feet. 
 
 The men ate fast and greedily, and it was not, 
 after all, much more than an hour, when, full fed 
 and happy, they were mounting their horses to set 
 off. At the last moment Alessandro drew one of 
 
RAMONA 123 
 
 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 run Antonio any day he likes." 
 
 Alessandro knew this as well before asking as 
 after. But Alessandro was learning a great many 
 things in these days, among other things a little 
 diplomacy. He wanted a man to ride at the swiftest 
 to Temecula and back. He knew that Josh's pony 
 could go like the wind. He also knew that there 
 was a perpetual feud of rivalry between him and 
 Antonio, in matter of the fleetness of their respec 
 tive ponies. So, having chosen Jose for his mes 
 senger, he went thus to work to make sure that he 
 would urge his horse to its utmost speed. 
 
 Whispering in Jose's ear a few words, he said, 
 "Will you go? I will pay you for the time, all 
 you could earn at the shearing." 
 
 " I will go," said Jose, elated. " You will see me 
 back to-morrow by sundown." 
 
 "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 punch with his knees, set off at full 
 gallop westward. 
 
 " I have sent Jose with a message to Temecula," 
 said Alessandro, walking up to Fernando. " He 
 
RAMONA 
 
 will be back here to-morrow noon, and join you at 
 the Ortega's the next morning." 
 
 " Back here by noon to-morrow ! " exclaimed Fer 
 nando. " Not unless he kills his 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 for 
 her, and never was. Why did you not send me, 
 Alessandro?" 
 
 " Is your horse really faster than Jos6's?" said 
 Alessandro. " Then I wish I had sent you. I '11 
 send you next time." 
 
VII 
 
 TT was strange to see how quickly and naturally 
 * Alessandro fitted into his place in the house- 
 hold. How tangles straightened out, and rough 
 places became smooth, as he quietly took matters 
 in hand. Luckily, old Juan Can had always liked 
 him, and felt a great sense of relief at the news of 
 his staying on. Not a wholly unselfish relief, per 
 haps, for since his accident Juan had not been with 
 out fears that he might lose his place altogether; 
 there was a Mexican he knew, who had long been 
 scheming to get the situation, and had once openly 
 boasted at a fandango, where he was dancing with 
 Anita, that as soon as that superannuated old fool, 
 
126 RAMONA 
 
 Juan Canito, was out of the way, he meant to be 
 the Senora Moreno's head shepherd himself. To 
 have seen this man in authority on the place, would 
 have driven Juan out of his mind. 
 
 But the gentle Alessandro, only an Indian, and 
 of course the Senora would never think of putting 
 an Indian permanently in so responsible a position 
 on the estate, it was exactly as Juan would have 
 wished; and he fraternized with Alessandro heartily 
 from the outset ; kept him in his room by the hour, 
 giving him hundreds of long-winded directions and 
 explanations about things which, if only he had 
 known it, Alessandro understood far better than 
 he did. 
 
 Alessandro's father had managed the Mission 
 flocks and herds at San Luis Rey for twenty years ; 
 few were as skilful as he ; he himself owned nearly 
 as many sheep as the Senora Moreno ; but this Juan 
 did not know. Neither did he realize that Ales 
 sandro, as Chief Pablo's son, had a position of his 
 own not without dignity and authority. To Juan, 
 an Indian was an Indian, and that was the end of 
 it. The gentle courteousness of Alessandro's man 
 ner, his quiet behavior, were all set down in Juan's 
 mind to the score of the boy's native amiability and 
 sweetness. If Juan had been told that the Senor 
 Felipe himself had not been more carefully trained 
 in all precepts of kindliness, honorable dealing, and 
 polite usage, by the Senora, -his mother, than had 
 Alessandro by his father* he would have opened his 
 
RAMONA 127 
 
 eyes wide. The standards of the two parents were 
 different, to be sure; but the advantage could not 
 be shown to be entirely on the Senora's side. There 
 were many things that Felipe knew, of which Ales- 
 sandro was profoundly ignorant; but there were 
 others in which Alessandro could have taught 
 Felipe; and when it came to the things of the 
 soul, and of honor, Alessandro's plane was the 
 higher of the two. Felipe was a fair-minded, honor 
 able man, as men go ; but circumstance and oppor 
 tunity would have a hold on him they could never 
 get on Alessandro. Alessandro would not lie; 
 Felipe might. Alessandro was by nature full of 
 veneration and the religious instinct; Felipe had 
 been trained into being a good Catholic. But they 
 were both singularly pure-minded, open-hearted, 
 generous-souled young men, and destined, by the 
 strange chance which had thus brought them into 
 familiar relations, to become strongly attached to 
 each other. After the day on which the madness 
 of Felipe's fever had been so miraculously soothed 
 and controlled by Alessandro's singing, he was never 
 again wildly delirious. When he waked in the night 
 from that first long sleep, he was, as Father Salvier- 
 derra had predicted, in his right mind ; knew every 
 one, and asked rational questions. But the over 
 heated and excited brain did not for some time 
 wholly resume normal action. At intervals he wan 
 dered, especially when just arousing from sleep ; 
 and, strangely enough, it was always for Alessandro 
 
128 RAMONA 
 
 that he called at these times, and it seemed always 
 to be music that he craved. He recollected Ales- 
 sandro's having sung 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 help saying them; and I heard Ramona 
 ask Alessandro to sing; and when he began, I 
 remember I thought the Virgin had reached down 
 and put her hand on 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 the 
 violin to him to-night?" 
 
 "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 is here." 
 
 " Sent to Temecula and back already ! " cried 
 Ramona. 
 
 " Yes, Senorita. Our ponies are swift and strong. 
 They can go a hundred miles in a day, and not 
 suffer. It was Jose brought it, and he is at the 
 Ortega'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." 
 
RAMONA 129 
 
 " I paid him, Senorita ; he went for me ; " said 
 Alessandro, with a shade of wounded pride in the 
 tone, which Ramona should have perceived, but 
 did not, and went on hurting the lover's heart still 
 more. 
 
 " But it was for us that you sent for it, Alessandro ; 
 the Senora would rather pay the messenger herself." 
 
 " It is paid, Senorita. It is nothing. If the Senor 
 Felipe wishes to hear the violin, I will play ; " and 
 Alessandro walked slowly away. 
 
 Ramona gazed after him. For the first time, she 
 looked at him with no thought of his being an Indian, 
 a thought there had surely been no need of 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 she forgotten it. 
 
 " What a superb head, and what a walk ! " she 
 thought. Then, looking more observantly, she said : 
 " He walks as if he were offended. He did not like 
 my offering to pay for the messenger. He wanted 
 to do it for dear Felipe. I will tell Felipe, and we 
 will give him some present when he goes away." 
 
 "Isn't he splendid, Senorita?" came in a light 
 laughing tone from Margarita's lips close to her ear, 
 in the fond freedom of their relation. " Is n't he 
 splendid? And oh, Senorita, you can't think how 
 he dances ! Last year I danced with him every 
 night; he has wings on his feet, for all he is so 
 tall and big." 
 
 There was a coquettish consciousness in the girl's 
 
 VOL. I. Q 
 
i 3 o RAMONA 
 
 tone, that was suddenly, for some unexplained rea 
 son, exceedingly displeasing to Ramona. Drawing 
 herself away, she spoke to Margarita in a tone she 
 had never before in her life used. " It is not fitting 
 to speak like that about young men. The Senora 
 would be displeased if she heard you," she said, and 
 walked swiftly away, leaving poor Margarita as as 
 tounded as if she 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. Thoroughly be 
 wildered and puzzled, she stood motionless for sev 
 eral seconds, reflecting; then, shaking her head, 
 she ran away, trying to dismiss the harsh speech 
 from her mind. " Alessandro must have vexed the 
 Senorita," she thought, " to make her speak like 
 that to me." But the incident was not so easily 
 dismissed from Margarita's thoughts. Many times 
 in the day it recurred to her, still a bewilderment 
 and a puzzle, as far from solution 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-house soil, and a bitter 
 seed ; and when it blossomed, Ramona would have 
 an enemy. 
 
 All unconscious, equally of Margarita's heart and 
 her own, Ramona proceeded to Felipe's room. 
 Felipe was sleeping, the Senora sitting by his side, 
 as she had sat for days and nights, her dark face 
 looking thinner and more drawn each day ; her hair 
 
RAMONA 131 
 
 looking even whiter, if that could be ; and her voice 
 growing hollow from faintness and sorrow. 
 
 " Dear Senora," whispered Ramona, " do go out 
 for a few moments while he sleeps, and let me watch, 
 just on the walk in front of the veranda. The sun 
 is still lying there, bright and warm. You will be 
 ill if you do not have air." 
 
 The Senora shook her head. " My place is here," 
 she answered, speaking in a dry, hard tone. Sym 
 pathy was hateful to the Senora Moreno ; she wished 
 neither to give it nor take it. " I shall not leave 
 him. I do not* need the air." 
 
 Ramona had a cloth-of-gold rose in her hand. 
 The veranda eaves were now shaded with them, 
 hanging down like a thick fringe of golden tassels. 
 It was the rose Felipe loved best. Stooping, she 
 laid it on the bed, near Felipe'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 told 
 you that?" 
 
 "No, Senora," replied Ramona, meekly; and she 
 glanced involuntarily at the saucer of musk which 
 the Senora kept on the table close to Felipe's 
 pillow. 
 
 "The musk is different," said the Senora, seeing 
 the glance. " Musk is a medicine ; it revives." 
 
 Ramona knew, but she would have never dared to 
 say, that Felipe hated musk. Many times he had 
 
132 RAMONA 
 
 said to her how he hated the odor ; but his mother 
 was so fond of it, that it must always be that the 
 veranda and the house would be full of it. Ramona 
 hated it too. At times it made her faint, with a 
 deadly faintness. But neither she nor Felipe would 
 have confessed as much to the Senora ; and if they 
 had, she would have thought it all a fancy. 
 
 " Shall I stay? " asked Ramona, gently. 
 
 " As you please," replied the Senora. The simple 
 presence of Ramona irked her now with a feeling 
 she did not pretend to analyze, and would have been 
 terrified at if she had. She would not have dared to 
 say to herself, in plain words : " Why is that girl 
 well and strong, and my Felipe lying here like to 
 die ! If Felipe dies, I cannot bear the sight of her. 
 What is she, to be preserved of the saints ! " 
 
 But that, or something like it, was what she felt 
 whenever Ramona entered the room ; still more, 
 whenever she assisted in ministering to Felipe. If it 
 had been possible, the Senora would have had no 
 hands but her own to do aught for her boy. Even 
 tears from Ramona sometimes irritated her. " What 
 does she know about loving Felipe ! He is nothing 
 to her ! " thought the Senora, strangely mistaken, 
 strangely blind, strangely forgetting how feeble is the 
 tie of blood in the veins by the side of love in the 
 heart. 
 
 If into this fiery soul of the Senora's could have 
 been dropped one second's knowledge of the rela 
 tive positions she and Ramona already occupied in 
 
RAMONA 133 
 
 Felipe's heart, she would, on the spot, have either 
 died herself, or have slain Ramona, one or the other. 
 But no such knowledge was possible ; no such idea 
 could have found entrance into the Senora's mind. 
 A revelation from Heaven of it could hardly have 
 reached even her ears. So impenetrable are the 
 veils which, fortunately for us all, are forever held 
 by viewless hands between us and the nearest and 
 closest of our daily companions. 
 
 At twilight of this day Felipe was restless and 
 feverish again. He had dozed 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 the messenger's having 
 ridden to Temecula and back in a night and half a 
 day, to bring it. 
 
 " I wanted to pay the man," she said ; " I knew of 
 course your mother would wish to reward him. But 
 I fancy Alessandro was offended. He answered me 
 shortly that it was paid, and it was nothing." 
 
 " You could n't have offended him more," said 
 Felipe. " What a pity ! He is as proud as Lucifer 
 himself, that Alessandro. You know his father has 
 always been the head of their band ; in fact, he has 
 authority over several bands; General, they call it 
 now, since they got the title from the Americans; 
 they used to call it Chief, and until Father Peyri left 
 
134 RAMONA 
 
 San Luis Rey, Pablo was in charge of all the sheep, 
 and general steward and paymaster. Father Peyri 
 trusted him with everything ; I 've heard he would 
 leave boxes full of uncounted gold in Pablo's charge 
 to pay off the Indians. Pablo reads and writes, and 
 is very well off; he has as many sheep as we have, 
 I fancy ! " 
 
 " What ! " exclaimed Ramona, astonished. " They 
 all look as if they were poor." 
 
 " Oh, well, so they are," replied Felipe, " compared 
 with us; but one reason is, they share everything 
 with each other. Old Pablo feeds and supports half 
 his village, they say. So long as he has anything, 
 he will never see one of his Indians hungry." 
 
 " How generous ! " warmly exclaimed Ramona ; " I 
 think they are better than we are, Felipe ! " 
 
 " I think so, too," said Felipe. " That 's what I 
 have always said. The Indians are the most generous 
 people in the world. Of course they have learned it 
 partly from us ; but they were very much so when the 
 Fathers first came here. You ask Father Salvierderra 
 some day. He has read all Father Jtmipero's and 
 Father Crespi's diaries, and he says it is wonderful 
 how the wild savages gave food to every one who 
 came." 
 
 " Felipe ! you are talking too much," said the 
 Sefiora's voice, in the doorway ; and as she spoke 
 she looked reproachfully at Ramona. If she had 
 said in words, " See how unfit you are to be trusted 
 with Felipe. No wonder I do not leave the room 
 
PLATE VI 7 
 
 THE COOK'S (OLD MARDA'S) WINDOW. 
 
 "He! he!" . . . chuckled Margarita's mother, old Marda the 
 cook. " Senor Juan Canito is pleased to be merry at the doors of his 
 betters "; and she flung a copper saucepan full of not over-clean water 
 so deftly past Juan's head, that not a drop touched him. . . . At which 
 bit of sleight-of-hand the whole court-yard, young and old, babies, 
 cocks, hens, and turkeys all set up a shout and a cackle. . . . 
 
 Page 12, Vol. T. 
 
RAMONA 135 
 
 except when I must ! " her meaning could not have 
 been plainer. Ramona felt it keenly, and not without 
 some misgiving 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 bring his violin. I think I 
 will go to sleep if he plays." 
 
 A long search Ramona had for Alessandro. Every 
 body had seen him a few minutes ago, but nobody 
 knew where he was now. Kitchens, sheepfolds, 
 vineyards, orchards, Juan Can's bedchamber, Ra 
 mona searched them all in vain. At last, standing 
 at the foot of the veranda steps, and looking down 
 the garden, she thought she saw figures moving under 
 the willows by the washing-stones. 
 
 " Can he be there? " she said. " What can he be 
 doing there ? Who is it with him ? " 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 face to face 
 with Ramona. 
 
 "Here I am, Senorita. Does Senor Felipe want 
 me? I have my violin here. I thought perhaps 
 *>e would like to have me play to him in the twi 
 light." 
 
 " Yes," replied Ramona, " he wishes to hear you 
 I have been looking everywhere for you." As she 
 
136 RAMONA 
 
 spoke, she was half unconsciously peering beyond 
 into the dusk, to see whose figure it was, slowly 
 moving by the brook. 
 
 Nothing escaped Alessandro's notice where Ramona 
 was concerned. " It is Margarita," he said instantly. 
 "Does the Senorita want her? Shall I run and call 
 her?" 
 
 "No," said Ramona, again displeased, she knew 
 not why, nor in fact knew she was displeased ; " no, 
 I was not looking for her. What is she doing 
 there?" 
 
 " She is washing," replied Alessandro, innocently. 
 
 " Washing at this time of day ! " thought Ramona, 
 severely. " A mere pretext. I shall watch Margarita. 
 The Senora would never allow this sort of 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 the subject in the morning. 
 
 Margarita, in the mean time, was also having her 
 season of reflections not 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. How provoking ! 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, 
 at the first word. I 'd like to know ' what 's come 
 over the man, to be so different. If I could ever get 
 a good half-hour with him alone, I'd soon find out. 
 Oh, but his eyes go through me, through and through 
 me ! I know he's an Indian, but what do I care for 
 
RAMONA 137 
 
 that. He 's a million times handsomer than Senor 
 Felipe. And Juan Jose* said the other day he 'd make 
 enough better head shepherd than old Juan Can, if 
 Senor Felipe 'd only see it; and why shouldn't he 
 get to see it, if Alessandro 's here all summer?" 
 And before the aprons were done, Margarita had a 
 fine air-castle up : herself and Alessandro married, 
 a nice little house, children playing in the sunshine 
 below the artichoke-patch, she herself still working 
 for the Senora. "And the Senorita will perhaps 
 marry Senor Felipe," she added, her thoughts moving 
 more hesitatingly. " He worships the ground she 
 walks on. Anybody with quarter of a blind eye can 
 see that ; but maybe the Senora would not let him. 
 Anyhow, Senor Felipe is sure 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 or low, need blush; but its foundations were 
 laid in sand, on which would presently beat such 
 winds and floods as poor little Margarita never 
 dreamed of. 
 
 The next day Margarita and Ramona both went 
 about their day's business with a secret purpose in 
 their hearts. Margarita had made up her mind 
 that before night she would, by fair means or foul, 
 have a good long talk with Alessandro. " He was 
 fond enough of me last year, I know," she said to 
 herself, recalling some of the dances and the good 
 night leave-takings at that time. "It's because 
 he is so put upon by everybody now. What with 
 
I 3 8 RAMONA 
 
 Juan Can in one bed sending for him to prate to 
 him about the sheep, and Senor Felipe in another 
 sending for him to fiddle him to sleep, and all the 
 care of the sheep, it 's a wonder he 's not out of his 
 mind altogether. But I'll find a chance, or make 
 one, before this day's sun sets. If I can once get 
 a half-hour with him, I 'm not afraid after that ; I 
 know the way it is with men ! " said the confident 
 Margarita, who, truth being told, it must be admitted, 
 did indeed know a great deal about the way it is 
 with men, and could be safely backed, in a fair field, 
 with a fair start, against any girl of her age and 
 station in the country. So much for Margarita's 
 purpose, at the outset of a day destined to be an 
 eventful one in her life. 
 
 Ramona's purpose was no less clear. She had 
 decided, after some reflection, that she would not 
 speak to the Senora about Margarita's having been 
 under the willows with Alessandro in the previous 
 evening, but would watch her carefully and see 
 whether there were any farther signs of her at 
 tempting to have clandestine interviews with him. 
 
 This course she adopted, she thought, chiefly 
 because of her affection for Margarita, and her 
 unwillingness to expose her to the Senora's dis 
 pleasure, which would be great, and terrible to bear. 
 She was also aware of an unwillingness to bring 
 anything to light which would reflect ever so lightly 
 upon Alessandro in the Senora's estimation. " And 
 he is not really to blame," thought Ramona, "if 
 
RAMONA 139 
 
 a girl follows him about and makes free with him. 
 She must have seen him at the willows, and gone 
 down there on purpose to meet him, making a 
 pretext of the washing. For she never in this world 
 would have gone to wash in the dark, as he must 
 have known, if he were not a fool. He is not the 
 sort of person, it seems to me, to be fooling with 
 maids. He seems as full of grave thought as Father 
 Salvierderra. If I see anything amiss in Margarita 
 to-day, I shall speak to her myself, kindly but firmly, 
 and tell her to conduct herself more discreetly." 
 
 Then, as the other maiden's had done, Ramona's 
 thoughts, being concentrated on Alessandro, altered 
 a little from their first key, and grew softer and 
 more imaginative; strangely enough, taking some 
 of the phrases, as it were, out of the other maiden's 
 mouth. 
 
 " I never saw such eyes as Alessandro has," she 
 said. " I wonder any girl should 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 day a 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 at her embroidery in the 
 veranda, half hid behind the vines, saw Alessandro 
 
I 4 o RAMONA 
 
 going with his priming-knife in his hand towards 
 the artichoke-patch at the east of the garden, and 
 joining the almond orchard. " I wonder what he is 
 going to do there," she thought. " He can't be 
 going to cut willows ; " and her eyes followed him 
 till he disappeared among the trees. 
 
 Ramona was not the only one who saw this. 
 Margarita, looking from the east window of Father 
 Salvierderra's room, saw the same thing. " Now 's 
 my chance ! " she said ; and throwing a white reboso 
 coquettishly over her head, she slipped around the 
 corner of the house. She ran swiftly in the direction 
 in which Alessandro had gone. The sound of her 
 steps reached Ramona, who, lifting her eyes, took 
 in the whole situation at a glance. There was no 
 possible duty, no possible message, which would 
 take Margarita there. Ramona' s cheeks blazed with 
 a disproportionate indignation. But she bethought 
 herself, " Ah, the Senora may have sent her 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, 
 and looked 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 ' the 
 peppers this morning." 
 
 Ramona nodded, returned to the veranda, and 
 
RAMONA 141 
 
 sat down to decide on her course of action. Then 
 she rose again, and going to Father Salvierderra's 
 room, looked in. The room was still in disorder. 
 Margarita had left her work there unfinished. The 
 color deepened on Ramona's cheeks. It was strange 
 how accurately she divined each process of the 
 incident. " She saw him from this window," said 
 Ramona, " and has run after him. It is shameful. 
 I will go and call her back, and let her see 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 her chair again. The idea of 
 seeming to spy was revolting to her. 
 
 " I will wait here till she comes back," she said, 
 and took up her embroidery. But she could not 
 work. As the minutes went slowly by, she sat with 
 her eyes fixed on the almond orchard, where first 
 Alessandro and 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 
 very long, a half hour or so, perhaps ; but it was 
 long enough for Margarita to have made great head 
 way, as she thought, in her talk with Alessandro, 
 and for things to have reached just the worst pos 
 sible crisis at which they could have been surprised, 
 when Ramona suddenly appeared at, the orchard 
 gate, saying in a stern tone, " Margarita, you are 
 wanted in the house ! " At a bad crisis, indeed, 
 for everybody concerned. The picture which Ra 
 mona had seen, as she reached the gate, was this : 
 
i 4 2 RAMONA 
 
 Alessandro, standing with his back against the fence, 
 his right hand hanging listlessly down, with the 
 priming-knife in it, his left hand in the hand of 
 Margarita, who stood close to him, looking up in 
 his face, with a half-saucy, half-loving expression. 
 What made bad matters worse, was, that at the first 
 sight of Ramona, Alessandro snatched his hand from 
 Margarita's, and tried to draw farther off from her, 
 looking at her with an expression which, even in 
 her anger, Ramona could not help seeing was one 
 of disgust and repulsion. And if Ramona saw it, 
 how much more did Margarita ! Saw it, felt it, as 
 only a woman repulsed in presence of another 
 woman can 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. Before 
 Alessandro was fairly aware what had befallen, 
 Ramona and Margarita were disappearing from 
 view under the garden trellis, Ramona walking 
 in advance, stately, silent, and Margarita following, 
 sulky, abject in her gait, but with a raging whirl 
 wind in her heart. 
 
 It had taken only the twinkling of an eye, but it 
 had told Margarita the truth. 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. How 
 could 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 be borne ! " And 
 
RAMONA 143 
 
 m his rage Alessandro threw his pruning-knife whirl- 
 ing through the air so fiercely, it sank to the hilt in 
 one of the old olive-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 helpless despair. An ill outlook for Margarita 
 after this ; and the girl had not deserved it. 
 
 In Margarita's heart the pain was more clearly de 
 fined. She had seen Ramona a half-second before 
 Alessandro had ; and dreaming no special harm, ex 
 cept a little confusion at being seen thus standing 
 with him, for she would tell the Senorita all about 
 it when matters had gone a little farther, had not 
 let go of Alessandro's hand. But the next second 
 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 seemed 
 rushing into his face, and he had snatched his hand 
 away, for it was Margarita herself that had taken 
 his hand, not he hers, had snatched his hand away, 
 and pushed her from him, till she had nearly fallen. 
 All this might have been borne, if it had been only 
 a fear of the Senorita' s seeing them, which had made 
 him do it. But Margarita knew a great deal better 
 than that. That one swift, anguished, shame-smitten, 
 appealing, worshipping look on Alessandro's face, as 
 his eyes rested on Ramona, was like a flash of light 
 into Margarita's consciousness. Far better than Ales- 
 
I 44 RAMONA 
 
 sandro himself, she now knew his secret. In her 
 first rage she did not realize either the gulf between 
 herself and Ramona, or that between Ramona and 
 Alessandro. Her jealous rage was as entire as if 
 they had all been equals together. She lost her 
 head altogether, and there was embodied insolence 
 in the tone in which she said presently, " Did the 
 Senorita 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. I knew 
 that you were at the brook last night with Alessan 
 dro. All I wanted of you was to tell you that if I see 
 anything more of this sort, I shall speak to the Senora." 
 
 " There is no harm," muttered Margarita, sullenly 
 " I don't know what the Senorita means." 
 
 " You know very well, Margarita," retorted Ra 
 mona. " You know that the Senora permits nothing 
 of the kind. Be careful, now, what you do." And 
 with that the two separated, Ramona returning to the 
 veranda and her embroidery, and Margarita to her 
 neglected duty of making the good Father's bed. 
 But each girl's heart was hot and unhappy; and 
 Margarita's would have been still hotter and un- 
 happier, had she heard the words which were being 
 spoken on the veranda a little later. 
 
 After a few minutes of his blind rage at Margarita, 
 himself, and fate generally, Alessandro, recovering 
 his senses, had ingeniously persuaded himself that, 
 as the Senora' s and also the Senorita' s servant, for 
 
RAMONA 145 
 
 the time being, he owed it to them to explain the 
 situation in which he had just been found. Just what 
 he was to say he did not know; but no sooner had 
 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 her time when not with 
 Senor Felipe. 
 
 When Ramona saw him coming, she lowered her 
 eyes, and was absorbed in her embroidery. She did 
 not wish to look at him. 
 
 The footsteps stopped. She knew he was standing 
 at the steps. She would not look up. She thought 
 if she did not, he would go away. She did not know 
 either the Indian or the lover nature. After a time, 
 finding the consciousness of the soundless presence 
 intolerable, she looked up, and surprised on Alessan- 
 dro's face a gaze which had, in its long interval of 
 freedom from observation, been slowly gathering up 
 into it all the passion of a man's soul, as a burning- 
 glass draws the fire of the sun's rays. Involuntarily 
 a low cry burst from Ramona's lips, and she sprang 
 to her feet. 
 
 "Ah! did I frighten the Senorita? Forgive. I 
 have been waiting here a long time to speak to her. 
 I wished to say " 
 
 Suddenly Alessandro discovered that he did not 
 know what he wished to say. 
 
 As suddenly, Ramona discovered that she knew all 
 he wished to say. But she spoke not, only looked at 
 him searchingly. 
 
 VOL. I. IO 
 
146 RAMONA 
 
 " Senorita," he began again, " I would never be 
 unfaithful to my duty to the Senora, and to you." 
 
 " I believe you, Alessandro," said Ramona. " It is 
 not necessary to say more." 
 
 At these words a radiant joy spread over Alessan- 
 dro's face. He had not hoped for this. He felt, 
 rather than heard, that Ramona understood him. He 
 felt, for the first time, a personal relation between 
 himself and her. 
 
 " It is well," he said, in the brief phrase so fre 
 quent with his people. " It is well." And with a 
 reverent inclination of his head, he walked away. 
 Margarita, still dawdling surlily over her work in 
 Father Salvierderra's room, heard Alessandro's voice, 
 and running to discover to whom he was speaking, 
 caught these last words. Peering from behind a 
 curtain, she saw the look with which he said them ; 
 saw also the expression on Ramona' s face as she 
 listened. 
 
 Margarita clenched her hands. The seed had 
 blossomed. Ramona had an enemy. 
 
 " 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 have n't got to confess 
 for a year, maybe; and much can happen in that 
 time." 
 
 Much, indeed ! 
 
VIII 
 
 T^ELIPE gained but slowly. The relapse was in- 
 * deed, as Father Salvierderra had said, worse 
 than the original attack. Day after day he lay with 
 little apparent change ; no pain, but a weakness so 
 great that it was almost harder to bear than sharp 
 suffering would have been. Nearly every day Ales- 
 sandro was sent for to play or sing to him. It seemed 
 to be the only thing that roused him from his half 
 lethargic state. Sometimes he would talk with Ales- 
 sandro on matters relative to the estate, and show for 
 a few moments something like his old animation ; but 
 he was soon tired, and would close his eyes, saying : 
 
148 RAMONA 
 
 " I will speak with you again about this, Alessandro ; 
 I am going to sleep now. Sing." 
 
 The Senora, seeing Felipe's enjoyment of Alessan- 
 dro's presence, soon came to have a warm feeling 
 towards him herself; moreover, she greatly liked his 
 quiet reticence. There was hardly a surer road to 
 the Senora' s favor, for man or woman, than to be 
 chary of speech and reserved in demeanor. She had 
 an instinct of kinship to all that was silent, self-con 
 tained, mysterious, in human nature. The more she 
 observed Alessandro, the more she trusted and ap 
 proved him. Luckily for Juan Can, he did not know 
 how matters were working in his mistress's mind. If 
 he had, he would have been in a fever of apprehen 
 sion, and would have got at swords' points with Ales 
 sandro immediately. On the contrary, all unaware 
 6f the real situation of affairs, and never quite sure 
 that the Mexican he dreaded might not any day hear 
 of his misfortune, and appear, asking for the place, 
 he took every opportunity to praise Alessandro to the 
 Senora. She never visited his bedside that he had not 
 something to say in favor of the lad, as he called him. 
 
 " Truly, Senora," he said again and again, " I do 
 marvel where the lad got so much knowledge, at his 
 age. He is like an old hand at the sheep business. 
 He knows more than any shepherd I have, a deal 
 more ; and it is not only of sheep. He has had ex 
 perience, too, in the handling of cattle. Juan Jose has 
 been beholden to him more than once, already, for a 
 remedy of which he knew not. And such modesty. 
 
RAM ON A 149 
 
 withal. I knew not that there were such Indians ; 
 surely there cannot be many such." 
 
 " No, I fancy not," the Senora would reply, absently. 
 " His father is a man of intelligence, and has trained 
 his son well." 
 
 "There is nothing he is not ready to do," continued 
 Alessandro's eulogist. " He is as handy with tools 
 as if he had been 'prenticed to a carpenter. He has 
 made me a new splint for my leg, which was a relief 
 like salve to a wound, so much easier was it than be 
 fore. He is a good lad, a good lad." 
 
 None of these sayings of Juan's were thrown away 
 on the Senora. More and more closely she watched 
 Alessandro ; and the very thing which Juan had feared, 
 and which he had thought to avert by having Ales 
 sandro his temporary substitute, was slowly coming 
 to pass. The idea was working in the Senora's mind, 
 that she might do a worse thing than engage this 
 young, strong, active, willing man to remain perma 
 nently in her employ.* The possibility of an Indian's 
 being so born and placed that he would hesitate 
 about becoming permanently a servant even of the 
 Senora Moreno, did not occur to her. However, she 
 would do nothing hastily. There would be plenty of 
 time before Juan Can's leg was well. She would study 
 the young man more. In the mean time, she would 
 cause Felipe to think of the idea, 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?" 
 
I 5 
 
 RAMONA 
 
 " He 's not going ! " exclaimed Felipe, startled. 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; not at present. He agreed to stay 
 till Juan Can was about again ; but that will be not 
 more than six weeks now, or eight, I suppose. You 
 forget how time has flown while you have been lying 
 here ill, my son." 
 
 " True, true ! " said Felipe. " Is it really a month 
 already?" and he sighed. 
 
 " Juan Can tells me that the lad has a marvellous 
 knowledge for one of his years," continued the Senora. 
 " He says he is as skilled with cattle as with sheep ; 
 knows more than any shepherd we have on the place. 
 He seems wonderfully quiet and well-mannered. I 
 never saw an Indian who had such 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, with a 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 you will 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 to be childish. " I like him 
 about me. He's worth a dozen times as much as 
 any man we've got. But I don't suppose money 
 could hire him to stay on any ranch." 
 
 " Were you thinking of hiring him permanently?" 
 asked the Senora, in a surprised tone. " I don't 
 doubt you could do so if you wished. They are all 
 
RAMONA 
 
 poor, I suppose ; he would not work with the shearers 
 if he were not poor." 
 
 " Oh, it is n't that," said Felipe, impatiently. " You 
 can't understand, because you 've never been among 
 them. But they are just as proud as we are. Some 
 of them, I mean ; such men as old Pablo. They 
 shear sheep for money just as I sell wool for money. 
 There is n't so much difference. Alessandro's men in 
 the band obey him, and all the men in the village 
 obey Pablo, just as implicitly as my men here obey 
 me. Faith, much more so ! " added Felipe, laughing. 
 " You can't understand it, mother, but it 's so. I am 
 not at all sure I could offer Alessandro Assis money 
 enough to tempt 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 that these noble 
 lords of villages are so proud? their ancestors, 
 naked savages less than a hundred years ago? 
 Naked savages they themselves too, to-day, if we 
 had not come here to teach and civilize them. The 
 race was never meant for anything but servants. 
 That was all the Fathers ever expected to make of 
 them, good, faithful Catholics, and contented la 
 borers in the fields. Of course there are always ex 
 ceptional instances, and I think, myself, Alessandro 
 is one. I don't believe, however, he is so exceptional, 
 but that if you were to offer him, for instance, the 
 same wages you pay Juan Can, he would jump at 
 the chance of staying on the place." 
 
52 RAMONA 
 
 " Well, I shall think about it," said Felipe. " I 'd 
 like nothing better than to have him here always. 
 He 's a fellow I heartily like. I '11 think about it." 
 
 Which was all the Senora wanted done at present. 
 
 Ramona had chanced to come in as this conversa 
 tion was going on. Hearing Alessandro's name, she 
 seated herself at the window, looking out, but listen 
 ing intently. The month had done much for Ales- 
 sandro with Ramona, though neither Alessandro nor 
 Ramona knew it. It had done this much, that 
 Ramona knew always when Alessandro was near, 
 that she trusted him, and that she had ceased to 
 think of him as an Indian any more than when she 
 thought of Felipe, she thought of him as a Mexican. 
 Moreover, seeing the two men frequently together, 
 she had admitted to herself, as Margarita had done 
 before her, that Alessandro was far the handsomer 
 man of the two. This Ramona did not like to admit, 
 but she could not help it. 
 
 " I wish Felipe were as tall and strong as Alessan 
 dro," she said to herself many a time. " I do not see 
 why he could not have been. I wonder if the Senora 
 sees how much handsomer Alessandro is." 
 
 When Felipe said that he did not believe he could 
 offer Alessandro Assis money enough to tempt him 
 to stay on the place, Ramona opened her lips sud 
 denly, as if to speak, then changed her mind, and 
 remained silent. She had sometimes displeased the 
 Senora by taking part in conversations between her 
 and her son. 
 
RAMONA 153 
 
 Felipe saw the motion, but he also thought it wiser 
 to wait till after his mother had left the room, before 
 he asked Ramona what she was on the point of say 
 ing. 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 something about Alessandro's staying ; 
 I know you were." 
 
 Ramona did not answer. For the first time in her 
 life she found herself embarrassed before Felipe. 
 
 " Don't you like Alessandro?" said Felipe. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! " replied Ramona, with instant eager 
 ness. " It was not that at all. I like him very 
 much." But then she stopped. 
 
 "Well, what is it, then? Have you heard any 
 thing on the place about his staying?" 
 
 " Oh, no, no ; not a word ! " said Ramona. " Every 
 body understands that he is here only till Juan Can 
 gets well. But you said you did not believe you 
 could 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 was what I was going to say." 
 
 " What makes you think so ? " asked Felipe. 
 
 " I don't know," Ramona said, still more hesitat 
 ingly. Now that she had said it, she was sorry. 
 
154 RAMONA 
 
 Felipe looked curiously at her. Hesitancy like this, 
 doubts, uncertainty as to her impressions, were not 
 characteristic of Ramona. A flitting something 
 which was far from being suspicion or jealousy, and 
 yet was of kin to them both, went through Felipe's 
 mind, went through so swiftly that he was scarce 
 conscious of it; if he had been, he would have 
 scorned himself. Jealous of an Indian sheep-shearer? 
 Impossible ! Nevertheless, the flitting something 
 left a trace, and prevented Felipe from forgetting 
 the trivial incident ; and after this, it was certain that 
 Felipe would observe Ramona more closely than he 
 had done ; would weigh her words and actions ; and 
 if she should seem by a shade altered in either, 
 would watch still more closely. Meshes were closing 
 around Ramona. Three watchers of her every look 
 and act, Alessandro in pure love, Margarita in 
 jealous hate, Felipe in love and perplexity. Only 
 the Senora observed her not. If she had, matters 
 might have turned out very differently; for the 
 Senora was clear-sighted, rarely mistaken in her 
 reading of people's motives, never long deceived; 
 but her observing and discriminating powers were 
 not in focus, so far as Ramona was concerned. The 
 girl was curiously outside of the Senora's real life. 
 Shelter, food, clothes, all external needs, in so far as 
 her means allowed, the Senora would, without fail, 
 provide for the child her sister had left in her hands 
 as a trust; but a personal relation with her, a 
 mother's affection, or even interest and acquaint- 
 
RAMONA 155 
 
 ance, no. The Senora had not that to give. And 
 if she had it not, was she to blame? What could 
 she do? Years ago Father Salvierderra had left off 
 remonstrating with her on this point. "Is there 
 more I should do for the child? Do you see aught 
 lacking, aught amiss?" the Senora would ask, con 
 scientiously, but with pride. And the Father, thus 
 inquired 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, I do not. I cannot. One 
 cannot love by act of will." 
 
 "That is true," the Father would say sadly; "but 
 affection may be cultivated." 
 
 " Yes, if it exists," was the Senora's constant an 
 swer. " But in this case it does not exist. I shall 
 never love Ramona. Only at your command, and 
 to save my sister a sorrow, I took her. I will never 
 fail in my duty to her." 
 
 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 of itself 
 tend. All that Father Salvierderra could do, was to 
 love Ramona the more himself, which he did heartily, 
 and more and more each year, and small marvel at it ; 
 for a gentler, sweeter maiden never drew breath than 
 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 
 
t S 6 RAMONA 
 
 been a fourth, and that fourth herself, matters might 
 have turned out differently. But how should Ra- 
 mona watch? How should Ramona know? Except 
 for her one year at school 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 since she was five years old. 
 
 There were no gayeties in the Senora Moreno's 
 home. Felipe, when he needed them, went one day's 
 journey, or two, or three, to get them ; went as often 
 as he liked. Ramona never went. How many times 
 she had longed to go to Santa Barbara, or to Monte 
 rey, or Los Angeles ; but to have asked the Senora's 
 permission to accompany her on some of her now 
 infrequent journeys to these places would have re 
 quired more courage than Ramona possessed. It 
 was now three years since she left the convent school, 
 but she was still as fresh from the hands of the nuns 
 as on the day when, with loving tears, they had 
 kissed her in farewell. The few romances and tales 
 and bits of verse she had read were of the most inno 
 cent and old-fashioned kind, and left her hardly less 
 childlike than before. This childlikeness, combined 
 with her happy temperament, had kept her singularly 
 contented in her monotonous life. She had fed the 
 birds, taken care of the flowers, kept the chapel in 
 order, helped in light household work, embroidered, 
 sung, and, as the Senora eight years before had 
 bade her do, said her prayers and pleased Father 
 Salvierderra. 
 
RAMONA 157 
 
 By processes strangely unlike, she and Alessandro 
 had both been kept strangely free from thoughts of 
 love and of marriage, he by living in the shadow, 
 and she by living in the sun ; his heart and thoughts 
 filled with perplexities and fears, hers filled by a 
 placid routine of light and easy tasks, and the out 
 door pleasures of a child. 
 
 As the days went on, and Felipe still remained 
 feeble, Alessandro meditated a bold stroke. Each 
 time that he went to Felipe's room to sing or to play, 
 he felt himself oppressed by the air. An hour of it 
 made him uncomfortable. The room was large, and 
 had two windows, and the door was never 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 Ales 
 sandro to Juan Can one day. " Do you think I 
 should anger them if I asked them to let me bring 
 Senor Felipe out to the veranda and put him on a 
 bed of my making? I'd wager my head I'd put 
 him on his feet in a week." 
 
 " And if you did that, you might ask the Senora 
 for the half of the estate, and get it, lad," replied 
 Juan. Seeing the hot blood darkening in Alessan- 
 dro's face at his words, he hastened to add, " Do not 
 be so hot-blooded. I meant not that you would ask 
 any reward for doing it ; I was only thinking what 
 joy it would be to the Senora to see Senor Felipe on 
 his feet again. It has often crossed my thoughts that 
 
158 RAMONA 
 
 if he did not get up from this sickness the Senora 
 would not be long behind him. It is but 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 say that ! " he said. " Faith, it 
 will be little the Senorita gets more than enough 
 for her bread, maybe, out of the Moreno estate. 
 Hark ye, Alessandro ; if you will not tell, I will tell 
 you the story of the Senorita. You know she is not 
 of the Moreno blood ; is no relation of theirs." 
 
 " Yes," said Alessandro ; " Margarita has said to 
 me that the Senorita Ramona was only the foster- 
 child of the Senora Moreno." 
 
 " Foster-child ! " repeated Juan Can, contemptu 
 ously, " there is something to the tale I know not, 
 nor ever could find out ; for when I was in Monterey 
 the Ortegna house was shut, and I could not get 
 speech of any of their people. But this much I 
 know, that it was the Senora Qrtegna that had the 
 girl first in keeping; and there was a scandalous 
 tale about her birth." 
 
 If Juan Can's eyes had not been purblind with old 
 age, he would have seen that in Alessandro's face 
 which would have made him choose his words more 
 carefully. But he went on : " It was after the Senora 
 Ortegna was buried, that our Senora returned, bring 
 ing this child with her; and I do assure you, lad, I 
 have seen the Senora look at her many a time as if 
 
RAMOftA 159 
 
 she wished her dead. And it is a shame, for she 
 was always as fair and good a child as the saints 
 ever saw. But a stain on the blood, a stain 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 big Saint Joseph there, 
 I overheard the Senora say as much. She was talk 
 ing to Father Salvierderra, and she said, ' If the child 
 had only the one blood in her veins, it would be 
 different. I like not these crosses with Indians.' " 
 
 If Alessandro had been civilized, he would at this 
 word " Indian " have bounded to his feet. Being 
 Alessandro, he stood if possible stiller than before, 
 and said in a low voice, " How know you it was the 
 mother that was 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 his wife's sake." 
 
 " But did you not say that it was in the Senora 
 Ortegna's keeping that the child was? " asked Ales 
 sandro, breathing harder and faster each moment 
 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 shelter to all 
 her husband's bastards, she might have taken lease ci 
 a church to hold them. But there was a story about 
 
1 60 RAMONA 
 
 a man's coming with this infant and leaving it in the 
 Senora's room; and she, poor lady, never having 
 had a child of her own, did warm to it at first sight, 
 and kept it with her to the last ; and I wager me, a 
 hard time she had to get our Senora to take the 
 child when she died; except that it was to spite 
 Ortegna, I think our Senora would as soon the child 
 had been dead." 
 
 "Has she not treated her kindly?" asked Ales- 
 sandro, in a husky voice. 
 
 Juan Can's pride resented this question. " Do you 
 suppose the Senora Moreno 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 Ales- 
 sandro. 
 
 Juan Can crossed himself. " Saints save us, no ! " 
 he exclaimed. " I '11 not forget, 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 the Senora, asking who was her mother. 
 And she said I had said her mother was no good, 
 which in faith I did, and no wonder. And the Senora 
 came to me, 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 Senorita 
 Ramona, on this estate or anywhere else in the 
 country, that day you leave my service ! ' And 
 
PLATE I'lll 
 
 THE OLD BENCH WHERE JUAN CAN SAT. (CAMULOS) 
 
 As he sat on the low bench, his head leaning back against the 
 whitewashed wall, his long legs stretched out nearly across the whole 
 width of the veranda, his pipe firm wedged in the extreme left corner 
 of his mouth, his hands in his pockets, he was the picture of placid 
 content. . . . Page Ilf Vol j 
 
 These verandas, especially those on the inner court, etc. . . . 
 
 Page 26, Vol. I. 
 
RAMONA 161 
 
 you 'd not do me the ill-turn to speak of it, Ales- 
 sandro, now?" said the old man, anxiously. "My 
 tongue runs away with me, lying here on this cursed 
 bed, with nothing to do, an active man like me." 
 
 " No, I '11 not speak of it, you may be assured," 
 said Alessandro, walking away slowly. 
 
 " Here ! Here ! " called Juan. " What about that 
 plan you had for making a bed for Senor Felipe on 
 the veranda? 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 says that it is the 
 only bed the Fathers would ever sleep on, in the 
 Mission days. I myself like the ground even better; 
 but my father sleeps always on the raw-hide. He 
 says it keeps him well. Do you think I might speak 
 of it to the Senora?" 
 
 " Speak of it to Senor Felipe himself," said Juan. 
 " It will be as he says. He rules this place now, 
 from beginning to end ; and it is but yesterday I 
 held him on my knee. It is soon that the old are 
 pushed to the wall, Alessandro." 
 
 "Nay, Juan Canito," replied Alessandro, kindly. 
 " It is not so. My father is many years older than 
 you are, and he rules our people to-day as firmly 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," thought Juan ; but he answered, " It is not 
 so with us. The old are not held in such reverence." 
 
 " That is not well," replied Alessandro. " We have 
 VOL. i. ii 
 
162 RAMONA 
 
 been taught differently. There is an old man in our 
 village who is many, many years older than my 
 father. He helped to carry the mortar at the build 
 ing of the San Diego Mission, I do not know how 
 many years ago. He is long past a hundred years 
 of age. He is blind and childish, and cannot walk ; 
 but he is cared for by every one. And we bring him 
 in our arms to every council, and set him by my 
 father's side. He talks very foolishly sometimes, but 
 my father will not let him be interrupted. He says 
 it brings bad luck to affront the aged. We will pres 
 ently be aged ourselves." 
 
 " Ay, ay ! " said Juan, sadly. " We must all come 
 to it. It is beginning to look not so far off to me ! " 
 
 Alessandro stared, no less astonished at Juan Can's 
 unconscious revelation of his standard of measure 
 ment of years than Juan had been at his. " Faith, 
 old man, what name dost give to yourself to-day ! " 
 he thought ; but went on with the topic of the raw 
 hide bed. " I may not so soon get speech with 
 Senor Felipe," he said. " It is usually when he is 
 sleepy that I go to play for him or to sing. But it 
 makes my heart heavy to see him thus languishing 
 day by day, and all for lack of the air and the 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, this suggestion of speaking to 
 Ramona of his plan for Felipe's welfare ? He could 
 
RAMONA 163 
 
 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, at that moment the Senora stood in 
 the doorway, come to ask after Juan Can's health. 
 
 The suggestion of the raw-hide bed struck her 
 favorably. She herself had, 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 yesterday that Senor Felipe was complaining 
 of the bed he lies on; and when he was well, he 
 thought nothing could be so good; he brought it 
 here, at a great price, for me, but I could not lie on 
 it. It seemed as if it would throw me off as soon 
 as I lay down ; it is a cheating device, like all these 
 innovations the Americans have brought into the 
 country. But Senor Felipe till now thought it a 
 luxury ; now he tosses on it, and says it is throwing 
 him all the time." 
 
 Alessandro smiled, in spite of his reverence for 
 the Senora. " I once lay down on one myself, 
 Senora," he said, " and that was what I said to my 
 father. It was like a wild horse under me, making 
 himself ready to buck. I thought perhaps the in 
 vention was of the saints, that men should not sleep 
 too long." 
 
 " There is a pile of raw-hides," said Juan, " well 
 cured, but not too stiff; Juan Jose* was to have sent 
 them off to-day to be sold; one of those will be 
 just right. It must not be too dry." 
 
RAMONA 
 
 "The fresher the better," said Alessandro, "so 
 it have no dampness. Shall I make the bed, 
 Senora?" he asked, " and will the Senora permit 
 that I make it on the veranda? I was just asking 
 Juan Can if he thought I might be so bold as to 
 ask you to let me bring Senor Felipe into the outer 
 air. With us, it is thought death to be shut up in 
 walls, as he has been so long. Not till we are sure 
 to die, do we go into the dark like that." 
 
 The Senora hesitated. She did not share Ales- 
 sandro's prejudice in favor of fresh air. 
 
 " Night and day both?" she said. "Surely it is 
 not well to sleep out in the night?" 
 
 " That is the best of all, Senora," replied Alessan 
 dro, earnestly. " I beg the Senora to try it. If 
 Senor Felipe have not mended greatly after the 
 first night he have so slept, then Alessandro will 
 be a liar." 
 
 " No, only mistaken," said the Senora, gently. 
 She felt herself greatly drawn to this young man 
 by his devotion, as she thought, to Felipe. " When 
 I die and leave Felipe here," she had more than 
 once said to herself, " it would be a great good to 
 him to have such a servant as this on the place." 
 
 " Very well, Alessandro," she replied ; " make 
 the bed, and we will try it at 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, saw Alessandro coming, 
 followed by two men, bearing the raw-hide bed. 
 
RAMONA 165 
 
 "What can that be?" she said. "Some new 
 invention of Alessandro's, but for what?" 
 
 " A bed for the Senor Felipe, Senorita," said 
 Alessandro, running lightly up the steps. "The 
 Senora has given permission to place it here on 
 the veranda, and Senor Felipe is to lie here day 
 and night ; and it will be a marvel in your eyes how 
 he will gain strength. It is the close room which 
 is keeping him weak now; he has no illness." 
 
 " I believe that is the truth, Alessandro," ex 
 claimed Ramona ; " I have been thinking the same 
 thing. My head aches after I am in that room but 
 an 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 heard so." 
 
 " 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 the nigh ' 
 
 "I should think it would be," cried Ramon "I 
 never thought of it. I should like to do it." 
 
 Alessandro was busy, with his face bent down, 
 arranging the bedstead in a sheltered corner of the 
 veranda. If his face had been lifted, Ramona would 
 have seen a look on it that would have startled her 
 more than the one she had surprised a few days 
 previous, after the incident with Margarita. All 
 day there had been coming and going in Alessan* 
 
i66 RAMONA 
 
 dro's brain a confused procession of thoughts, vague 
 yet intense. Put in words, they would have been 
 found to be little more than ringing changes on 
 this idea: "The Senorita Ramona has Indian blood 
 in her veins. The Senorita Ramona is alone. The 
 Senora loves her not. Indian blood ! Indian blood ! " 
 These, or something like them, would have been 
 the words; but Alessandro did not put them in 
 words. He only worked away on the rough 
 posts for Senor Felipe's bedstead, hammered, fitted, 
 stretched the raw-hide and made it tight and firm, 
 driving every nail, striking every blow, with a 
 bounding sense of exultant strength, as if there 
 were suddenly all around him a new heavens and 
 a new earth. 
 
 Now, when he heard Ramona say suddenly in 
 her girlish, eager tone, " It must be ; I never thought 
 of it; I should like to try it," these vague confused 
 thoughts of the day, and the day's bounding sense 
 of exultant strength, combined in a quick vision 
 before Alessandro's eyes, a vision of starry skies 
 overhead, Ramona and himself together, looking up 
 to them. But when he raised his head, all he said 
 was, " There, Se'norita ! That is all firm, now. If 
 Senor Felipe will let me lay him on 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 the veranda," she exclaimed. 
 " Shall Alessandro come in and carry you out?" 
 
 Felipe looked up, startled. The Senora turned 
 
RAMONA 167 
 
 on Ramona that expression of gentle, resigned dis 
 pleasure, which always hurt the girl's sensitive 
 nature far worse than anger. " I had not spoken- 
 to Felipe yet of the change, Ramona," she said. 
 " I supposed that Alessandro would have informed 
 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 to be moved. 
 
 "That's just what I needed!" he exclaimed. 
 "This cursed bed racks every bone in my body, 
 and I have longed for the sun more than ever a 
 thirsty man longed for water. Bless you, Ales 
 sandro," he went on, seeing Alessandro in the door 
 way. " Come here, and take me up in those long 
 arms of yours, and carry me quick. Already I 
 feel myself better." 
 
 Alessandro lifted him as if he were a baby ; indeed, 
 it was but a light burden now, Felipe's wasted body, 
 for a man much less strong than Alessandro to lift. 
 
 Ramona, chilled and hurt, ran in advance, carry 
 ing pillows and blankets. As she began to arrange 
 them on the couch, the Senora took them from 
 her hands, saying, " I will arrange them myself; " 
 and waved Ramona away. 
 
 It was a little thing. Ramona was well used to 
 such. Ordinarily it would have given her no pain 
 she could not conceal. But the girl's nerves were 
 
i68 RAMONA 
 
 not now in equilibrium. She had had hard work 
 to keep back her tears at the first rebuff. This 
 second was too much. She turned, and walked 
 swiftly 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 but too well how often his 
 mother hurt Ramona. All he thought now, in his 
 weakness, 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 he stooped 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, at Alessandro. 
 
 " Ah ! " he said ; and as he said it, he closed his 
 eyes, and let his head sink back into the pillow. 
 
 " Is that comfortable? Is that right? " asked the 
 Senora, who had seen nothing. 
 
 " 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 
 has shaken me up a good deal. Wait." 
 
RAMONA 169 
 
 " Yes, Senor," replied Alessandro, and seated him 
 self on the veranda steps. 
 
 " If you are to stay, Alessandro," said the Senora, 
 " I will go and look after some matters that need my 
 attention. I feel always at ease about Senor 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 had been 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 mind whether there could be any possibility of 
 his getting away before the expiration of the time for 
 which he had agreed to stay. 
 
 It was a long time before Felipe opened his eyes. 
 Alessandro thought he was asleep. 
 
 At last Felipe spoke. He had been watching Ales- 
 sandro's face for some minutes. "Alessandro," he 
 said. 
 
 Alessandro sprang to his feet, and walked swiftly 
 to the bedside. He did not know what the next word 
 might be. He felt that the Senor Felipe had seen * 
 straight into his heart in that one moment's look, and 
 Alessandro was prepared for anything. 
 
 " Alessandro," said Felipe, " my mother has been 
 speaking to me about your remaining with us perma 
 nently. Juan Can is now very old, and after this 
 accident will go on crutches the rest of his days, poor 
 soul ! We are in great need of some man who under 
 stands sheep, and the care of the place generally." 
 
I 7 o RAMONA 
 
 As he spoke, he watched Alessandro's face closely. 
 Swift changing expressions passed over it. Surprise 
 predominated. Felipe misunderstood the surprise. 
 " I knew you would be surprised," he said. " I told 
 my mother that you would not think of it ; that you 
 had stayed now only because we were in trouble." 
 
 ^Alessandro bowed his head gratefully. This recog 
 nition from Felipe gave him pleasure. 
 
 " Yes, Senor," he said, " that was it. I told Father 
 Salvierderra it was not for the wages. But my father 
 and I have need of all the money we can earn. Our 
 people are very poor, Senor. I do not know whether 
 my father would think I ought to take the place you 
 offer me, or not, Senor. It would 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's pause, " if you are 
 sure that you desire it, Senor Felipe, it would be a 
 pleasure to me to be of help to you." 
 
 And yet it was only a few moments ago that Ales 
 sandro had been turning over in his mind the possibility 
 of leaving the Senora Moreno's service immediately. 
 This change had not been a caprice, not been an im 
 pulse of passionate desire to remain near Ramona ; it 
 had come from a sudden consciousness that the Senior 
 Felipe would be his friend. And Alessandro was not 
 mistaken. 
 
TT 7HEN the Senora came back to the veranda, 
 she found Felipe asleep, Alessandro standing 
 at the foot of the bed, with his arms crossed on his 
 breast, watching him. As the Senora drew near, 
 Alessandro felt again the same sense of dawning 
 hatred which had seized him at her harsh speech 
 to Ramona. He lowered his eyes, and waited to be 
 dismissed. 
 
 " You can go now, Alessandro," said the Senora. 
 " I will sit here. You are quite sure that it will be 
 safe for Senor Felipe to sleep here all night ? JI 
 
 " It will cure him before many nights," replied 
 Alessandro, still without raising his eyes, and turning 
 to go. 
 
RAMONA 
 
 " Stay," said the Senora. Alessandro paused. " It 
 will not do for him to be alone here in the night, 
 Alessandro." 
 
 Alessandro had thought of this, and had remem 
 bered that if he lay on the veranda floor by Senor 
 Felipe's side, he would also lie under the Senorita's 
 window. 
 
 " No, Senora," he replied. " I will lie here by his 
 side. That was what I had thought, if the Senora is 
 willing." 
 
 " Thank you, Alessandro," said the Senora, in a 
 tone which would have surprised poor Ramona, still 
 sitting alone in her room, with sad eyes. She did not 
 know the Senora could speak thus sweetly to any one 
 but Felipe. " 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 not lie on a bed. A raw-hide like 
 Senor Felipe's, and my blanket, are all I want. I 
 could not lie on any bed." 
 
 " To be sure," thought the Senora ; " what was I 
 thinking of! How the boy makes one forget he is an 
 Indian ! But the floor is harder than the ground, 
 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 should wake and need 
 something." 
 
 " I will watch him myself till midnight," said the 
 Senora. " I should feel easier to see how he sleeps at 
 first." 
 
RAMONA 173 
 
 It was the balmiest of summer nights, and as still as 
 if no living thing were on the earth. There was a full 
 moon, which shone on the garden, and on the white 
 front of the little chapel among the trees. Ramona, 
 from her window, saw Alessandro pacing up and down 
 the walk. She had seen him spread down the raw 
 hide by Felipe's bed, and had seen the Senora take 
 her place in one of the big carved chairs. She won 
 dered if they were both going to watch ; she wondered 
 why the Senora would never let her sit up and watch 
 with Felipe. 
 
 " I am not of any use to anybody," she thought 
 sadly. She dared not go out and ask any questions 
 about the arrangements for the night. At supper the 
 Senora had spoken to her only in the same cold and 
 distant manner which always made her dumb and 
 afraid. She had not once seen Felipe alone during 
 the day. Margarita, who, in the former times, ah, 
 how far away those former times looked now ! had 
 been a greater comfort to Ramona than she realized, 
 Margarita now was sulky and silent, never came 
 into Ramona's presence if she could help it, and 
 looked at her sometimes with an expression which 
 made Ramona tremble, and say to herself, " 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 window leaning her head against the 
 sash, and looked at Alessandro pacing up and down, 
 she felt for the first time, and did not shrink from 
 it nor in any wise disavow or disguise it to herself, 
 
RAMONA 
 
 that she was glad he loved her. 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 in intercourse with men. But distinctly, 
 tenderly glad that Alessandro loved her, and dis 
 tinctly, tenderly aware how well he loved her, she 
 was, as she sat at her window this night, looking out 
 into the moonlit garden ; 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 she fell 
 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 impene 
 trable darkness, when Ramona awoke, sat up in her 
 bed, and listened. All was so still that the sound 
 of Felipe's low, regular breathing came in through 
 her open window. After hearkening to it for a few 
 moments, she rose noiselessly from her bed, and 
 creeping to the 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's window. 
 
 " 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 
 
RAMONA 175 
 
 Alessandro, to hear him speak again, but she could 
 think of no more to say. Because she could not, she 
 gave a little sigh. 
 
 Alessandro took one swift step towards the window. 
 " May the saints bless you, 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 light 
 filtered through the darkness, Ramona heard the 
 Senora's window open. 
 
 " Surely she will not strike up the hymn and wake 
 Felipe," thought Ramona ; and she sprang again to 
 the window to listen. A few low words between the 
 Senora and Alessandro, and then the Senora's win 
 dow closed again, and all was still. 
 
 " I thought she would not have the heart to wake 
 him," said Ramona to herself. " 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 at the head of her bed, and began say 
 ing a whispered prayer. The footfall of a spider in 
 Ramona's room had not been light enough to escape 
 the ear of that watching lover outside. Again Ales- 
 sandro's tall figure arose from the floor, turning 
 towards Ramona's window ; and now the darkness 
 was 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 was sure he 
 had heard her voice. 
 
176 RAMONA 
 
 "Did the Senorita speak?" he whispered, his face 
 close at the curtain. Ramona, startled, dropped her 
 rosary, which rattled as it fell on the wooden 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 to Alessandro 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 outer edge 
 of the veranda, and seated himself on the railing. 
 He would lie down 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. Forgetful of all else, she knelt gazing 
 at him. The rosary lay on the floor, forgotten. 
 Ramona would not finish that prayer, that day. But 
 her heart was full of thanksgiving and gratitude, 
 and the Madonna had a better prayer than any in 
 the book. 
 
 The sun was up, and the canaries, finches, and 
 linnets had made the veranda ring with joyous racket, 
 before Felipe opened his eyes. The Senora had 
 come and gone and come again, looking at him 
 anxiously, but he stirred not. Ramona had stolen 
 timidly out, glancing at Alessandro only long enough 
 to give him one quick smile, and bent over Felipe's 
 bed, holding her breath, he lay so still. 
 
 " Ought he to sleep so long? " she whispered. 
 
RAMONA 177 
 
 " Till the noon, it may be," answered Alessandro ; 
 " and when he wakes, you will see by his eye that 
 he is another man." 
 
 It was indeed so. When Felipe first looked about 
 him, he laughed outright with pure pleasure. Then 
 catching sight of Alessandro at the steps, he called, 
 in a stronger voice than had yet been heard from 
 him, " Alessandro, you are a famous physician. 
 Why could n't that fool from Ventura have known 
 as much? With all his learning, he had had me in 
 the next world before many days, except for you. 
 Now, Alessandro, breakfast! I am hungry. I had 
 forgotten what the thought of food was like to a 
 hungry stomach. And plenty ! plenty ! " he called, 
 as Alessandro ran towards the 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; 
 then turning to Alessandro, she said chokingly, 
 " May Heaven reward you ! " and disappeared ab 
 ruptly in her own room. When she came out, her 
 eyes were red. All day she moved and spoke with 
 a softness unwonted, indeed inconceivable. 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 on the veranda was the rallying point 
 for everything and everybody. The servants came 
 
 VOL. I. 12 
 
i 7 8 RAMONA 
 
 to look up at him, and wish him well, from the 
 garden-walk below. Juan Can, when he first hobbled 
 out on the stout crutches Alessandro had made him 
 of manzanita wood, dragged himself all the way 
 round the house, to have a look at Senor Felipe and 
 a word with him. The Senora sat there, in the big 
 carved chair, looking like a sibyl with her black silk 
 banded head-dress severely straight across her brow, 
 and her large dark eyes gazing out, past Felipe, into 
 the far south sky. Ramona lived there too, with her 
 embroidery or her book, sitting on cushions on the 
 floor in a corner, or at the foot of Felipe's bed, 
 always so placed, however, if anybody had no 
 ticed, but nobody did, so placed that she could 
 look at Felipe without looking full at the Senora's 
 chair, even if the 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 or sang, 
 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 the positions he 
 chose. He sat always, when Ramona was there, in 
 the spot which 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-shell exploding at their feet would not have 
 more astonished the different members of this circle, 
 the Senora, Ramona, Alessandro, than it would to 
 have been made suddenly aware of the thoughts 
 
RAMONA 179 
 
 which were going on in Felipe's mind now, from 
 day to day, as he lay there placidly looking at 
 them all. 
 
 It is probable that if Felipe had been in full health 
 and strength when the revelation suddenly came to 
 him that Alessandro loved Ramona, and that Ramona 
 might love Alessandro, he would have been instantly 
 filled with jealous antagonism. But at the time 
 when this revelation came, he was 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, and ever again be strong and well. 
 Side by side with these forebodings of his own death, 
 always came the thought of Ramona. What would 
 become of her, if he were gone ? Only too well he 
 knew that the girl's heart would be broken ; that she 
 could not live on alone with his mother. Felipe 
 adored his mother; but he understood her feeling 
 about Ramona. 
 
 With his feebleness had also come to Felipe, as is 
 often the case in long illnesses, a greater clearness of 
 perception. Ramona had ceased to puzzle him. He 
 no longer asked himself what her long, steady look 
 into his eyes meant. He knew. He saw it meant 
 that as a sister she loved him, had always loved him, 
 and could love him in no other way. He wondered 
 a little 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 going out 
 of the world, he thought. Presently he began to be 
 
i8o RAMONA 
 
 aware that a new quality was coming into his love 
 for her. He himself was returning to the brother 
 love which he had had for her when they were 
 children together, and in which he had felt no change 
 until he became a man and Ramona a woman. It 
 was strange what a peace fell upon Felipe when 
 this was finally clear and settled in his mind. No 
 doubt he had had more misgiving and fear about his 
 mother in the matter than he had ever admitted to 
 himself; perhaps also the consciousness of Ramona's 
 unfortunate birth had rankled at times; but all this 
 was past now. Ramona was his sister. He was her 
 brother. What course should he pursue in 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 thought of any pos 
 sible union between himself and Ramona had entered 
 into Alessandro's mind, still longer before it had 
 entered into Ramona's to think of Alessandro as a 
 husband, Felipe had spent hours in forecasting, plot 
 ting, and planning for them. For the first time in 
 his life he felt himself in the dark as to his mother's 
 probable action. That any concern as to Ramona's 
 personal happiness or welfare would influence her, 
 he knew 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 adopted daughter of the Senora Ortegna, bore 
 the Ortegna name, and had lived as foster-child if* 
 
RAMONA 181 
 
 the house of the Morenos. Would the Senora permit 
 such a one to marry an Indian? 
 
 Felipe doubted. The longer he thought, the more 
 he doubted. The more he watched, the more he saw 
 that the question might soon have to be decided. 
 Any hour might precipitate it. He made plan after 
 plan for forestalling trouble, for preparing his mother; 
 but Felipe was by nature indolent, 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. Alessandro was 
 always at hand, ready for any service, in the field, 
 in the house, his music a delight, his strength and 
 fidelity a repose, his personal presence always agree 
 able. " If only my mother could think it," reflected 
 Felipe, " it would be the best thing, all round, to have 
 Alessandro stay here'as overseer of the place,, and 
 then they might be married. Perhaps before the 
 summer is over she will come to see it so." 
 
 And the delicious, languid, semi-tropic summer 
 came hovering over the valley. The apricots turned 
 golden, the peaches glowed, the grapes filled and 
 hardened, like opaque emeralds hung thick under 
 the canopied vines. The garden was a shade brown, 
 and the roses had all fallen; but there were lilies, 
 and orange-blossoms, and poppies, and carnations, 
 and geraniums in the pots, and musk, oh, yes, ever 
 and always musk. It was like an enchanter's spell, 
 the knack the Senora had of forever keeping relays 
 
182 RAMONA 
 
 of musk to bloom all the year ; and it was still more 
 like an enchanter'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 the season's noon grew near. The 
 linnets were all nesting, and the finches and the 
 canaries too; and the Senora spent hours, every 
 day, tirelessly feeding the mothers. The vines had 
 all grown and spread out to their thickest ; no need 
 any longer of the gay blanket Alessandro had pinned 
 up that 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 spot as this? "To-morrow," said 
 Felipe, " I will speak to my mother," and " to-mor 
 row," and " to-morrow ; " but he did not. 
 
 There was one close observer of these pleasant 
 veranda days that Felipe knew nothing about. That 
 was Margarita. As the girl came and went about 
 her household tasks, she was always on the watch 
 for Alessandro, on the watch for Ramona. She was 
 biding her time. Just what shape her revenge was 
 going to take, she did not know. It was no use 
 plotting. It must be as it fell out; but that the 
 hour and the way for her revenge would come, she 
 never doubted. 
 
 When she saw the group on the veranda, as she 
 often did, all listening to Alessandro's violin, or to 
 his singing, Alessandro himself now at his ease and 
 
RAMONA 183 
 
 free in the circle, as if he had been there always, her 
 anger was almost beyond bounds. 
 
 " Oh, ho ! like a member of the family ; quite so ! " 
 she sneered. " It is new times 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 ; we shall see what comes of all this ! " And 
 she knew not which she hated the more of the two, 
 Alessandro or Ramona. 
 
 Since the day of the scene at the artichoke-field 
 she had never spoken to Alessandro, and had avoided, 
 so far as was possible, seeing him. At first Alessan 
 dro 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 in the esteem of Ramona, he 
 began to be sorry for Margarita. " A man should 
 not be rude to any maiden," he thought; and he 
 hated to remember how he had pushed Margarita 
 from him, and snatched his hand away, when he had 
 in the outset made no objection to her taking it. 
 But Margarita's resentment was not to be appeased. 
 She understood only too clearly how little Ales- 
 sandro's gentle advances meant, and she would none 
 of them. " Let him go to his Senorita," she said 
 bitterly, mocking the reverential tone in which she 
 had overheard him pronounce the word. "She is 
 fond enough of him, if only the fool had eyes to see 
 it. She '11 be ready to throw herself at his head 
 before long, if this kind of thing keeps up. ' It is 
 not well to speak thus freely of young men, Mar- 
 
184 RAMONA 
 
 garita ! ' Ha, ha ! Little I thought that day which 
 way the wind set in my mistress's temper ! I '11 
 wager she reproves me no more, under this roof 
 or any other ! Curse her ! What did she want of 
 Alessandro, except to turn his head, and then bid 
 him go his way ! " 
 
 To do Margarita justice, she never once dreamed 
 of the possibility of Ramona's wedding Alessandro. 
 A clandestine affair, an intrigue of more or less in 
 tensity, such as she herself might have carried on 
 with any one of the shepherds, this was the utmost 
 stretch of Margarita's angry imaginations in regard 
 to her young mistress's liking for Alessandro. There 
 was not, in her way of looking at things, any impos 
 sibility of such a thing as that. But marriage ! It 
 might be questioned whether that idea would have 
 been any more startling to the Senora herself than 
 to Margarita. 
 
 Little had passed between Alessandro and Ramona 
 which Margarita did not know. The girl was always 
 like a sprite, here, there, everywhere, in an hour, 
 and with eyes which, as her mother often told her, 
 saw on all sides of her head. Now, fired by her new 
 purpose, new passion, she moved swifter than ever, 
 and saw and heard even more. There were few 
 hours of any day when she did not know to a cer 
 tainty where both Alessandro and Ramona were ; 
 and there had been few meetings between them 
 which she had not either seen or surmised. 
 
 In the simple life of such a household as the 
 
RAMONA 185 
 
 Senora's, it was not strange that this was possible; 
 nevertheless, it argued and involved untiring vigi 
 lance on Margarita's part. Even Felipe, who thought 
 himself, from his vantage-post of observation on the 
 veranda, and from his familiar relation with Ramona, 
 well informed of most that happened, would have 
 been astonished to hear all that Margarita could 
 have told him. In the first days Ramona herself 
 had guilelessly told him much, had told him how 
 Alessandro, seeing her trying to sprinkle and bathe 
 and keep alive the green ferns with which she had 
 decorated the chapel for Father Salvierderra's com 
 ing, had said : " Oh, Senorita, they are 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 of such ferns as she had 
 never before seen ; tall ones, like ostrich-plumes, six 
 and eight feet high; the feathery maiden-hair, and 
 the gold fern, and the silver, twice as large as she 
 ever had found them. The chapel was beautiful, like 
 a conservatory, after she had arranged them in vases 
 and around the high candlesticks. 
 
 It was Alessandro, too, who had picked up in the 
 artichoke-patch all of the last year's seed-vessels 
 which had not been trampled down by the cattle, 
 and bringing one to her, had asked shyly if she did 
 not think it prettier than flowers made out of paper. 
 His people, he said, made wreaths of them. And so 
 they were, more beautiful than any paper flowers 
 which ever were made, great soft round disks of 
 
i86 RAMONA 
 
 fine straight threads like silk, with a kind of saint's 
 halo around them of sharp, stiff points, glossy as 
 satin, and of a lovely creamy color. It was the 
 strangest thing in the world nobody had ever noticed 
 them as they lay there on the ground. She had put 
 a great wreath of them around Saint Joseph's head, 
 and a bunch in the Madonna's hand ; and when the 
 Senora saw them, she exclaimed in admiration, and 
 thought they must have been made of silk and 
 satin. 
 
 And Alessandro had brought her beautiful baskets, 
 made by the Indian women at Pala, and one which 
 had come from the North, from the Tulare country ; 
 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 a bright-colored 
 bird. 
 
 And a beautiful stone bowl Alessandro had brought 
 her, glossy black, that came all the way from Cata- 
 lina Island ; a friend of Alessandro's got it. For the 
 first few weeks it had seemed as if hardly a day 
 passed that there was not some new token to be 
 chronicled of Alessandro's thoughtfulness and good 
 will. Often, too, Ramona had much to tell that Ales 
 sandro had said, tales of the old Mission days that 
 he had heard from his father; stories of saints, and 
 of the early Fathers, who were more like saints than 
 like men, Alessandro said, Father Junipero, who 
 founded the first Missions, and Father Crespi, his 
 friend. Alessandro's grandfather had journeyed with 
 
PLATE IX 
 
 VIEW FROM TPIE SOUTH VERANDA. (CAMULOS) 
 
 Between the veranda and the river meadows, out on which it looked 
 all was garden, orange grove, and almond orchard. . . . 
 
 Nothing was to be seen but verdure or bloom or fruit, at whatever 
 time of year you sat on the Senora's south veranda. 
 
 Pages 28, 29, Vol. I. 
 
 And a beautiful stone bowl Alessandro had brought her, glossy 
 black, that came all the way from Catalina Island; a friend of 
 Alessandro's got it. Page 186, Vol. I. 
 
 . . . Some growing in great bowls, swung by cords from the 
 roof. . . . Page 28, Vol. I. 
 
 
 
RAMONA 187 
 
 Father Crespi as his servant, and many a miracle he 
 had with his own eyes seen Father Crespi perform. 
 There was a cup out of which the Father always took 
 his chocolate for breakfast, a beautiful cup, which 
 was carried in a box, the only luxury the Father 
 had; and one morning it was broken, and every 
 body was in terror and despair. " Never mind, never 
 mind," said the Father ; " I will make it whole ; " 
 and taking the two pieces in his hands, he held 
 them tight together, 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 Ales- 
 sandro. To Felipe's sometimes artfully put ques 
 tions or allusions to him, she made brief replies, and 
 never continued the topic ; and Felipe had observed 
 another thing : she now rarely looked at Alessandro. 
 When he was speaking to others she kept her eyes 
 on the ground. If he addressed her, she looked 
 quickly up at him, but lowered her eyes after the 
 first glance. Alessandro also observed this, and was 
 glad of it. He understood it. He knew how differ 
 ently she could look in his face in the rare moments 
 when they were alone together. He fondly thought 
 he alone knew this; but he was mistaken. Marga 
 rita knew. She had more than once seen it. 
 
 It had happened more than once that he had 
 found Ramona at the willows by the brook, and had 
 talked with her there. The first time it happened, 
 it was a chance ; after that never a chance again, for 
 
i88 RAMONA 
 
 Alessandro went often seeking the spot, hoping to 
 find her. In Ramona's mind too, not avowed, but 
 half consciously, there was, if not the hope of seeing 
 him there, at least the memory that it was there 
 they had met. It was a pleasant spot, cool and 
 shady even at noon, and the running water always 
 full of music. Ramona often knelt there of a morn 
 ing, washing out a bit of lace or a handkerchief; and 
 when Alessandro saw her, it went hard with him to 
 stay away. At such moments the vision returned to 
 him vividly of that first night when, for the first 
 second, seeing her face in the sunset glow, he had 
 thought her scarce mortal. It was not that he even 
 now thought her less a saint; but ah, how well he 
 knew her to be 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 played with 
 it dreamily, thinking, in his poetic Indian fashion, 
 thoughts like these : " Whither have gone the drops 
 that passed beneath her hands, just here? These 
 drops will never find those in the sea; but I love 
 this water ! " 
 
 Margarita had seen him thus lying, and without 
 dreaming of the refined sentiment which prompted 
 his action, had yet groped blindly towards it, think 
 ing 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 Ra 
 mona, to wash you white in the Senora's eyes, if ever 
 
RAMONA 189 
 
 she come upon you there with the head shepherd, 
 making free with him, maybe ! Oh, but if that could 
 only happen, I 'd die content ! " And the more Mar 
 garita watched, the more she thought it not unlikely 
 that it might turn out so. It was oftener at the wil 
 lows than anywhere else that Ramona and Alessandro 
 met; and, as Margarita noticed with malicious satis 
 faction, they talked each time longer, each time parted 
 more lingeringly. Several times it had happened to 
 be near supper-time ; and Margarita, with one eye on 
 the garden-walk, had hovered restlessly near the 
 Senora, hoping to be ordered to call the Senorita 
 to supper. 
 
 " If but I could come on them of a sudden, and 
 say to her as she did to me, ' You are wanted in the 
 house ' ! Oh, but it would do my soul good ! I 'd 
 say it so it would sting like a lash laid on both their 
 faces ! It will come ! It will come ! It will be there 
 that she '11 be caught one of these fine times she 's 
 having ! I '11 wait ! It will come ! " 
 
X 
 
 TT came. And when it came, it fell out worse for 
 * Ramona than Margarita's most malicious hopes 
 had pictured; but Margarita had no hand in it. It 
 was the Senora herself. 
 
 Since Felipe had so far gained as to be able to be 
 dressed, sit in his chair 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 of long, 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 had not seen. 
 She knew every inch of her land. She had a special 
 purpose in walking over it now. She was carefully 
 
KAMONA 191 
 
 examining to see whether she could afford to sell to 
 the Ortegas a piece of pasture-land which they greatly 
 desired to buy, as it joined a pasturage tract of theirs. 
 This bit of land lay farther from the house than the 
 Senora realized, and it had taken more time than she 
 thought it would, to go over it ; and it was already 
 sunset on this eventful day, when, hurrying home, 
 she turned off from the highway into the same 
 short-cut path in which Father Salvierderra had met 
 Ramona in the spring. There was no difficulty now 
 in getting through the mustard tangle. It was parched 
 and dry, and had been trampled by cattle. The 
 Senora walked rapidly, but it was dusky twilight 
 when she reached the willows ; so dusky that she saw 
 nothing and she stepped so lightly on the smooth 
 brown path that she made no sound until suddenly, 
 face to face with a man and a woman standing locked 
 in each other's arms, she halted, stepped back a pace, 
 gave a cry of surprise, and, in the same second, rec 
 ognized the faces of the two, who, stricken dumb, 
 stood apart, each gazing into her face with terror. 
 
 Strangely enough, it was Ramona who spoke first. 
 Terror for herself had stricken 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," she was about to say, " You 
 
192 RAMONA 
 
 are discharged from my service from this hour," but 
 recollecting herself in time, said, " you will answer 
 to Senor Felipe. Out of my sight ! " And the Senora 
 Moreno actually, for once in her life beside herself 
 with rage, stamped her foot on the ground. " Out 
 of my sight ! " she repeated. 
 
 Alessandro did not stir, except to turn towards 
 Ramona with an inquiring look. He would run no 
 risk of doing what she did not wish. He had no idea 
 what she would think it best to do in this terrible 
 dilemma. 
 
 " Go, Alessandro," said Ramona, calmly, still look 
 ing the Senora full in the eye. Alessandro obeyed ; 
 before the words had left her lips, he had walked 
 away. 
 
 Ramona's composure, and Alessandro's waiting for 
 further orders than her own before stirring from the 
 spot, were too much for Senora Moreno. A wrath, 
 such as she had not felt since she was young, took 
 possession of her. As Ramona opened her lips again, 
 saying, " Senora," the Senora did a shameful deed ; 
 she struck the girl on the mouth, a cruel blow. 
 
 " Speak not to me ! " she cried again ; and seizing 
 her by the arm, she pushed 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, and stared in the girl's face. Even 
 
RAMONA 193 
 
 in the twilight she could see upon it an expression of 
 transcendent peace, and a resolve of which no one 
 would have thought it capable. " What does this 
 mean ? " thought the Senora, still weak, and trembling 
 all over, from rage. "The hussy, the hypocrite!" 
 and she seized the arm again. 
 
 This time Ramona did not remonstrate, but sub 
 mitted to being led like a prisoner, pushed into her 
 own room, the door slammed violently and locked on 
 the outside. 
 
 All of which Margarita saw. She had known for 
 an hour that Ramona and Alessandro were at the 
 willows, and she had been consumed with impatience 
 at the Senora's prolonged absence. More than once 
 she had gone to Felipe, and asked with assumed in 
 terest 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 knew also 
 where the Senora had gone, and that she would be 
 late home ; but he did not know that there would be 
 any chance of her returning by way of the willows at 
 the brook ; if he had known it, he would have con 
 trived to summon Ramona. 
 
 When Margarita saw Ramona shoved into her room 
 by the pale and trembling Senora, saw the key turned, 
 taken out, and dropped into the Senora's pocket, she 
 threw her apron over her head, and ran into the back 
 porch. Almost a remorse seized her. She remem- 
 VOL. i. 13 
 
i 94 RAMONA 
 
 bered in a flash how often Ramona had helped her 
 in times gone by, sheltered her from the Senora's 
 displeasure. She recollected the torn altar-cloth. 
 " Holy Virgin ! what will be done to her now? " she 
 exclaimed, under her breath. Margarita had never 
 conceived of such an extremity as this. Disgrace, 
 and a sharp reprimand, and a sundering of all rela 
 tions with Alessandro, this was all Margarita had 
 meant to draw down on Ramona's head. But the 
 Senora looked as if she might kill her. 
 
 " She always did hate her, in her heart," reflected 
 Margarita ; " she shan't starve her to death, anyhow. 
 I '11 never stand by and see that. But it must have 
 been something shameful the Senora saw, to have 
 brought her to such a pass as this; " and Margarita's 
 jealousy again got the better of her sympathy. " Good 
 enough for her. No more than she deserved. An 
 honest fellow like Alessandro, that would make a 
 good husband for any girl ! " 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's view and interpretation of the situa 
 tion. The Senora looking at it from above, and 
 Margarita looking at it from below, each was sure, 
 and they were both equally sure, that it could be 
 nothing more nor less than a disgraceful intrigue. 
 Mistress and maid were alike incapable either of 
 conjecturing or of believing the truth. 
 
 As ill luck would have it, or was it good luck? 
 Felipe also had witnessed the scene in the garden- 
 
RAMONA 195 
 
 walk. Hearing voices, he had looked out of his win 
 dow, and, almost doubting the evidence of his senses, 
 had seen his mother violently dragging Ramona by 
 the arm, Ramona pale, but strangely placid ; his 
 mother with rage and fury in her white face. The 
 sight told its own tale to Felipe. Smiting his fore 
 head with his hand, he groaned out : " Fool that I 
 was, to let her be surprised ; she has come on them 
 unawares ; now she will never, never forgive it ! " And 
 Felipe threw himself on his bed, to think what should 
 be done. Presently he heard his mother's voice, still 
 agitated, calling his name. He remained silent, 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 a 
 little to-night ; " and as she bent over him, anxious, 
 alarmed, he threw his arms around her neck and 
 kissed her warmly. " Mother mia ! " he said passion 
 ately, " what should I do without you ? " The caress, 
 the loving words, acted like oil on the troubled 
 waters. They restored the Senora as nothing else 
 could. What mattered anything, so long as she had 
 her adoring and adorable son ! And she would not 
 speak to him, now that he was so tired, of this dis 
 graceful and vexing matter of Alessandro. It could 
 wait till morning. She would send him his supper in 
 his room, and he would not miss Ramona, perhaps. 
 
 " I will send your supper here, Felipe," she said ; 
 " you must not overdo ; you have been walking too 
 
196 RAMONA 
 
 much. Lie still." And kissing him affectionately, 
 she went to the dining-room, where Margarita, vainly 
 trying to look as if nothing had happened, was stand 
 ing, ready to serve supper. When the Senora en 
 tered, with her countenance composed, and in her 
 ordinary tones said, " Margarita, you can take Senior 
 Felipe's supper into 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 her room, and lock 
 her up there? She was so bewildered that she stood 
 still and gazed at the Senora, with her mouth wide 
 open. 
 
 "What are you staring at, girl?" asked the Senora, 
 so sharply that Margarita jumped. 
 
 " Oh, nothing, nothing, Senora ! And the Senorita, 
 will she come to supper? Shall I call her?" she 
 said. 
 
 The Senora eyed her. Had she seen? Could she 
 have seen? The Senora Moreno was herself again. 
 So long as Ramona was under her roof, no matter 
 what she herself might do or say to the girl, no ser 
 vant should treat her with disrespect, or know that 
 aught was wrong. 
 
 " The Senorita is not well," she said coldly. " She 
 is in her room. I myself will take her some supper 
 later, if she wishes it. Do not disturb her." And 
 the Senora returned to Felipe 
 
RAMONA 197 
 
 Margarita chuckled inwardly, and proceeded to 
 clear the table she had spread with such malicious 
 punctuality two short hours before. In those two 
 short hours how much had happened ! 
 
 " Small appetite for supper will our Senorita have, 
 I reckon," said the bitter Margarita, " and the Senor 
 Alessandro also ! I 'm curious to see how he 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 the places where she knew he was in the 
 habit of going ; but Alessandro was not to be found. 
 Once she brushed so near his hiding-place that he 
 thought he was discovered, and was on the point oi 
 speaking, but luckily held his peace, and she passed 
 on. Alessandro was hid behind the geranium clump 
 at the chapel door ; sitting on the ground, with his 
 knees drawn up to his chin, watching Ramona's win 
 dow. He intended to stay there 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 down through the garden-walk 
 to the willows. In either case, he would see her from 
 the hiding-place he had chosen. He was racked by 
 his emotions ; mad with joy one minute, sick at heart 
 with misgiving the next. Ramona loved him. She 
 had told him so. She had said she would go away 
 with him and be his wife. The words had but just 
 
198 RAMONA 
 
 passed her lips, at that dreadful moment when the 
 Senora appeared in their presence. As he lived the 
 scene over again, he re-experienced the joy and 
 the terror equally. 
 
 What was not that terrible Senora capable of 
 doing? Why did she look at him and at Ramona 
 with such loathing scorn ? Since she knew that the 
 Sefiorita was half Indian, why should she think it so 
 dreadful a thing for her to marry an Indian man ? It 
 did not once enter into Alessandro's mind, that the 
 Senora could have had any other thought, seeing 
 them as she 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 Temecula 
 women lived ? No ! for her sake he must leave his 
 people ; must go to some town, must do he knew 
 not what something to earn more money. An 
 guish seized him as he pictured to himself Ramona 
 suffering deprivations. The more he thought of the 
 future in this light, the more his joy faded and his 
 fear grew. He had never had sufficient hope that 
 she could be his, to look forward thus to the prac 
 tical details of life ; he had only gone on loving, and 
 in a vague way dreaming and hoping ; and now, 
 now, in a moment, all had been changed ; in a mo 
 ment he had spoken, and she had spoken, and such 
 words once spoken, there was no going back ; and he 
 had put his arms around her, and felt her head on his 
 shoulder, and kissed her ! Yes, he, Alessandro, had 
 kissed the Senorita Ramona, and she had been glad 
 
RAMONA 199 
 
 of it, and had kissed him on the Iip3, as no maiden 
 kisses a man unless she will wed with him, him, 
 Alessandro ! Oh, no wonder the man's brain whirled, 
 as he sat there in the silent darkness, wondering, 
 afraid, helpless ; his love wrenched from him, in the 
 very instant of their first kiss, wrenched from him, 
 and he himself ordered, by one who had the right 
 to order him, to begone ! What could an Indian do 
 against a Moreno! 
 
 Would Felipe help him ? Ay, there was Felipe ! 
 That Felipe was his friend, Alessandro knew with a 
 knowledge as sure as the wild partridge's instinct 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 the whole course of their lives, 
 so in this supreme moment of Alessandro's love 
 there flashed through his mind vivid pictures of 
 every word and act of Ramona's since he first knew 
 her. He recollected the tone in which she had said, 
 and the surprise with which he heard her say it, 
 at the time of Felipe's fall, "You are Alessandro, 
 are you not?" He heard again her 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 without food. " O 
 God ! will she always have food each day if she 
 comes with me?" he said. And at the bare thought 
 
200 RAMONA 
 
 he was ready to flee away from her forever. 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. She had said, " I know you 
 love me, Alessandro, and I am glad of it," and had 
 lifted 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 come closer, 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 like this, nothing could 
 make them wretched; his love would be. enough for 
 her, and for him hers was an empire. 
 
 It was indeed true, though neither the Senora nor 
 Margarita would have believed it, that this had been 
 the first word of love ever spoken between Alessan 
 dro and Ramona, the first caress ever given, the first 
 moment of unreserve. It had come about, as lovers' 
 first words, first caresses, are so apt to do, unexpect 
 edly, with no more premonition, at the instant, than 
 there is of the instant of the opening of a flower. 
 Alessandro had been speaking to Ramona of the 
 conversation Felipe had held with him in regard to 
 remaining on the place, and asked her if she knew 
 of the plan. 
 
 "Yes," she said; "I heard the Senora talking 
 about it with Felipe, some days ago." 
 
 "Was she against my staying?" asked Alessandro, 
 quickly. 
 
 " I think not," said Ramona, " but I am not sure. 
 
RAMONA 201 
 
 It is not easy to be sure what the Senora wishes, till 
 afterward. It was Felipe that proposed it." 
 
 This somewhat enigmatical statement as to the 
 difficulty of knowing the Senora'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 wishes anything ; she says she leaves 
 everything to Felipe to decide, or to Father Salvier- 
 derra. But I think it is always decided as she wishes 
 to have it, after all. The Senora is wonderful, Ales- 
 sandro ; don't you think so ? " 
 
 " She loves Senor Felipe very much," was Ales 
 sandro's evasive reply. 
 
 " Oh, yes," exclaimed Ramona. " You do not 
 begin to know how much. She does not love any 
 other human being. He takes it all. She hasn't 
 any left. If he had died, she would have died too. 
 That is the reason she likes you so much ; she thinks 
 you saved Felipe's life. I mean, that is one reason," 
 added Ramona, smiling, and looking up confidingly 
 at Alessandro, who smiled back, not in vanity, but 
 honest gratitude that the Senorita was pleased to 
 intimate that he was not unworthy of the Senora's 
 regard. 
 
 " I do not think she likes me," he said. " I can 
 not tell why ; but I do not think she likes any one 
 in the world. She is not like any one I ever saw, 
 Senorita/' 
 
202 RAMONA 
 
 " No," replied Ramona, thoughtfully. " She is 
 not. I am, oh, so afraid of her, Alessandro ! I have 
 always been, ever since I was a little girl. I used to 
 think she hated me; but now I think she does not 
 care one way or the other, if I keep out of her way." 
 
 While Ramona spoke these words, her eyes were 
 fixed on the running water at her feet. If she had 
 looked up, and seen the expression in Alessandro's 
 eyes as he listened, the thing which was drawing 
 near would have drawn near faster, would have ar 
 rived at that moment; but she did not look up. She 
 went on, little dreaming how hard she was making 
 it for Alessandro. 
 
 " Many 's the time I Ve come down here, at night, 
 to this brook, and looked at it, and wished it was a 
 big river, so I could throw myself in, 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 next morning, when the sun came out, 
 and the birds sang, I Ve been glad enough I had not 
 done it. Were you ever so unhappy as that, Ales 
 sandro? " 
 
 " No, Senorita, never," replied Alessandro ; " and 
 it is thought a great disgrace, 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. Will 
 you always be so? Must you always stay here?" 
 
 " Oh, but I am not always unhappy ! " said Ra 
 mona, with her sunny little laugh. "Indeed, I am 
 generally very happy. Father Salvierderra says that 
 
RAM ON A 203 
 
 if one does no sin, one will be always happy, and 
 that it is a sin not to rejoice every hour of the day 
 in the sun and the sky and the work there is to 
 do ; and there is always plenty of that." Then, her 
 face clouding, she continued : " I suppose I shall 
 always stay here. I have no other home ; you know 
 I was the Senora's sister's adopted child. She died 
 when I was little, and the Senora kindly took me. 
 Father Salvierderra says I must never forget to be 
 grateful to her for all she has done for me, and I 
 try not to." 
 
 Alessandro eyed her closely. The whole story, as 
 Juan Can had told it to him, of the girl's birth, was 
 burning in his thoughts. How he longed to cry out, 
 " O my loved one, they have made you homeless in 
 your home. They despise you. The blood of my 
 race is in your veins ; come to me ; come to me ! 
 be surrounded with love ! " But he dared not. How 
 could he dare? 
 
 Some strange spell seemed to have unloosed Ra- 
 mona's tongue to-night. She had never before 
 spoken to Alessandro of her own personal history 
 or burdens ; but she went on : " The worst thing is, 
 Alessandro, that she will not 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 ever to ask her again. She said she 
 herself would tell me when it was proper for me to 
 know. But she never has." 
 
 How the secret trembled on Alessandro's lips now, 
 
204 RAMONA 
 
 Ramona had never seemed so near, so intimate, so 
 trusting. What would happen if he were to tell her 
 the truth? Would the sudden knowledge draw her 
 closer to him, or repel her? 
 
 " Have you never asked her again ? " he said. 
 
 Ramona looked up astonished. " No one ever dis 
 obeyed the Senora," she said quickly. 
 
 " I would ! " exclaimed Alessandro. 
 
 "You may think so," said Ramona, "but you 
 could n't. When you tried, you would find you 
 could n'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 the time came, I would be 
 told," answered Ramona, sadly. " I don't see what 
 they 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," replied Alessandro. " Many things 
 that your people do, and still more that these Ameri 
 cans 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 words were wrung from her. " But 
 let us talk about something else, Alessandro; not 
 about sad things, about pleasant things. Let us talk 
 about your staying here." 
 
 "Would it be truly a pleasure to the Senorita 
 Ramona, if I stayed ? " said Alessandro. 
 
RAMONA 205 
 
 "You know it would," answered Ramona, frankly, 
 yet with a tremor in her voice, which Alessandro felt. 
 " I do not see what we could any of us do without 
 you. Felipe says he shall not let you go." 
 
 Alessandro's face glowed. " It must be as my 
 father says, Senorita," he said. " A messenger came 
 from him yesterday, and I sent him back with a letter 
 telling him what the Senor Felipe had proposed to 
 me, and asking him what I should do. My father is 
 very old, Senorita, and I do not see how he can well 
 spare me. I am his only child, and my mother died 
 years ago. We live alone together in our house, and 
 when I am away he is very lonely. But he would 
 like to have me earn the wages, I know, and I hope 
 he will think it best for me to stay. There are many 
 things we want to do for the village; most of our 
 people are poor, and can do little more than get 
 what they need to eat day by day, and my father 
 wishes to see them better off before he dies. Now 
 that the Americans are coming in all around us, he 
 is afraid and anxious all the time. He wants to get 
 a big fence built around our land, so as to show 
 where it is; but the people cannot take much time 
 to work on the fence ; they need all their time to 
 work for themselves and their families. Indians 
 have a hard time to live now, 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 little village not more than twenty 
 
206 RAMONA 
 
 houses in all, and some of those are built only of tule. 
 There is a chapel, and a graveyard. We built an 
 adobe wall around the graveyard last year. That 
 my father said we would do, before we built the 
 fence around 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 away most of the time. They 
 must go where they can get work ; they are hired by 
 the farmers, or to do work on the great ditches, or 
 to go as shepherds ; and some of them take their 
 wives and children with them. I do not believe the 
 Senorita has ever seen any very poor people." 
 
 " Oh, yes, I have, Alessandro, at Santa Barbara. 
 There were many poor people 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 your men, Alessandro. They were 
 very different; miserable looking; they could not 
 read nor write, and they seemed to have no am 
 bition." 
 
 "That is the trouble," said Alessandro, "with so 
 many of them; it is with my father's people, too. 
 They say, ' What is the use?' My father gets in 
 despair with them, because they will not learn better. 
 He gives them 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 
 
RAMONA 207 
 
 father and me, Senorita; and yet my father is all 
 the time begging them to come to his house and 
 learn of him. But they say they have no time ; and 
 indeed there is much truth in that, Senorita. You 
 see everybody 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 and personal 
 matters. 
 
 " Ah, but these are real troubles," she said. " I do 
 not think mine were real troubles at all. I wish I 
 could do something for your people, Alessandro. If 
 the village were only near by, I could teach them, 
 could I not? I could teach them to read. The Sis 
 ters always said, that to teach the ignorant and the 
 poor was the noblest work one could do. I wish I 
 could teach your people. Have you any relatives 
 there besides your father? Is there any one in the 
 village that you love, Alessandro ? " 
 
 Alessandro was too much absorbed in thoughts of 
 his people to observe the 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 all the 
 time." 
 
 During the whole of this conversation Ramona had 
 had an undercurrent of thought going on, which was 
 making her uneasy. The more Alessandro said about 
 his father and his people, the more she realized that 
 
208 RAMONA 
 
 he was held to Temecula by bonds that would be 
 hard to break, the more she feared his father would 
 not let him remain away from home for any length 
 of time. At the thought of his going away, her 
 very heart sickened. Taking a sudden step towards 
 him, she said abruptly, " Alessandro, I am afraid 
 your 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," she said. 
 
 "How could I, Senorita?" 
 
 "No," she said, " it would not be right;" but as 
 she said these words, the tears rilled 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 Alessandro trembled with the terror and delight 
 of having said the words. 
 
 Hardly did he trust his palpitating senses to be 
 telling him true the words that followed, quick, firm, 
 though only in a whisper, "I know that you love 
 me, Alessandro, and I am glad of it ! " Yes, this 
 was what the Senorita Ramona was saying ! And 
 when he stammered, " But you, Senorita, you do not 
 you could not " " Yes, Alessandro, I do I 
 love you ! " in the same clear, firm whisper ; and the 
 next minute Alessandro's arms were around Ramona, 
 and he had kissed her, sobbing rather than saying, 
 
RAM ON A 209 
 
 " O Senorita, do you mean that you will go with me ? 
 that you are mine ? Oh, no, beloved Senorita, you 
 cannot mean . that ! " But he was kissing her. He 
 knew she did mean it; and Ramona, whispering, 
 " Yes, Alessandro, I do mean it ; I will go with you/ 1 
 clung to him with her hands, and kissed him, and 
 repeated it, " I will go with you, I love you." And 
 then, just then, came the Senora's step, and her sharp 
 cry of 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 he crouched in the darkness, watching ! 
 But the bewilderment of his emotions did not dull 
 his senses. As if stalking deer in a forest, he 
 listened for sounds from the house. It seemed 
 strangely still. As the darkness deepened, it seemed 
 still stranger that no lamps were lit. Darkness in 
 the 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 under Felipe's 
 door streamed a faint radiance ; and creeping close 
 to the veranda, Alessandro heard voices fitfully talk 
 ing, the Senora's and Felipe's ; no word from 
 Ramona. Piteously he fixed his eyes on her win 
 dow; 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 caution 
 and infinite patience of his Indian blood kept Ales 
 sandro from going to her window. But he would 
 VOL- i. 14 
 
210 RAMONA 
 
 imperil nothing by acting on his own responsibility. 
 He would wait, if it were till daylight, till his love 
 made a sign. Certainly before long Senor Felipe 
 would come to his veranda bed, and then he could 
 venture to speak to him. But it was near midnight 
 when the door of Felipe's room opened, and he 
 and his mother came out, still speaking in low tones. 
 Felipe lay down on his couch; his mother, bending 
 over, kissed him, bade him good-night, and went 
 into her own room. 
 
 It had been some time now since Alessandro had 
 left off sleeping on the veranda 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 surprised when, a few minutes after the Senora's 
 door closed, he heard a low voice through the vines, 
 "Senor Felipe?" 
 
 " Hush, Alessandro," whispered Felipe. " Do 
 not make a sound. To-morrow morning early I 
 will see you, behind the little sheepfold. It is not 
 safe 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 Alessandro had to comfort himself with, 
 through his long night of watching. No, not all; 
 one other thing comforted him, the notes of two 
 wood-doves, that at intervals he heard, cooing to 
 
RAMONA 211 
 
 each other; just the two notes, the call and the 
 answer, "Love?" "Here," "Love?" "Here," 
 and long intervals of silence between. Plain as if 
 written on a page was the thing they told. 
 
 " That is what my Ramona is like," thought he, 
 " the gentle wood-dove. If she is my wife my people 
 will call her Majel, the Wood-Dove." 
 
XI 
 
 T T 7"HEN the Senora bade Felipe good-night, she 
 did not go to bed. After closing her door, 
 she sat down to think what should be done about 
 Ramona. It had been a hard task she had set her 
 self, talking all the evening with Felipe without 
 alluding to the topic uppermost in her mind. But 
 Felipe was still nervous and irritable. She would 
 not spoil his night's rest, she thought, by talking of 
 disagreeable things. Moreover, she was not clear 
 in her own mind what she wished to have done about 
 Alessandro. If Ramona were to be sent away to 
 the nuns, which was the only thing the Senora could 
 think of as yet, there would be no reason for dis 
 charging Alessandro. And with him the Senora 
 
PLATE X 
 
 THE WILEOWS. (CAMULOS) 
 
 Just as the red beams of the sinking sun came streaming through 
 the willow trees . . . Ramona, darting down the garden, had reached 
 the brook; . . . She bent low over the stones; . . . the sunset 
 beams played around her hair like a halo; . . . Cautiously he moved 
 a few steps nearer, into the shelter of a gnarled old willow, from 
 behind which he could gaze unperceived on the beautiful vision. 
 
 Pages 79, 80, Vol. I. 
 
RAMONA 213 
 
 was by no means ready to part, though in her first 
 anger she had been ready to dismiss him on the 
 spot. As she pursued her reflections, the whole 
 situation cleared itself in her mind ; so easily do 
 affairs fall into line, in the plottings and plannings 
 of an arbitrary person, who makes in his formula 
 no allowance for a human element which he cannot 
 control. 
 
 Ramona should be sent in disgrace to the Sisters' 
 School, to be a servant there for the rest of her life. 
 The Senora would wash her hands of her forever. 
 Even Father Salvierderra himself could not expect 
 her any longer to keep such a shameless creature 
 under her roof. Her sister's written instructions 
 had provided for the possibility of just such a con 
 tingency. Going to a secret closet in the wall, 
 behind a life-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 
 with difficulty in the lock. It was many years since 
 the Senora had opened this box. No one but her 
 self knew of its existence. There had been many 
 times in the history of the Moreno house when the 
 price of the contents of that box would have averted 
 loss and misfortune ; but the Senora no more thought 
 of touching the treasure than if it had been guarded 
 by angels with fiery swords. There they lay, brilliant 
 and shining even in the dim light of the one candle, 
 rubies, emeralds, pearls, and yellow diamonds. 
 The Senora's lip curled as she looked at them 
 
2i 4 RAMONA 
 
 " Fine dowry, truly, for a creature like this ! " she 
 said. " Well I knew in the beginning no good 
 would come of it; base begotten, base born, she 
 has but carried out the instincts of her nature. I 
 suppose I may be grateful that my own son was 
 too pure to be her prey ! " " To be given to my 
 adopted daughter, Ramona Ortegna, on her wedding 
 day," so the instructions ran, " if she weds 
 worthily and with your approval. Should such a 
 misfortune occur, which I do not anticipate, as that 
 she should prove unworthy, then these jewels, and 
 all I have left to her of value, shall be the property 
 of the Church." 
 
 " No mention as to what I am to do with the girl 
 herself if she proves unworthy," thought the Senora, 
 bitterly ; " but the Church is the place for her ; no 
 other keeping will save her from the lowest depths 
 of disgrace. I recollect my sister said that Angus 
 had at first intended to give the infant to the Church. 
 Would to God he had done so, or left it with its 
 Indian mother ! " and the Senora rose, and paced 
 the floor. The paper of her dead sister's hand 
 writing 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 of her 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 breathe easier. She 
 
RAMONA 215 
 
 and Felipe would lead their lives together, and Felipe 
 would wed some day. Was there a woman fair 
 enough, good enough, for Felipe to wed? 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," she said. " 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, which made her suddenly 
 remember that Ramona had had no supper, and led 
 her to go to the kitchen, get a jug of milk and 
 some bread, and take them to the room. Turning 
 the key cautiously, that Felipe might not hear, she 
 opened the door and glided in. No voice greeted 
 her ; she held her candle high up ; no Ramona in 
 sight; the bed was empty. She glanced at the 
 window. It was open. A terror seized the Senora ; 
 fresh anger also. " She has run off with Ales- 
 sandro," she thought. " What horrible disgrace ! " 
 Standing motionless, she heard a faint, regular 
 breathing from the other side of the bed. Hastily 
 crossing the room, she saw a sight which had melted 
 a heart that was only ice; but the Senora's was 
 stone towards Ramona. There lay Ramona on the 
 floor, her head on a pillow at the feet of the big 
 Madonna which stood in the corner. Her left hand 
 was under her cheek, her right arm flung tight 
 around the base of the statue. She was sound 
 
RAMONA 
 
 asleep. Her face was wet with tears. Her whole 
 attitude was full of significance. Even helpless in 
 sleep, she was one who had taken refuge in sanctu 
 ary. This thought had been distinct in the girl's 
 mind when 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 ; " and 
 the window is open. Felipe would hear if I called ; 
 and Alcssandro will watch." And with a prayer 
 on her lips she fell asleep. 
 
 It was Felipe's nearness more than the Madonna's, 
 which saved her from being roused to hear her 
 doom. The Senora stood for some moments look 
 ing at her, and at the open window. With a hot 
 rush of disgraceful suspicions, she noted what she 
 had never before thought of, that Alessandro, 
 through all his watching with Felipe, had had close 
 access to Ramona's window. " Shameful creature ! " 
 she repeated to herself. " And she can sleep ! It 
 is well she prayed, if the Virgin will hear such ! " 
 and she turned away, first setting down the jug of 
 milk and the bread on a table. Then, with a 
 sudden and still more curious mingling of justness 
 in her wrath, she returned, and lifting the coverlet 
 from the bed, spread it over Ramona, covering her 
 carefully from head to foot. Then she went out 
 and again locked the door. 
 
 Felipe, from his bed, heard and divined all, but 
 made no sound. K Thank God, the poor child is 
 asleep ! " he said ; " and my poor dear mother feared 
 
RAMONA 217 
 
 to awake me by speaking to her ! What will be 
 come of us all to-morrow ! " And Felipe tossed 
 and turned, and had barely fallen into an uneasy 
 sleep, when his mother's window opened, and she 
 sang the first line of the sunrise hymn. Instantly 
 Ramona joined, evidently awake and ready; and 
 no sooner did the watching Alessandro hear the 
 first note of her voice, than he struck in; and 
 Margarita, who had been up for an hour, prowling, 
 listening, peering, wondering, her soul racked be 
 tween her jealousy and her fears, even Margarita 
 delayed not to unite ; and Felipe, too, sang feebly ; 
 and the volume of the song went up as rounded 
 and melodious as if all hearts were at peace and in 
 harmony, instead of being all full of sorrow, con 
 fusion, or hatred. But there was no one of them 
 all who was not the better for the singing ; Ramona 
 and Alessandro most of all. 
 
 "The saints be praised," said Alessandro. " There 
 is my wood-dove's voice. She can sing ! " And, 
 " Alessandro was near. He watched all night. I 
 am glad he loves me," said Ramona. 
 
 "To hear those two voices!" said the Senora; 
 " would one suppose they could sing like that? Per 
 haps it is not so bad as I think." 
 
 As soon as the song was done, Alessandro ran to 
 the sheepfold, where Felipe had said he would see 
 him. The minutes would be like years to Alessandro 
 till he had seen Felipe. 
 
 Ramona, when she waked and found herself care- 
 
218 RAMONA 
 
 fully covered^ and bread 'and milk standing on the 
 table, felt much reassured. Only the Senora's own 
 hand had done this, she felt sure, for she had heard 
 her the previous 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 be 
 known to none but the Senora herself. The Senora 
 would not set servants to gossiping. She ate her 
 bread and milk thankfully, for she was very hungry. 
 Then she set her room in order, said her prayers, 
 and sat down to wait. For what? She could not 
 imagine; in truth, she did not much try. 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 going away presently 
 with Alessandro. It was wonderful what peace and 
 freedom lay in the very thought. The radiance on 
 her face of these two new-born emotions was the first 
 thing the Senora observed as she opened the door, 
 and slowly, very slowly, eying Ramona with a 
 steady look, entered the room. This joyous com 
 posure on Ramona's face angered the Senora, as it 
 had done before, when she was dragging her up the 
 garden-walk. It seemed to her like nothing less 
 than brazen effrontery, and it changed the whole 
 tone and manner of her address. 
 
 Seating herself opposite Ramona, but at the farth 
 est side of the room, she said, in a tone scornful and 
 insulting, " What have you to say for yourself? " 
 
 Returning the Senora's gaze with one no less 
 
RAMONA 219 
 
 steady, Ramona spoke in the same calm tone in 
 which she had twice the evening before attempted 
 to stay the Senora's wrath. This time, she was not 
 interrupted. 
 
 " Senora," she said slowly, " I tried to tell you last 
 night, but you would not hear me. If you had 
 listened, you would not have been so angry. Neither 
 Alessandro nor I have done anything wrong, and we 
 were not ashamed. We love each other, and we are 
 going to be married, and go away. I thank you, 
 Senora, for all you have done for me ; I am sure you 
 will be a great deal happier when I am away ; " and 
 Ramona looked wistfully, with no shade of resent 
 ment, into the Senora's dark, shrunken face. " You 
 have been very good to do so much for a girl you 
 did not love. Thank you for the bread and milk 
 last night. Perhaps I can go away with Alessandro 
 to-day. I do not know what he will wish. We had 
 only just 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 say these words. She was 
 dumb with amazement. Instantaneously, on the first 
 sense of relief that the disgrace had not been what 
 she supposed, followed a new wrath, if possible 
 hotter than the first; not so much scorn, but a 
 bitterer anger. " Marry ! Marry that Indian ! " she 
 cried, as soon as she found voice. " You marry an 
 Indian ? Never ! Are you mad ? I will never per 
 mit it." 
 
220 RAMONA 
 
 Ramona looked anxiously at her. " I have neve* 
 disobeyed you, Senora," she said, " but this is differ 
 ent from all other things; you are not my mother. 
 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's place to you. You were my 
 sister's adopted child, and she gave you to me. You 
 cannot marry without my permission, and I forbid 
 you ever to speak again of marrying this Indian." 
 
 The moment had come for the Senora Moreno to 
 find out, to her surprise and cost, of what stuff this 
 girl was made, this girl, who had for fourteen 
 years lived by her side, docile, gentle, sunny, and 
 uncomplaining in her loneliness. Springing to her 
 feet, and walking swiftly till she stood close face to 
 face with the Senora, who, herself startled by the 
 girl's swift motion, had also risen to her feet, Ramona 
 said, in a louder, firmer voice : " Senora Moreno, 
 you may forbid me as much as you please. The 
 whole world cannot keep me from marrying Ales 
 sandro. I love him. I have promised, and I shall 
 keep my word." And with her young lithe arms 
 straight down at her sides, her head thrown back, 
 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 herself buoyed up as 
 by wings in air. Her old terror of the Senora fell 
 from her like a garment thrown off. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said the Senora, contemptuously, half 
 
RAMONA 221 
 
 amused, in spite of her wrath, by the girl's, as she 
 thought, bootless vehemence, " you talk like a 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, on whom my servants will 
 set the dogs, if I bid them ! Ha, ha ! " 
 
 The Senora' s sneering tone but roused Ramona 
 more. " You would never dare ! " she cried ; " Felipe 
 would not permit it ! " A most unwise retort for 
 Ramona. 
 
 " Felipe ! " cried the Senora, in a shrill voice. 
 " How dare you pronounce his name ! He will none 
 of you, from this hour ! I will forbid him to speak 
 to you. Indeed, he will never desire to set eyes on 
 you when he hears the truth." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Senora," answered Ramona, 
 more gently. " Felipe is Alessandro's friend, and 
 mine," she added, after a second's pause. 
 
 " So, ho ! the Senorita thinks she is all-powerful in 
 the house of Moreno ! " 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; and Ramona went; across the 
 
222 RAMONA 
 
 passage-way leading to the dining-room, out into the 
 veranda, down the entire length of it, to the Senora's 
 room, the Senora walking with a quick, agitated 
 step, strangely unlike her usual gait ; Ramona walk 
 ing far slower than was her habit, and with her eyes 
 bent 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 any 
 thing," thought Ramona ; and she felt a thrill of fear, 
 such as the Senora with all her threats had not 
 stirred. 
 
 The Senora's windows were open. She closed 
 them both, and drew the curtains tight. Then she 
 locked the door, Ramona watching her every move 
 ment. 
 
 " Sit down in that chair," said the Senora, pointing 
 to one near the fireplace. 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 senses 
 seemed leaving her. She leaned her head against 
 the back and closed her eyes. The room swam. 
 She was roused by the Senora's strong smelling-salts 
 held for her to breathe, and a mocking taunt from 
 the Senora's iciest voice : " The Senorita does not 
 seem so over-strong as she did a few moments 
 back ! " 
 
RAMONA 223 
 
 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 terror had got 
 possession of her; and when the Senora, with a 
 sneer on her face, took hold of the Saint Catharine 
 statue, and wheeling it half around, brought into 
 view a door in the wall, with a big iron key in the 
 key-hole, which she proceeded to turn, Ramona 
 shook with fright. She had read of persons who had 
 been shut up alive in cells in the wall, and starved to 
 death. With dilating eyes she watched the Senora, 
 who, all unaware of her terror, was prolonging it 
 and intensifying it by her every 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 large leather-covered box, and pulled it, 
 grating and scraping along the floor, till it stood in 
 front of Ramona. All this time she spoke no word, 
 and the cruel expression of her countenance deep 
 ened each moment. The fiends had possession of 
 the Senora Moreno this morning, and no mistake. 
 A braver heart than Ramona's might have indeed 
 been fearful, at being 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 into the wall closet 
 and left to starve. She gazed with wonder at the old 
 battered boxes. What could it all mean? 
 
 " Senorita Ramona Ortegna," began the Senora, 
 
224 RAMONA 
 
 drawing up a chair, and seating herself by the table 
 on which stood the iron box, " I will now explain 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 was young and strong; 
 at one bound, if worst came to worst, she could leap 
 through the window, and fly for her life, calling on 
 Alessandro. 
 
 " I shall marry the Indian Alessandro, Senora Mo 
 reno," she said, in a tone 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 interrupt me again. I have much to 
 tell you ; " and opening the box, she lifted out and 
 placed on the table tray after tray of jewels. The 
 sheet of written paper 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 Senora Ortegna, 
 who adopted you and gave you her name. These 
 were her final instructions to me, in regard to the dis 
 position to be made of the property she left to you." 
 
 Ramona's lips parted. She leaned forward, breath 
 less, listening, while the Senora read sentence after 
 sentence. All the pent-up pain, wonder, fear of her 
 
RAMONA 225 
 
 childhood and her girlhood, as to the mystery of her 
 birth, swept over her anew, now. Like one hearken 
 ing for life or death, she listened. She forgot Ales- 
 sandro. She did not look at the jewels. Her eyes 
 never left the Senora's face. At the close of the 
 reading, the Senora said sternly, " You see, now, that 
 my sister left to me the entire disposition of every 
 thing belonging to you." 
 
 " But it has n't said who was my mother," cried 
 Ramona. "Is that all there is in the paper?" 
 
 The Senora looked stupefied. Was the girl feigning ? 
 Did she care nothing that all these jewels, almost a 
 little fortune, were to be lost to her forever? 
 
 "Who was your mother?" she exclaimed scorn 
 fully. " There was no need to write 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. I told my sister, when she 
 took you, the Indian blood in your veins would show 
 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 shows to-day, 
 I understand many things I never understood before. 
 Was it because I was an Indian that you have always 
 hated me?" 
 
 "You are not an Indian, and I have never hated 
 you," interrupted the Senora. 
 VOL. i. 15 
 
126 RAMONA 
 
 Ramona heeded her not, but went on, more and 
 more impetuously. " And if I am an Indian, why do 
 you object to my marrying Alessandro? Oh, I am 
 glad I am an Indian ! I am of his people. He will 
 be glad ! " The words poured like a torrent out of 
 her lips. In her excitement she came closer and 
 closer to the Senora. " You are a cruel woman," 
 she said. " I did not know it before ; but now I do. 
 If you knew I was an Indian, you had no reason to 
 treat me so shamefully as you did last night, when 
 you saw me with Alessandro. You have always 
 hated me. Is my mother alive? Where does she 
 live? Tell me; and I will go to her to-day. Tell 
 me ! She will be glad that Alessandro loves me ! " 
 
 It was a cruel look, indeed, and a crueller tone, 
 with which the Senora answered : " I have not the 
 least idea wjio your mother was, or if she is still alive. 
 Nobody ever knew anything about her, some low, 
 vicious creature, that your father married when he 
 was out of his senses, as you are now, when you talk 
 of marrying Alessandro ! " 
 
 " He married her, then ? " asked Ramona, with em 
 phasis. " How know you that, Senora Moreno?" 
 
 " He told my sister so," replied the Senora, reluc 
 tantly. She grudged the girl even this much of con 
 solation. 
 
 " What was his name ? " asked Ramona. 
 
 " Phail ; Angus Phail," the Senora replied almost 
 mechanically. She found herself strangely con 
 strained by Ramona's imperious earnestness, and 
 
RAMONA 227 
 
 she chafed under it. The tables were being turned 
 on her, she hardly knew how. Ramona seemed to 
 tower in stature, and to have the bearing of the one 
 in authority, as she stood before her pouring out pas 
 sionate question after question. The Senora turned 
 to the larger box, and opened it. With unsteady 
 hands she lifted out the garments which for so many 
 years had rarely seen the light. Shawls and rebosos 
 of damask, laces, gowns of satin, of velvet. As the 
 Senora flung one after another on the chairs, it was 
 a glittering pile of shining, costly stuffs. Ramona's 
 eyes rested on them dreamily. 
 
 " Did my adopted mother wear all these ? " she 
 asked, lifting in her hand a fold of lace, and holding 
 it up to the light, in evident admiration. 
 
 Again the Senora misconceived her. The girl 
 seemed not insensible to the value and beauty of this 
 costly raiment. Perhaps she would be lured by it. 
 
 " All these are yours, Ramona, you understand, on 
 your wedding day, if you marry worthily, with my 
 permission," said the Senora, in a voice a shade less 
 cold than had hitherto come from her lips. " Did 
 you understand what I read you ? " 
 
 The girl did not answer. She had taken up in her 
 hand a ragged, crimson silk handkerchief, which, tied 
 in many knots, lay in one corner of the jewel-box. 
 
 " There are pearls in that," said the Senora ; " that 
 came with the things your father sent to my sister 
 when he died." 
 
 Ramona's eyes gleamed. She began untying the 
 
228 RAMONA 
 
 knots. The handkerchief was old, the knots tied 
 tight, and undisturbed for years. As she reached 
 the last 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 new baseness in the girl. She 
 was going to set up a claim to all which had been 
 her father's property. " They were your father's, 
 and all these rubies, and these yellow diamonds ; " 
 and she pushed the tray towards her. 
 
 Ramona had untied the last knot. Holding the 
 handkerchief carefully above the tray, she shook the 
 pearls out. A strange, spicy fragrance came from 
 the silk. The pearls fell in among the rubies, roll 
 ing right and left, making the rubies look still redder 
 by contrast with their snowy 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 one thing that 
 belonged to my father. The jewels, Senora, you can 
 give to the Church, if Father Salvierderra thinks that 
 is right. I shall marry Alessandro ; " and still keep 
 ing one hand in her bosom where she had thrust the 
 handkerchief, she walked away and seated herself 
 again in her chair. 
 
 Father Salvierderra ! The name smote the Senora 
 like a spear-thrust. There could be no stronger 
 evidence of the abnormal excitement under which 
 she had been laboring for the last twenty-four hours, 
 than the fact that she had not once, during all this 
 
RAMONA 229 
 
 time, thought to ask herself what Father Salvierderra 
 would say, or might command, in this crisis. Her 
 religion and the long habit of its outward bonds had 
 alike gone from her in her sudden wrath against 
 Ramona. It was with a real terror that she 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, and followed up her advantage. " Father 
 Salvierderra has to do with everything," she said 
 boldly. " He knows Alessandro. He will not for 
 bid me to marry him, and if he did " Ramona 
 stopped. She also was smitten with a sudden terror 
 at the vista opening before her, of a disobedience 
 to Father Salvierderra. 
 
 " And if he did," repeated the Sefiora, eying 
 Ramona keenly, "would you disobey 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 any com 
 mands on you, to be thus disobeyed." 
 
 Ramona's lip quivered, and her eyes filled with 
 the tears which no other of the Senora's taunts had 
 been strong enough to bring. Dearly she loved the 
 old monk; had loved him since her earliest recol 
 lection. His displeasure would be far more dreadful 
 to her than the Senora's. His would give her grief; 
 the Senora's, at utmost, only terror. 
 
RAMONA 
 
 Clasping her hands, she said : " Oh, Senora, have 
 mercy ! Do not say that to the Father ! " 
 
 " It is my duty to tell the Father everything that 
 happens in my family," answered the Senora, chill 
 ingly. " He will agree with me, that if you persist in 
 this disobedience you will deserve the severest pun 
 ishment. I shall tell him all ; " and she began put 
 ting the trays back in the box. 
 
 " You will not tell him as it really is, Senora," per 
 sisted Ramona. " I will tell him myself." 
 
 " You shall not see him ! I will take care of 
 that ! " cried the Senora, so vindictively that Ramona 
 shuddered. 
 
 " I will give you one more chance," said the Senora, 
 pausing in the act of folding up one of the damask 
 gowns. " Will you obey me ? Will you promise 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 to your 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 like a 
 hunted creature down the veranda steps, across the 
 garden, calling in a low tone, " Felipe ! Felipe ! 
 Where are you, Felipe?" 
 
XII 
 
 / "TP N HE little sheepfold, or corral, was beyond the 
 * artichoke-patch, on that southern slope whose 
 sunshine had proved so ' disastrous a temptation to 
 Margarita in the matter of drying the altar-cloth. It 
 was almost like a terrace, this long slope ; and the 
 sheepfold, being near the bottom, was wholly out of 
 sight of the house. This was the reason Felipe had 
 selected it as the safest spot for his talk with 
 Alessandro. 
 
 When Ramona reached the end of the trellised 
 walk in the garden, she halted and looked to the 
 right and left. No one was in sight. As she had 
 entered the Senora's room an hour before, she had 
 
232 RAMONA 
 
 caught a glimpse of some one, she felt almost posi 
 tive it was Felipe, turning off in the path to the left, 
 leading down to the sheepfold. She stood irresolute 
 for a moment, gazing earnestly down this path. " If 
 the saints would only tell 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 
 fortune was favoring Ramona, for once ; even as the 
 words passed her lips, she saw 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 told me." 
 
 " She forbade me to speak to you, Felipe," said 
 Ramona, " but I could not bear it. What are we to 
 do? Where is Alessandro?" 
 
 " My mother forbade you to speak to me ! " cried 
 Felipe, in a tone of terror. " 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 to me. 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 more angry. I don't know 
 what she will do till I talk with her. Do go back to 
 your room ! Did she not tell you to stay there ? " 
 
 " Yes," sobbed Ramona, " but I cannot. Oh, Felipe, 
 I am so afraid ! Do help us ! Do you think you can ? 
 You won't let her shut me up in the convent, will you, 
 
RAMONA 
 
 Felipe? Where is Alessandro ? Why can't I go away 
 with him this minute? 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? Ra- 
 mona, dear, fly back to your room. Let me talk to 
 her. Fly, I implore you. I can't do anything for 
 you if she sees me talking with you now; " and he 
 turned away, and walked swiftly down the terrace. 
 
 Ramona felt as if she were indeed alone in the 
 world. How could she go back into that house ! 
 Slowly she walked up the garden-path again, medi 
 tating a hundred wild plans of escape. Where, 
 where was Alessandro? Why did he not appear 
 for her rescue? Her heart failed her; and when 
 she entered her room, she sank on the floor in a 
 paroxysm of hopeless weeping. If she had known 
 that Alessandro was already a good half-hour's jour 
 ney on his way to Temecula, galloping farther and 
 farther away from her each moment, she would have 
 despaired indeed. 
 
 This was what Felipe, after hearing the whole story, 
 had counselled him to do. Alessandro had given him 
 so vivid a description of the Senora's face and tone, 
 when she had ordered him out of her sight, that 
 Felipe was alarmed. He had never seen his mother 
 angry like that. He could not conceive why her 
 wrath should have been so severe. The longer he 
 talked with Alessandro, the more he felt that it would 
 be wiser for him to be out of sight till the first 
 
234 RAMONA 
 
 of her anger had been spent. " I will say that I sent 
 you," said Felipe, " so she cannot feel that you have 
 committed any offence in going. Come back in four 
 days, and by that time it will be all settled what you 
 shall do." 
 
 It went hard with Alessandro to go without seeing 
 Ramona ; but it did not need Felipe's exclamation of 
 surprise, to convince him that it would be foolhardy 
 to attempt it. His own judgment had told him that 
 it would be out of the question. 
 
 " But you will tell her all, Senor Felipe? You will 
 tell her that it is for her sake I go ? " the poor fellow 
 said piteously, gazing into Felipe's eyes as if he would 
 read his inmost soul. 
 
 " I will, indeed, Alessandro ; I will," replied Felipe ; 
 and he held his hand out to Alessandro, as to a friend 
 and equal. " You may trust me to do all I can do 
 for Ramona and for you." 
 
 " God bless you, Senor Felipe," answered Alessan 
 dro, gravely, a slight trembling of his voice alone 
 showing how deeply he was moved. 
 
 " He 's a noble fellow," said Felipe to himself, as he 
 watched Alessandro leap on his horse, which had been 
 tethered near the corral all night, "a noble fellow ! 
 There is n't a man among all my friends who would 
 have been manlier or franker than he has been in this 
 whole business. I don't in the least wonder that Ra 
 mona loves him. He 's a noble fellow ! But what is 
 to be done ! What is to be done ! " 
 
 Felipe was sorely perplexed. No sharp crisis of 
 
RAMONA 235 
 
 disagreement had ever arisen between him and his 
 mother, but he felt that one was coming now. He 
 was unaware of the extent of his influence over her. 
 He doubted whether he could move her very far. 
 The threat of shutting Ramona up in the convent 
 terrified him more than he liked to admit to himself. 
 Had she power to do that? Felipe did not know. 
 She must believe that she had, or she would not 
 have made the threat. Felipe's whole soul revolted 
 at the cruel injustice of the idea. 
 
 " As if it were a sin for the poor girl to love Ales- 
 sandro ! " he said. " I 'd help her to run away with 
 him, if worse comes to worst. What can make my 
 mother feel so ! " And Felipe paced back and forth 
 till the sun was high, and the sharp glare and heat 
 reminded him that he must seek shelter; then he 
 threw himself down under the willows. He dreaded 
 to go into the house. His instinctive shrinking from 
 the disagreeable, his disposition 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 
 broach the subject to his mother ; the more uncertain 
 he felt whether it would be 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. 
 " Good heavens ! dinner already ! " he cried, springing 
 to his feet. 
 
 " Yes, Senor," replied Margarita, eying him obser 
 vantly. She had seen him talking with Alessandro, 
 had seen Alessandro galloping away down the river 
 
236 RAMONA 
 
 road. She had also gathered much from the Senora's 
 look, and Ramona's, as they passed the dining-room 
 door together soon after breakfast. Margarita could 
 have given a tolerably connected account of all that 
 had happened within the last twenty-four hours to 
 the chief actors in this tragedy which had so suddenly 
 begun in the Moreno household. Not supposed to 
 know anything, she yet knew nearly all; and her 
 every pulse was beating high with excited conjecture 
 and wonder as to what would come next. 
 
 Dinner was a silent and constrained meal, Ra- 
 mona absent, the fiction of her illness still kept up ; 
 Felipe embarrassed, and unlike himself; the Senora 
 silent, full of angry perplexity. At her first glance 
 in Felipe's face, she thought to herself, " Ramona has 
 spoken to him. When and how did she do it?" For 
 it had been only a few moments after Ramona had 
 left her presence, that she herself had followed, and, 
 seeing the girl in her own room, had locked the door 
 as before, and had spent the rest of the morning on 
 the veranda within hands' reach of Ramona's window. 
 How, when, and where had she contrived to commu 
 nicate with Felipe ? The longer the Senora studied 
 over this, the angrier and more baffled she felt ; to be 
 outwitted was even worse to her than to be disobeyed. 
 Under her very eyes, as it were, something evidently 
 had happened, not only against her will, but which 
 she could not explain. Her anger even rippled out 
 towards Felipe, and was fed by the recollection of 
 Ramona's unwise retort, " Felipe would not let you ! " 
 
RAMONA 237 
 
 What had Felipe done or said to make the girl so 
 sure that he would be on her side and Alessandro's? 
 Was it come to this, that she, the Senora Moreno, 
 was to be defied in her own house by children and 
 servants ! 
 
 It was with a tone of severe displeasure that she 
 said to Felipe, as she rose from the dinner-table, 
 " My son, I would like to have some conversation 
 with you in my room, if you are at leisure." 
 
 " Certainly, mother," said Felipe, a load rolling off 
 his mind at her having thus taken the initiative, for 
 which he lacked courage; and walking swiftly to 
 wards her, he attempted to put his arm around her 
 waist, as it was his affectionate habit frequently to 
 do. She repulsed him gently, but bethinking herselfj 
 passed her hand through his arm, and leaning on it 
 heavily as she walked, said : " This is the most fitting 
 way, my son. I must lean more and more heavily 
 on you each year now. Age is telling on me fast. 
 Do you not find me greatly changed, Felipe, in the 
 last year? " 
 
 " No, madre mia," replied Felipe, " indeed I do not. 
 I see not that you have changed in the last ten years." 
 And he was honest in this. His eyes did not note 
 the changes so clear to others, and for the best of 
 reasons. The face he saw was one no one else ever 
 beheld; it was kindled by emotion, transfigured by 
 love, whenever it was turned towards him. 
 
 The Senora sighed deeply as she answered : " That 
 must be because you so love me, Felipe. I myself 
 
238 RAMONA 
 
 see the changes even day by day. Troubles tell on 
 me as they did not when I was younger. Even within 
 the last twenty-four hours I seem to myself to have 
 aged frightfully; " and she looked keenly at Felipe 
 as she seated herself in the arm-chair where poor 
 Ramona had swooned a few hours before. Felipe 
 remained standing before her, gazing, with a tender 
 expression, upon her features, but saying nothing. 
 
 " I see that Ramona has told you all ! " she con 
 tinued, her voice hardening as she spoke. What a 
 fortunate wording of her sentence ! 
 
 "No, mother; it was not Ramona, it was Ales- 
 sandro, who told me this morning, early," Felipe 
 answered hastily, hurrying on, to draw the conversa 
 tion as far away from Ramona as possible. " He 
 came and spoke to me 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, she asked, "And what did he say?" 
 
 " He told me all that had happened." 
 
 " All ! " said the Senora, sneeringly. " Do you 
 suppose that he told you all ? " 
 
 " 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 thought 
 you would prefer not to see him again." 
 
 " Ah ! " said the Senora again, startled, gratified 
 that Felipe had so promptly seconded her action, but 
 sorry that Alessandro had gone. " Ah, I did not 
 
PLATE XI 
 
 THE CHAPEL DOOR. (CAMULOS) 
 
 This chapel was dearer to the Senora than her house. . . . 
 
 The scene to be witnessed there was like the scenes at the 
 sions the chapel full of kneeling men and women ; those who could 
 not find room inside kneeling on the garden walks. . . . 
 
 Page 3 1, Vol. I. 
 
 Alessandro was hiding behind the geranium clump at the chapel 
 door; . . . watching Ramona's window. Page 197, Vol. I. 
 
 The notes of two wood-doves, that at intervals he heard, . . . 
 "Love?" "Here." Pages 210, 211, Vc 
 
RAMON A 239 
 
 know whether you would think it best to discharge 
 him at once or not; I told him he must answer to 
 you. I did not know but you might devise some 
 measures by which he could be retained on the 
 estate." 
 
 Felipe stared. Could he believe his ears? This 
 did not sound like the relentless displeasure he had 
 expected. Could Ramona have been dreaming? In 
 his astonishment, he did not weigh his mother's words 
 carefully ; he did not carry his conjecture far enough ; 
 he did not stop to make sure that retaining Ales- 
 sandro on the estate might not of necessity bode 
 any good to Ramona ; but with his usual impetuous 
 ardor, sanguine, at the first glimpse of hope, that all 
 was well, he exclaimed joyfully, " Ah, dear mother, 
 if that could only be done, all would be well ; " and, 
 never noting 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 and Ramona were growing so 
 fond of each other. He is a splendid fellow, and the 
 best hand we have ever had on the place. All the 
 men like him ; he would make a capital overseer ; 
 and if we put him in charge of the whole estate, there 
 would not be any objection to his marrying Ramona. 
 That would give them a good living here with us." 
 
 " Enough ! " cried the Senora, in a voice which fell 
 on Felipe's ears like a voice from some other world, 
 so hollow, so strange. He stopped speaking, and 
 
2 4 o RAM ON A 
 
 uttered an ejaculation of amazement. At the first 
 words he had uttered, the Senora had fixed her eyes 
 on the floor, a habit of hers when she wished to 
 listen with close attention. Lifting her eyes now, 
 and fixing them full on Felipe, she regarded him with 
 a look which not all his filial reverence could bear 
 without resentment. It was nearly as scornful as 
 that with which she had regarded Ramona. Felipe 
 colored. 
 
 "Why do you look at me like that, mother?" 
 he exclaimed. "What have I done?" 
 
 The Senora waved her hand imperiously. 
 " Enough ! " she reiterated. " Do not say any 
 more. I wish to think for a few moments ; " and 
 she fixed her eyes on the floor again. 
 
 Felipe studied her countenance. A more nearly 
 rebellious feeling than he had supposed himself 
 capable of slowly arose in his heart. Now he for 
 the first time perceived what terror his mother 
 must inspire in a girl like Ramona. 
 
 " Poor little one ! " he thought. " If my mother 
 looked at her as she did at me just now, I wonder 
 she did not die." 
 
 A great storm was going on in the Senora's 
 bosom. Wrath against Ramona was uppermost in 
 it. In addition to all else, the girl had now been 
 the cause, or at least the occasion, of Felipe's 
 having, for the first time in his whole life, angered 
 her beyond her control. 
 
 "As if I had not suffered enough by reason of 
 
RAMONA 241 
 
 that creature," she thought bitterly to herself, " with 
 out her coming between me and Felipe ! " 
 
 But nothing could long come between the Senora 
 and Felipe. Like a fresh lava-stream flowing down 
 close on the track of its predecessor, came the rush 
 of the mother's passionate love for her son close 
 on the passionate anger at his words. 
 
 When she lifted her eyes they were full of tears, 
 which it smote Felipe to see. As she gazed at him, 
 they rolled down her cheeks, and she said in trem 
 bling tones : " Forgive me, my child ; I had not 
 thought anything could make me thus angry with 
 you. That shameless creature is costing us too 
 dear. She must leave the house." 
 
 Felipe's heart gave a bound; Ramona had not 
 been mistaken, then. A bitter shame seized him 
 at his mother's cruelty. But her tears made him 
 tender; and it was in a gentle, even pleading voice 
 that he replied : " I do not see, mother, why you 
 call Ramona shameless. There is nothing wrong 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 that instant told her he loved 
 her, and she had said she loved him, and would 
 marry him, just as you came up." 
 
 " Humph ! " retorted the Senora ; " do you think 
 
 that Indian would have dared to speak a word of 
 
 love to the Sefiorita Ramona Ortegna, if she had 
 
 not conducted herself shamelessly? I wonder that 
 
 VOL. i. : 6 
 
242 RAMONA 
 
 he concerned himself to speak about marriage to 
 her at all." 
 
 " Oh, mother ! mother ! " was all that Felipe could 
 say to this. He was aghast. He saw now, in a 
 flash, the whole picture as it lay in his mother's 
 mind, and his heart sank within him. " Mother ! " 
 he repeated, in a tone which spoke volumes. 
 
 " Ay," she continued, " that is what I say. I see 
 no reason why he hesitated to take her, as he 
 would take any Indian squaw, with small ceremony 
 of marrying." 
 
 " Alessandro would not take any woman that 
 way any quicker than I would, mother," said Felipe, 
 courageously ; " you do him injustice." He longed 
 to add, " And Ramona too," but he feared to make 
 bad matters worse by pleading for her at present. 
 
 "No, I do not," said the Senora; "I do Ales 
 sandro full justice. I think very few men would 
 have behaved as well as he has under the same 
 temptation. I do not hold him in the least respon 
 sible for all that has happened. It is all Ramona's 
 fault." 
 
 Felipe's patience gave way. He had not known, 
 till now, how very closely this 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 herself around his heart. He could not 
 remain silent another moment, and hear her thus 
 wickedly accused. 
 
 " Mother ! " he exclaimed, in a tone which made 
 
RAM ON A 243 
 
 the Senora look up at him in sudden astonishment. 
 " Mother, I cannot help it if I make you very angry ; 
 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 under her 
 feet; and Ramona would not have been a woman 
 if she had not seen it too ! She has seen it, and 
 has felt it, and has come to love him with all her 
 soul, just as I hope some woman will love me one 
 of these days. If I am ever loved as well as she 
 loves Alessandro, I shall be lucky. I think they 
 ought to be married; and I think we ought to 
 take Alessandro on to the estate, so that they can 
 live here. I don't see anything disgraceful in 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 mother interrupted him here ; but Felipe hurried 
 on, partly because he was borne out of himself at 
 last by impetuous feeling, partly that he dreaded 
 to stop, because if he did, his mother would speak ; 
 and already he felt a terror of what her next words 
 might be. " I have often thought about Ramona's 
 future, mother. You know a great many men would 
 not want to marry her, just because she is half 
 Indian. You, yourself, would never have given 
 your consent to my marrying her, if I had wanted 
 to." Again an exclamation from the Senora, this 
 time more of horror than of scorn. But Felipe 
 
244 RAM ON A 
 
 pressed on. " No, of course you would not, I always 
 knew that; except for that, I might have loved her 
 myself, for a sweeter girl never drew breath in this 
 God's earth." Felipe was reckless now; having 
 entered on this war, he would wage it with every 
 weapon that lay within his reach; if one did not 
 tell, another might. " You have never loved her. 
 I don't know that you have ever even liked her; 
 I don't think you have. I know, as a little boy, I 
 always used to see how much kinder you were to 
 me than to her, and I never could understand it. 
 And you are unjust to her now. I Ve been watch 
 ing her all summer ; I Ve seen her and Alessandro 
 together continually. You know yourself, mother, 
 he has been with us on the veranda, day after day, 
 just as if he were one of the family. I Ve watched 
 them by the hour, when I lay there so sick; I 
 thought you must have seen it too. I don't believe 
 Alessandro has ever looked or said or done a thing 
 I would n't have done in his place ; and I don't 
 believe Ramona has ever looked, said, or done a 
 thing I would not be willing to have my own sister 
 do!" Here Felipe paused. He had made his 
 charge; like a young impetuous general, massing 
 all his forces at the onset; he had no reserves. It 
 is not the way to take Gibraltars. 
 
 When he paused, literally breathless, he had 
 spoken so fast, and even yet Felipe was not quite 
 strong, so sadly had the fever undermined his con 
 stitution, the Senora looked at him interrogatively, 
 
RAMONA 245 
 
 and said in a now composed tone : " You do not 
 believe that Ramona has done anything that you 
 would not be willing to have your own sister do? 
 Would you be willing that your own sister should 
 marry Alessandro ? " 
 
 Clever Senora Moreno ! During the few moments 
 that Felipe had been speaking, she had perceived 
 certain things which it would be beyond her power 
 to do; certain others that it would be impolitic 
 to try to do. Nothing could possibly compensate 
 her for antagonizing Felipe. Nothing could so 
 deeply wound her, as to have him in a resentful 
 mood towards her; or so weaken her real control 
 of him, as to have him feel that she arbitrarily over 
 ruled his preference or his purpose. In presence 
 of her imperious will, even her wrath capitulated 
 and surrendered. There would be no hot words 
 between her and her son. He should believe that 
 he determined the policy of the Moreno house, 
 even in this desperate crisis. 
 
 Felipe did not answer. A better thrust was never 
 seen on any field than the Senora's question. She 
 repeated it, still more deliberately, in her wonted 
 gentle voice. The Senora was herself again, as she 
 had not been for 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. " Would you be willing that 
 your own sister should marry Alessandro?" 
 
246 RAMONA 
 
 Felipe was embarrassed. He saw whither he 
 was being led. He could give but one answer to 
 this question. " No, mother," he said, " I should 
 not; but " 
 
 " Never mind buts," interrupted his mother ; " we 
 have not got to those yet ; " and she smiled on 
 Felipe, an affectionate smile, but it somehow 
 gave him a feeling of dread. " Of course I knew 
 you could make but one answer to my question. 
 If you had a sister, you would rather see her dead 
 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 full your loving heart 
 is, and I was never prouder of you as my son 
 than when listening just now to your eloquent 
 defence of Ramona. Perhaps you may be right 
 and I wrong as to her character and conduct. We 
 will not discuss those points." It was here that the 
 Senora had perceived some things that it would 
 be out of her power to do. "We will not discuss 
 those, because they do not touch the real point at 
 issue. What it is our duty to do by Ramona, in 
 such a matter as this, does not turn on her worthi 
 ness or unworthiness. The question is, Is it right 
 for you to allow her to do what you would not allow 
 your own sister to do ? " The Senora paused for 
 a second, noted with secret satisfaction how puzzled 
 and unhappy Felipe looked ; then, in a still gentler 
 
RAMONA 247 
 
 voice, she went on, " You surely would not think 
 that right, my son, would you ? " And now the 
 Senora 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 the Senora. She did not wish 
 Felipe at present to do more than reply to her 
 questions. " Of course it would not be right for 
 us to let Ramona do anything which we would not 
 let her do if she were really of our own blood. 
 That is the way I have always looked at my 
 obligation to her. My sister intended to rear her 
 as her own daughter. She had given her her own 
 name. When my sister died, she transferred to 
 me all her right and responsibility in and for the 
 child. You do not suppose that if your aunt had 
 lived, she would have ever given her consent to 
 her adopted daughter's marrying an Indian, do 
 you?" 
 
 Again the Senora paused for a reply, and again 
 the reluctant Felipe said, in a low tone, " No, I 
 suppose she would not." 
 
 "Very well. Then that lays a double obligation 
 on us. It is not only that we are not to permit 
 Ramona to do a thing which we would consider 
 disgraceful to one of our own blood ; we are not to 
 betray the trust reposed in us by the only person 
 who had a right to control her, and who transferred 
 that trust to us. Is not that so?" 
 
248 RAMONA 
 
 " Yes, mother," said the unhappy Felipe. 
 He saw the meshes closing around him. He felt 
 that there was a flaw somewhere in his mother's 
 reasoning, but he could not point it out; in fact, 
 he could hardly make it distinct to himself. His 
 brain was confused. Only one thing he saw clearly, 
 and that was, that after all had been said and done, 
 Ramona would still marry Alessandro. But it was 
 evident that it would never be with his mother's 
 consent. " Nor with mine either, openly, the way 
 she puts it. I don't see how it can be; and yet 
 I 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 having failed to see what was 
 going on. As you say, Alessandro has been with 
 us a great deal since your illness, with his music, 
 and singing, and one thing and another; but I can 
 truly say that I never thought of Ramona's being 
 in danger of looking upon him in the light of a pos 
 sible lover, any more than of her looking thus upon 
 Juan Canito, or Luigo, or any other of the herds 
 men or laborers. I regret it more than words can 
 express, 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 is too late now." 
 
 The Senora went on as if Felipe had not spoken. 
 
RAMONA 249 
 
 " I suppose you would really very much regret to 
 part with Alessandro, and your word is in a way 
 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 unpleasant for 
 Ramona to stay here, and see him continually 
 at least for a time, until she gets over this strange 
 passion she seems to have conceived for him. It 
 will not last. Such sudden passions never do." 
 The Senora artfully interpolated, " What should you 
 think, Felipe, of having her go back to the Sisters' 
 school for a time? She was very happy there." 
 
 The Senora had strained a point too far. Felipe's 
 self-control suddenly gave way, and as impetuously 
 as he had spoken in the beginning, he spoke again 
 now, nerved by the memory of Ramona's face and 
 tone as she had cried to him in the garden, " Oh, 
 Felipe, you won't let her shut me up in 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 shutting up ? " she said. " Ramona 
 has already been there at school. She might go 
 again. She is not too old to learn. A change of 
 scene and occupation is the best possible cure for 
 a girl who has a thing of this sort to get over. Can 
 you propose anything better, my son ? What would 
 you advise?" And a third time the Senora paused 
 for an answer. 
 
250 RAMONA 
 
 These pauses and direct questions of the Senora 9 s 
 were like nothing in life so much as like that stage 
 in a spider's processes when, withdrawing a little 
 way from a half-entangled victim, which still sup 
 poses himself free, it rests from its weaving, and 
 watches the victim flutter. Subtle questions like 
 these, assuming, taking for granted as settled, much 
 which had never been settled at all, were among 
 the best weapons in the Senora's armory. They 
 rarely failed her. 
 
 " Advise ! " cried Felipe, excitedly. " Advise ! 
 This is what I advise to let Ramona and Alessan- 
 dro marry. I can't help all you say about our obli 
 gations. I dare say you 're right; and it's a cursedly 
 awkward complication for us, anyhow, the way you 
 put it." 
 
 " Yes, awkward for you, as the head of our house," 
 interrupted the Senora, sighing. " I don't quite see 
 how you would face it." 
 
 " Well, I don't propose to face it," continued Felipe, 
 testily. " I don't propose to have anything to do 
 with it, from first to last. Let her go away 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 have stated it, how we could exactly take 
 any responsibility about marrying her to Alessandro. 
 But for heaven's sake, mother, let her go ! She will 
 go, anyway. You have n't the least idea how she 
 loves Alessandro, or how he loves her. Let her go ! " 
 
RAMONA 251 
 
 "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 our refusing 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 she pleases ? " 
 
 " That 's just what I do think, mother," replied 
 Felipe, his heart growing lighter at her words. 
 " That 's just what I do think. We can't prevent it, 
 and it is of no use to try. Do let us tell them they 
 can do as they like." 
 
 '* Of course, Alessandro must leave us, then," said 
 the Senora. " They could not stay here." 
 
 "I don't see why! " said Felipe, anxiously. 
 
 " You will, my son, if you think a moment. Could 
 we possibly give a stronger indorsement to their 
 marriage than by keeping them here? Don't you 
 see that would be so ? " 
 
 Felipe's eyes fell. " Then I suppose they could n't 
 be married here, either," he said. 
 
 " What more could we do than that, for a marriage 
 that we heartily approved of, my son?" 
 
 " True, mother ; " and Felipe clapped his hand 
 to his forehead. "But then we force them to run 
 away ! " 
 
 " Oh, no ! " said the Senora, icily. " If they go, 
 they will go of their own accord. We hope they will 
 never do anything so foolish and wrong. If they do, 
 
252 
 
 RAMONA 
 
 I suppose we shall always be held in a measure re 
 sponsible for not having prevented it. But if you 
 think it is not wise, or of no use to attempt that, I 
 do not see what there is to be done." 
 
 Felipe did not speak. He felt discomfited ; felt as 
 if he had betrayed his friend Alessandro, his sister 
 Ramona; as if a strange complication, network of 
 circumstances, had forced him into a false position ; 
 he did not 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 to Alessandro 
 and Ramona ; he was angry, wearied, perplexed. 
 
 The Senora studied his face. " You do not seem 
 satisfied, Felipe dear," she said tenderly. "As, in 
 deed, how could you be in this unfortunate state 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 is just 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 a 
 home here as if she were a daughter, and always will 
 have, as long as she wishes it. If she chooses to turn 
 her back on it, and go away, is it our fault? Do not 
 let your pity for this misguided girl blind you to what 
 is just to yourself and to me. Turn Ramona out of 
 the house ! You know I promised my sister to bring 
 her up as my own child ; and I have always felt that 
 
RAMONA 253 
 
 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 in the Senora' s 
 eyes. 
 
 " Forgive me, dear mother," cried the unhappy 
 Felipe. " Forgive me for adding one burden to all 
 you have to bear. Truth is, this miserable business 
 has so distraught my senses, I can't seem to see any 
 thing as it is. Dear mother, it is very hard for you. 
 I wish it were done with." 
 
 " Thanks for your precious sympathy, my Felipe," 
 replied the Senora. " If it were not for you, I should 
 long ago have broken down beneath my cares and 
 burdens. But among them all, have been few so 
 grievous as this. I feel myself and our home dis 
 honored. But we must submit. As you say, Felipe, 
 I wish it were done with. It would be as well, per 
 haps, to send for Ramona at once, and tell her what 
 we have decided. She is no doubt in great anxiety ; 
 we will see her here." 
 
 Felipe would have greatly preferred to see Ramona 
 alone ; but as he knew not 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 my room. 
 Felipe and I have something to say to you." 
 
 Ramona followed, heavy-hearted. The words, 
 " Felipe and I," boded no good. 
 
254 RAMONA 
 
 "The Senora has made Felipe think just as she 
 does herself," thought Ramona. " Oh, what will be 
 come of me ! " and she stole a reproachful, imploring 
 look at Felipe. He smiled back in a way which re 
 assured her ; but the reassurance did not last long. 
 
 " Senorita Ramona Ortegna," began the Senora. 
 Felipe shivered. He had had no conception that his 
 mother could speak in that way. The words seemed 
 to open a gulf between Ramona and all the rest of 
 the world, so cold and distant they sounded, as the 
 Senora might speak to an intruding stranger. 
 
 " Senorita Ramona Ortegna," she said, " my son 
 and I have been discussing what it is best for us to 
 do in the mortifying and humiliating position in whicb 
 you place us by your relation with the Indian Ales- 
 sandro. Of course you know or you ought to 
 know that it is utterly impossible for us to give 
 our consent to your making such a marriage; we 
 should be false 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 no sound came from them ; she 
 looked towards Felipe, and seeing him with downcast 
 eyes, and an expression of angry embarrassment on 
 his face, despair seized her. Felipe had deserted 
 their cause. Oh, where, where was Alessandro ! 
 Clasping her hands, she uttered a low cry, a cry 
 that cut Felipe to the heart. He was finding out, in 
 thus being witness of Ramona's suffering, that she 
 was far nearer and dearer to him than he had realized. 
 
RAMONA 255 
 
 It would have taken very little, at such moments as 
 these, to have made Felipe her lover again ; he felt 
 now like springing to her side, folding his arms 
 around her, and bidding his mother defiance. It 
 took all the self-control he could gather, to remain 
 silent, and trust to Ramona's understanding him later. 
 Ramona's cry made no break in the smooth, icy 
 flow of the Senora's sentences. She gave no sign of 
 having heard it, but continued : " My son tells me 
 that he thinks our forbidding it would make no dif 
 ference; that you would go away with the man all 
 the same. I suppose he is right in thinking so, as 
 you yourself told me that even if Father Salvier- 
 derra forbade it, you would disobey him. Of course, 
 if this is your determination, we are powerless. Even 
 if I were to put you in the keeping of the Church, 
 which is what I am sure my sister, who adopted you 
 as her child, would do, if she were alive, you would 
 devise some means of escape, and thus bring a still 
 greater and more public scandal on the family. Fe 
 lipe thinks that it is not worth while to attempt to 
 bring you to reason in that way ; and we shall there 
 fore do nothing. I wished 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 it always has been. 
 If you choose to leave it, and to disgrace yourself 
 and us by marrying an Indian, we cannot help 
 ourselves." 
 
256 RAMONA 
 
 The Senora paused. Ramona did not speak. Her 
 eyes were fixed on the Senora's face, as if she would 
 penetrate to her inmost soul ; the girl was beginning 
 to recognize the Senora's true nature; her instincts 
 and her 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 say than I said this morning. 
 Yes," she added, "there is. Perhaps I shall not 
 speak with you again before I go away. I thank 
 you once more for the home you have given me for 
 so many years. And you too, Felipe," she contin 
 ued, turning towards Felipe, her face changing, all 
 her pent-up affection and sorrow looking out of her 
 tearful eyes, "you too, dear Felipe. You have 
 always been so good to me. I shall always love you 
 as long as I live ; " and she held out both her hands 
 to him. Felipe took them in his, and was about to 
 speak, when the Senora interrupted him. She did 
 not intend to have any more of this sort of affec 
 tionate familiarity between her son and Ramona. 
 
 "Are we to understand that you are taking your 
 leave now?" she said. "Is it 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, who an 
 swered compassionately, 
 
 " Alessandro has gone." 
 
RAMONA 257 
 
 " Gone ! " shrieked Ramona. " Gone ! not gone, 
 Felipe ! " 
 
 "Only for four days," replied Felipe. "To Te- 
 mecula. I thought it would be better for him to 
 be away for a day or two. He is to come back 
 immediately. 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 with him? Oh, why, why did 
 he go?" cried Ramona. 
 
 " He went because my son told him to go," broke 
 in the Senora, impatient of this scene, and of the 
 sympathy she saw struggling in Felipe's expressive 
 features. " My son thought, and rightly, that the 
 sight of him would 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 the streaming 
 tears, exclaimed, lifting her right hand as she spoke, 
 " You have been cruel ; God will punish you ! " and 
 without waiting to see what effect her words had pro 
 duced, without looking again at Felipe, she walked 
 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, 
 VOL r. 17 
 
258 RAMONA 
 
 as you always are. It may bring her to her senses, 
 to have a few days' reflection in solitude." 
 
 " You do not mean to keep her locked up, mother, 
 do you?" cried Felipe. 
 
 The Senora turned a look of apparently undis 
 guised amazement on him. " You would not think 
 that best, would you? Did you not say that all 
 we could do, was simply not to interfere with her 
 in any way? To wash our hands, so far as is pos 
 sible, 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 to say or do?" she asked. 
 
 "What is it you are going to do, mother?" said 
 Felipe. " I don't seem to understand what you are 
 going to do." 
 
 " Nothing, Felipe ! You have entirely convinced 
 me that all effort would be thrown away. I shall do 
 nothing," replied the Senora. " Nothing whatever." 
 
 " Then as long as Ramona is here, everything will 
 be just as it always has been? " said Felipe. 
 
 The Senora smiled sadly. "Dear Felipe, do you 
 think that possible? A girl who has announced her 
 determination to disobey not only you and me, but 
 Father Salvierderra, who is going to bring disgrace 
 both on the Moreno and the Ortegna name, we 
 
RAMONA 259 
 
 can't feel exactly the same towards her as we did 
 before, can we ? " 
 
 Felipe made an impatient gesture. " No, of course 
 not. But I mean, is everything to be just the same, 
 outwardly, as it was before ? " 
 
 " I supposed so," said the Senora. " Was not that 
 your idea? We must try to have it so, I think. Do 
 not you ? " 
 
 " Yes," groaned Felipe, " if we can ! " 
 
XIII 
 
 Senora Moreno had never before been so 
 - discomfited as in this matter of Ramona and 
 Alessandro. It chafed her to think over her conver 
 sation with Felipe ; to recall how far the thing she 
 finally attained was from the thing she had in view 
 when she began. To have Ramona sent to the con 
 vent, Alessandro kept as overseer of the place, and 
 the Ortegna jewels turned into the treasury of the 
 Church, this was the plan she had determined on 
 in her own mind. Instead of this, Alessandro was 
 not to be overseer on the place ; Ramona would not 
 go to the convent: she would be married to Ales 
 sandro, and they would go away together ; and the 
 
RAMONA 261 
 
 Ortegna jewels, well, that was a thing to be decided 
 in the future ; that should be left to Father Salvier- 
 derra to decide. Bold as the Senora was, she had 
 not quite the courage requisite to take that question 
 wholly into her own hands. 
 
 One thing was clear, Felipe must not be consulted 
 in regard to them. He had never known of them, 
 and need not now. Felipe was far too much in sym 
 pathy with Ramona to take a just view of the situa 
 tion. He would be sure to have a quixotic idea of 
 Ramona's right of ownership. It was not impossible 
 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 secret from the 
 Father, if he had not been at the time of the Senora 
 Ortegna's death fully informed of all the particulars 
 of her bequest to her adopted child. At any rate, it 
 would be nearly a year before the Father came again, 
 and in the meantime she would not risk writing about 
 it. The treasure was as safe in Saint Catharine's 
 keeping as it had been all these fourteen years; it 
 should still lie hidden there. When Ramona went 
 away with Alessandro, she would write to Father 
 Salvierderra, simply stating the facts in her own 
 way, and telling him that all further questions must 
 wait for decision until they met. 
 
 And so she plotted and planned, and mapped out 
 the future in her tireless weaving brain, till she was 
 somewhat soothed for the partial failure of her plans. 
 
262 RAMONA 
 
 There is nothing so skilful in its own defence as 
 imperious pride. It has an ingenious system of its 
 own, of reprisals, a system so ingenious that the 
 defeat must be sore indeed, after which it cannot still 
 find some booty to bring off! And even greater than 
 this ingenuity at reprisals is its capacity for self-decep 
 tion. In this regard, it outdoes vanity a thousand 
 fold. Wounded vanity knows when it is mortally 
 hurt; and limps off the field, piteous, all disguises 
 thrown away. But pride carries its banner to the 
 last ; and fast as it is driven from one field unfurls it 
 in another, never admitting that there is a shade less 
 honor in the second field than in the first, or in the 
 third than in the second ; and so on till death. It is 
 impossible not to have a certain sort of admiration 
 for this kind of pride. Cruel, those who have it, are 
 to all who come in their way ; but they are equally 
 cruel to themselves, when pride demands the sacri 
 fice. Such pride as this has led many a forlorn hope, 
 on the earth, when all other motives have died out of 
 men's breasts ; has won many a crown, which has not 
 been called by its true name. 
 
 Before the afternoon was over, the Sefiora had her 
 plan, her chart of the future, as it were, all recon 
 structed ; the sting of her discomfiture soothed ; the 
 placid quiet of her manner restored; her habitual 
 occupations also, and little ways, all resumed. She 
 was going to do " nothing " in regard to Ramona. 
 Only she herself knew how much that meant; how 
 bitterly much ! She wished she were sure that Felipe 
 
RAMONA 263 
 
 also would 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 to take. Ostensibly, his position and hers were 
 one, their action a unit; all the same, she did not 
 deceive herself as to his real feeling about the affair. 
 He loved Ramona. He liked Alessandro. Barring 
 the question of family pride, which he had hardly 
 thought of till she suggested it, and which he would 
 not dwell on apart from her continuing to press it, 
 barring this, he would have liked to have Alessandro 
 marry Ramona and remain on the place. All this 
 would come uppermost in Felipe's mind 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 attained by taking and 
 keeping the ground that the question of their non 
 interference having been settled once for all, the 
 painful topic should never be renewed between them. 
 In patient silence they must await Ramona's action ; 
 must bear whatever of disgrace and pain she chose 
 to inflict on the family which had sheltered her from 
 her infancy till now. 
 
 The details of the " nothing " she proposed to do, 
 slowly arranged themselves in her mind. There 
 should be no apparent change in Ramona's position 
 in the house. She should come and go as freely as 
 ever ; no watch on her movements ; she should eat, 
 
264 RAMONA 
 
 sleep, rise up and sit down with them, as before ; 
 there should be not a word, or act, that Felipe's 
 sympathetic sensitiveness could construe into any 
 provocation to Ramona to run away. Nevertheless, 
 Ramona should be made to feel, every moment of 
 every hour, that she was in disgrace ; that she was 
 with them, but not of 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 her 
 self, but she knew very well. If anything would 
 bring the girl to her senses, this would. There might 
 still be a hope, the Senora believed, so little did she 
 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 the offence she would 
 commit if she persisted in her purpose. And if she 
 did perceive this, confess her wrong, and give up the 
 marriage, the Senora grew almost generous and 
 tolerant in her thoughts as she contemplated this 
 contingency, if she did thus humble herself and 
 return to her rightful allegiance to the Moreno house, 
 the Senora would forgive her, and would do more for 
 her than she had ever hitherto done. She would take 
 her to Los Angeles and to Monterey; would show 
 her a little more of the world ; and it was by no 
 means unlikely that there might thus come about 
 for her a satisfactory and honorable marriage. Felipe 
 should see that she was not disposed to deal unfairly 
 by Ramona in any way, if Ramona herself would 
 behave properly. 
 
PLATE XII 
 
 THE ALTAR IN THE CHAPEL. (CAMULOS) 
 
 In the little chapel in the garden the altar was surrounded by a 
 really imposing row of holy and apostolic figures. Page 30, Vol. I. 
 
 . . . The snowy altar cloth was in its place. . . . He saw her 
 glide up the aisle, place the ferns on the reading desk, and then kneel 
 down by Felipe in front of the altar. . . . Pages 87, 88, Vol. I. 
 
 . . . Ah, if she could have once more prayed in the chapel ! Who 
 
 would put fresh flowers and ferns in the chapel now ? 
 
 Page 20, Vol. II. 
 
 
RAMONA 265 
 
 Ramona's surprise, when the Senora entered hef 
 room just before supper, and, in her ordinary tone, 
 asked a question about the chili which was drying on 
 the veranda, was so great, that she could not avoid 
 showing it both in her voice and look. 
 
 The Senora recognized this immediately, but gave 
 no sign of having done so, continuing what she had 
 to say about the chili, the hot sun, the turning of the 
 grapes, etc., precisely as she would have spoken to 
 Ramona a week previous. At least, this was what 
 Ramona at first thought; but before the sentences 
 were finished, she had detected in the Senora's eye 
 and tone the weapons which were to be employed 
 against her. The emotion of half-grateful wonder 
 with which she had heard the first words changed 
 quickly to heart-sick misery before they were con 
 cluded; and she said to herself: "That's the way 
 she is going to break me down, she thinks ! But she 
 can't do it. I can bear anything for four days ; and 
 the minute Alessandro comes, I will go away with 
 him." This train of thought in Ramona's mind was 
 reflected in her face. The Senora saw it, and hard 
 ened herself still more. It was to be war, then. No 
 hope of surrender. Very well. The girl had made 
 her choice. 
 
 Margarita was now the most puzzled person in 
 the household. She had overheard snatches of the 
 conversation between Felipe and his mother and 
 Ramona, having let her curiosity get so far the better 
 of her discretion as to creep to the door and listen. 
 
2 66 RAMONA 
 
 In fact, she narrowly escaped being caught, having 
 had barely time to begin her feint of sweeping the 
 passage-way, when Ramona, flinging the door wide 
 open, came out, after her final reply to the Senora, 
 the words of which Margarita had distinctly heard : 
 " God will punish you." 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! how dare she say that to the 
 Senora?" ejaculated Margarita, under her breath; 
 and the next second Ramona rushed by, not even 
 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 she called, " How comes it you 
 are sweeping the passage-way at this hour of the day, 
 Margarita?" 
 
 It was surely the devil himself that put into Mar 
 garita's head the quick lie which she instantaneously 
 told. "There was early breakfast, Senora, to be 
 cooked for Alessandro, who was setting off in haste, 
 and my mother was not up, so I had it to cook." 
 
 As Margarita said this, Felipe fixed his eyes steadily 
 upon her. She changed color. Felipe knew this was 
 a lie. He had seen Margarita peering about among 
 the willows while he was talking with Alessandro at 
 the sheepfold; he had seen Alessandro halt for a 
 moment and speak to her as he rode past, only for 
 a moment ; then, pricking his horse sharply, he had 
 galloped off down the valley road. No breakfast had 
 Alessandro had at Margarita's hands, or any other's, 
 that morning. What could have been Margarita's 
 motive for telling this lie? 
 
RAMONA 267 
 
 But Felipe had too many serious cares on his mind 
 to busy himself long with any thought of Margarita 
 or her fibs. She had said the first thing which came 
 into her head, most likely, to shelter herself from the 
 Senora's displeasure ; which was indeed very near the 
 truth, only there was added a spice of malice against 
 Alessandro. A slight undercurrent of jealous antago 
 nism towards him had begun to grow up among the 
 servants of late ; fostered, if not originated, by Mar 
 garita's sharp sayings as to his 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 and went as a 
 physician might. But after Felipe had recovered, 
 why should this freedom and intimacy continue? 
 More than once there had been sullen mutterings 
 of this kind on the north veranda, when all the 
 laborers and servants were gathered there of an 
 evening, Alessandro alone being absent from the 
 group, and the sounds of his voice or his violin 
 coming from 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 on this 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 not always. But 
 
268 RAMONA 
 
 there 's a deal going on, on the veranda yonder, 
 besides fiddling ! " and Margarita's lips would purse 
 themselves up in an expression of concentrated mys 
 tery and secret knowledge, well fitted to draw from 
 everybody a fire of questions, none of which, how 
 ever, would she answer. She knew better than to 
 slander the Senorita Ramona, or to say a word even 
 reflecting upon her unfavorably. Not a man or a 
 woman there would have borne it. They all had 
 loved Ramona ever since she came among them as a 
 toddling baby. They petted her then, and idolized 
 her now. Not one of them whom she had not done 
 good offices for, nursed them, cheered them, re 
 membered their birthdays and their saints'-days. To 
 no one but her mother had Margarita unbosomed 
 what she knew, and what she suspected ; and old 
 Marda, frightened at the bare pronouncing of such 
 words, had terrified Margarita into the solemnest of 
 promises never, under any circumstances whatever, to 
 say such things to any other member of the family. 
 Marda did not believe them. She could not. She 
 believed that 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 you blackening 
 the Senorita. An Indian, too ! You must be mad, 
 Margarita ! " 
 
 When Margarita, in triumph, had flown to tell her 
 that the Senora had just dragged the Senorita Ra 
 mona up the garden-walk, and shoved her into her 
 
RAMONA 269 
 
 room and locked the door, and that it was because 
 she had caught her with Alessandro at the washing- 
 stones, Marda first crossed herself in sheer mechani 
 cal fashion at the shock of the story, and then 
 cuffed Margarita's ears for telling her. 
 
 " I '11 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 of 
 your senses, child ! " she said, all the time gazing 
 fearfully towards the room. 
 
 " You '11 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 was shut, 
 and the unhappy pretence of a supper had begun, 
 old Marda had herself crept softly to the Senorita's 
 door and listened, and heard Ramona sobbing as if 
 her heart would break. Then she knew that what 
 Margarita had said must be true, and her faithful 
 soul was in sore straits what to think. The Senorita 
 misdemean herself! Never! Whatever happened, 
 it was not that ! There was some horrible mistake 
 somewhere. Kneeling at the keyhole, she had called 
 cautiously to Ramona, " Oh, my lamb, what is it?" 
 But Ramona had not heard her, and the danger was 
 too great of remaining ; so scrambling up with diffi 
 culty from her rheumatic knees, the old woman had 
 hobbled back to the kitchen as much in the dark 
 as before, and, by a curiously illogical consequence, 
 Grosser than ever to her daughter. All the next 
 
270 RAMONA 
 
 day she watched for herself, and could not but see 
 that all appearances bore out Margarita's statements. 
 Alessandro's sudden departure had been a tremen 
 dous corroboration of the story. 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 Felipe had said carelessly to Juan Can, 
 after breakfast, "You'll have to look after things 
 yourself for a few days, Juan. Alessandro has gone 
 to Temecula." 
 
 " For a few days ! " exclaimed Margarita, sarcas 
 tically, when this was repeated to her. " That 's easy 
 said ! If Alessandro Assis is seen here again, I '11 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 Seno- 
 rita's door, to say in her ordinary voice, " Are you 
 ready for supper, Ramona?" and Ramona was seen 
 to come out and walk by the Senora's side to the 
 dining-room ; silent, to be sure, but then that was 
 no strange thing, the Senorita always was more silent 
 in the Senora's presence, when Marda, standing 
 in the court-yard, feigning to be 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 has been. There will be disputes in 
 families sometimes. It is none of our affair. All is 
 settled now." 
 
 And Margarita, standing in the dining-room, when 
 
RAMONA 271 
 
 she saw them all coming in as usual, the Senora, 
 Felipe, Ramona, no change, even to her scruti 
 nizing eye, in anybody's face, was more surprised 
 than she had been for many a day; and began to 
 think again, as she had more than once since this 
 tragedy began, that she must have dreamed much 
 that she remembered. 
 
 But surfaces are deceitful, and eyes see little. 
 Considering its complexity, the fineness and deli 
 cacy of its mechanism, the results attainable by the 
 human eye seem far from adequate to the expendi 
 ture put upon it. We have flattered ourselves by 
 inventing proverbs of comparison in matter of blind 
 ness, " blind as a bat," for instance. It would be 
 safe to say that there cannot be found in the animal 
 kingdom a bat, or any other creature, so blind in its 
 own range of circumstance and connection, as the 
 greater majority of human beings are in the bosoms 
 of their families. Tempers strain and recover, hearts 
 break and heal, 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 a storm-cloud on the peaceful Moreno 
 household, everything had so resumed the ordinary 
 expression and routine, that a shrewder observer and 
 reasoner than Margarita might well be excused for 
 doubting if any serious disaster could have occurred 
 to any one. Senor Felipe sauntered about in his 
 usual fashion, smoking his cigarettes, or lay on his 
 
272 RAMONA 
 
 bed in the veranda, dozing. The Senora went her 
 usual rounds of inspection, fed her birds, spoke to 
 every one in her usual tone, sat in her carved chair 
 with her hands folded, gazing out on the southern sky. 
 Ramona busied herself with her usual duties, dusted 
 the chapel, put fresh flowers before all the Madonnas, 
 and then sat down at her embroidery. Ramona had 
 been 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 she held up 
 the frame in which it was stretched, and looked at 
 the delicate tracery of the pattern, she sighed. It 
 had been with a mingled feeling of interest and hope 
 lessness that she had for months been at work on it, 
 often saying to herself, " She won't care much for it, 
 beautiful as it is, just because I did it; but Father 
 Salvierderra will be pleased when he sees it." 
 
 Now, as she wove the fine threads in and out, she 
 thought : " She will never let it be used on the altar. 
 I wonder if I could any way get it to Father Salvier 
 derra, 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 it would be a shame to leave 
 it here. I shall take it with me." But as she thought 
 these things, her face was unruffled. A strange com 
 posure had settled on Ramona. " Only four days ; 
 only four days ; I can bear anything for four days ! " 
 these words were coming and going in her mind like 
 refrains of songs which haunt one's memory and will 
 not be still. She saw that Felipe looked anxiously 
 
RAMONA 273 
 
 at her, but she answered his inquiring looks always 
 with a gentle smile. It was evident that the Senora 
 did not 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 be said. 
 Felipe knew all. She could tell him nothing ; Felipe 
 had acted for the best, as he thought, in sending 
 Alessandro away till the heat of the Senora'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 come back pre 
 pared to take her with him. How, or where, she 
 did not know; but she would go with no question. 
 Perhaps she would not even bid the Senora good-by ; 
 she wondered how that would arrange itself, and how 
 far Alessandro would have to take her, to find a 
 priest to marry them. It was 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 journey to a priest's house, to have 
 the ceremony performed ; " but it is not my fault," 
 said Ramona to herself; " it is hers. She drives me 
 to do it. If it is wrong, the blame will be hers. 
 Father Salvierderra would gladly come here and 
 marry us, if she would send for him. I wish we could 
 go to him, Alessandro and I ; perhaps we can. I 
 would not be afraid to ride so far ; we could do it in 
 two days." The more Ramona thought of this, the 
 
 more it appeared to her the natural thing for them 
 VOL. i. 1 8 
 
274 RAM ON A 
 
 to do. " He will be on our side, I know he will," 
 she thought. " He always liked Alessandro, and he 
 loves me." 
 
 It was strange how little bitterness towards the 
 Senora was in the girl's mind; how comparatively 
 little she thought of her. Her heart was too full of 
 Alessandro and of their future ; and it had never 
 been Ramona's habit to dwell on the Senora in her 
 thoughts. As from her childhood up she had ac 
 cepted the fact of the Senora's coldness towards her, 
 so now she accepted her injustice and opposition as 
 part of the nature of things, and not to be altered. 
 
 During all these hours, during the coming and 
 going of these crowds of fears, sorrows, memories, 
 anticipations in Ramona's heart, all that there was 
 to be seen to the eye was simply a calm, quiet girl, 
 sitting on the veranda, diligently working at her lace- 
 frame. Even Felipe was deceived by her calmness, 
 and wondered what it meant, if it could be that 
 she was undergoing the change that his mother had 
 thought possible, and designated as coming " to her 
 senses." Even Felipe did not know the steadfast 
 fibre of the girl's nature ; neither did he realize what 
 a bond had grown between her and Alessandro. In 
 fact, he sometimes wondered of what this bond had 
 been made. He had himself seen the greater part 
 of their intercourse with each other; nothing could 
 have been farther removed from anything like love- 
 making. There had been no crises of incident, or 
 marked moments of experience such as in Felipe's 
 
RAMONA 275 
 
 imaginations of love were essential to the fulness of 
 its growth. This is a common mistake on the part 
 of those who have never felt love's true bonds. 
 Once in those chains, one perceives that they are 
 not of the sort full 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 of 
 single huge rods, or bars, which would be stronger, 
 perhaps, to look at; but of myriads of the finest 
 wires, each one by itself so fine, so frail, it would 
 barely hold a child's kite in the wind : by hundreds, 
 hundreds of thousands of such, twisted, re-twisted 
 together, are made the mighty cables, which do not 
 any more swerve from their place in the air, under 
 the weight and jar of the ceaseless traffic and tread 
 of two cities, than the solid earth swerves under the 
 same ceaseless weight and jar. Such cables do not 
 break. 
 
 Even Ramona herself would have found it hard to 
 tell why she thus loved Alessandro ; how it began, or 
 by what it grew. It had not been a sudden adora 
 tion, like his passion for her; it was, in the begin 
 ning, simply a response ; but now it was as strong a 
 love as his, as strong, and as unchangeable. The 
 Senora's harsh words had been like a forcing-house 
 air to it, and the sudden knowledge of the fact of 
 her own Indian descent seemed to her like a revela 
 tion, pointing out the path in which destiny called 
 her to walk. She thrilled with pleasure at the thought 
 of the joy with which Alessandro would hear this, 
 
276 RAMONA 
 
 the joy and the surprise. She imagined to herself, 
 in hundreds of ways, the time, place, and phrase in 
 which she would tell him. She could not satisfy 
 herself as to the best; as to which would give keen 
 est pleasure to him and to her. She would tell him, 
 as soon as she saw him ; it should be her first word 
 of greeting. No ! There would be too much of 
 trouble and embarrassment then. She would wait 
 till they were far away, till they were alone, in the 
 wilderness; and then she would turn to him, and 
 say, " Alessandro, my people are your people ! " 
 Or she would wait, and keep her secret until she had 
 reached Temecula, and they had begun their life 
 there, and Alessandro had been astonished to see 
 how readily and kindly she took to all the ways of 
 the Indian village; and then, when he expressed 
 some 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 beat with happiness as she dreamed 
 them, 
 
XIV 
 
 A ~|" -V HE first day had gone, it was near night of the 
 -* second, and not a word had passed between 
 Felipe and Ramona, except in the presence of the 
 Senora. It would have been beautiful to see, if it 
 had not been so cruel a thing, the various and devi 
 ous methods by which the Senora had brought this 
 about. Felipe, oddly enough, was more restive un 
 der it than Ramona. She had her dreams. He had 
 nothing but his restless consciousness that he had 
 not done for her what he hoped ; that he must seem 
 to her to have been disloyal; this, and a continual 
 wonder what she could be planning or expecting 
 which made her so placid, kept Felipe in a fever of 
 
278 RAMONA 
 
 unrest, of which hfs mother noted every sign, and 
 redoubled her vigilance. 
 
 Felipe thought perhaps he could speak to Ramona 
 in the night, through her window. But the August 
 heats were fierce now; everybody slept with wide- 
 open windows ; the Senora was always wakeful ; if 
 she should chance to hear him thus holding secret 
 converse with Ramona, it would indeed make bad 
 matters worse. Nevertheless, he decided to try it. 
 At the first sound of his footsteps on the veranda 
 floor, "My son, are you ill? Can I do anything?" 
 came from the Senora's window. She had not been 
 asleep at all. It would take more courage than 
 Felipe possessed, to try that plan again ; and he lay 
 on his veranda bed, this afternoon, tossing about with 
 sheer impatience at his baffled purpose. Ramona 
 sat at the foot of the bed, taking the last stitches in 
 the nearly completed altar-cloth. The Senora sat in 
 her usual seat, dozing, with her head thrown back. 
 It was very hot ; a sultry south-wind, with dust from 
 the desert, had been blowing all day, and every living 
 creature was more or less prostrated by it. 
 
 As the Senora's eyes closed, a sudden thought 
 struck Felipe. Taking out a memorandum-book in 
 which he kept his accounts, he began rapidly writing. 
 Looking up, and catching Ramona's eye, he made a 
 sign to her that it was for her. She glanced appre 
 hensively at the Senora. She was asleep. Presently 
 Felipe, folding the note, and concealing it in his 
 hand, rose, and walked towards Ramona's window, 
 
RAMONA 279 
 
 Ramona terrifiedly watching him; the sound of 
 Felipe's steps roused the Senora, who sat up in 
 stantly, and gazed about her with that indescribable 
 expression peculiar to people who hope they have 
 not been asleep, but know they have. " Have I 
 been asleep?" she asked. 
 
 " About one minute, mother," answered Felipe, 
 who was leaning, as he spoke, against Ramona's 
 open window, his arms crossed behind him. Stretch 
 ing them out, and back and forth a few times, yawn 
 ing idly, he said, " This heat is intolerable ! " Then 
 he sauntered leisurely down the veranda steps into 
 the garden-walk, and seated himself on the bench 
 under the trellis there. 
 
 The note had been thrown into Ramona's room. 
 She was hot and cold with fear lest she might not be 
 able to get it unobserved. What if the Senora were 
 to go first into the room! She hardly dared look 
 at her. But fortune is not always on the side 
 of tyrants. The Senora was fast dozing off again, 
 relieved that Felipe was out of speaking distance 
 of Ramona. As soon as her eyes were again shut, 
 Ramona rose to go. The Senora opened her eyes. 
 Ramona was crossing the threshold of the door ; she 
 was going into the house. Good ! Still farther away 
 from Felipe. 
 
 "Are you going to your room, Ramona?" said 
 the Senora. 
 
 " I was," replied Ramona, alarmed. " Did you 
 want me here?" 
 
280 RAMONA 
 
 "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 dis 
 tracted because I cannot speak with you alone. Can 
 you think of any way ? I want to explain things to 
 you. I am afraid you do not understand. Don't be 
 unhappy. Alessandro will surely be back in four 
 days. I want to help you all I can, but you saw 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 her bosom, to be destroyed later. 
 Then looking out of the window, and seeing that the 
 Senora was now in a sound sleep, she ventured to 
 write a reply to Felipe, though when she would find 
 a safe opportunity to give it to him, there was no 
 telling. " Thank you, dear Felipe. Don't be anxious. 
 I am not unhappy. I understand all about it. But 
 I must go away as soon as Alessandro comes." Hid 
 ing this also safe in her bosom, she went back to the 
 veranda. Felipe rose, and walked towards the steps. 
 Ramona, suddenly bold, stooped, and laid her note 
 on the second step. Again the tired eyes of the 
 Senora opened. They had not been shut five min 
 utes ; Ramona was at her work ; Felipe was coming 
 up the steps from the garden. He nodded laugh 
 ingly to his 'mother, and laid his finger on his lips, 
 
RAMONA 281 
 
 All was well. The Senora dozed again. Her nap 
 had cost her more than she would ever know. This 
 one secret interchange between Felipe and Ramona 
 then, thus making, as it were, common cause with 
 each other as against her, and in fear of her, was a 
 step never to be recalled, a step whose significance 
 could scarcely be overestimated. Tyrants, great and 
 small, are apt to overlook such possibilities as this ; 
 to forget the momentousness which the most trivial 
 incident may assume when forced into false propor 
 tions and relations. Tyranny can make liars and 
 cheats out of the honestest souls. It is done oftener 
 than any except close students of human nature real 
 ize. When kings and emperors do this, the world 
 cries out with sympathy, and holds the plotters more 
 innocent than the tyrant who provoked the plot. It 
 is Russia that stands branded in men's thoughts, and 
 not Siberia. 
 
 The Senora had a Siberia of her own, and it was 
 there that Ramona was living in these days. The 
 Senora would have been surprised to know how little 
 the girl felt the cold. To be sure, it was not as if 
 she had ever felt warmth in the Senora's presence ; 
 yet between the former chill and this were many 
 degrees, and except for her new life, and new love, 
 and hope in the thought of Alessandro, Ramona 
 could not have borne it for a day. 
 
 The fourth day came ; it seemed strangely longer 
 than the others had. All day Ramona watched and 
 listened. Felipe, too; for, knowing what Alessaiv 
 
282 RAMONA 
 
 dro's impatience would be, he had, in truth, looked 
 for him on the previous night. The horse he rode 
 was a fleet one, and would have made the journey 
 with ease in half the time. But Felipe reflected that 
 there might be many things for Alessandro to arrange 
 at Temecula. He would doubtless return prepared 
 to take Ramona back with him, in case that proved 
 the only alternative left them. Felipe grew wretched 
 as his fancy dwelt on the picture of Ramona' s future. 
 He had been in the Temecula village. He knew its 
 poverty; the thought of Ramona there was mon 
 strous. To the indolent, ease-loving Felipe it was 
 incredible that a girl reared as Ramona had been, 
 could for a moment contemplate leading the life of a 
 poor laboring man's wife. He could not conceive of 
 love's making one ' undertake any such life. Felipe 
 had much to learn of love. Night came ; no Ales 
 sandro. Till the darkness settled down, Ramona sat, 
 watching the willows. When she could no longer 
 see, she listened. The Senora, noting all, also lis 
 tened. She was uneasy as to the next stage of 
 affairs, but she would not speak. Nothing should 
 induce her to swerve from the line of conduct on 
 which she had determined. It was the full of the 
 moon. When the first broad beam of its light came 
 over the hill, and flooded the garden and the white 
 front of the little chapel, just as it had done on that 
 first night when Alessandro watched with Felipe on 
 the veranda, Ramona pressed her face against the 
 window-panes, and gazed out into the garden. At 
 
RAMONA 283 
 
 each flickering motion of the shadows she saw thf 
 form of a man approaching. Again and again sh<j 
 saw it. Again and again the breeze died, and the 
 shadow ceased. It was near morning before, weary, 
 sad, she crept to bed ; but not to sleep. With wide- 
 open, anxious eyes, she still watched and listened. 
 Never had the thought once crossed her mind that 
 Alessandro might not come at the time Felipe had 
 said. In her childlike simplicity she had accepted 
 this as unquestioningly as she had accepted other 
 facts in her life. Now that he did not come, unrea 
 soning and unfounded terror took possession of her, 
 and she asked herself continually, "Will he ever 
 come ! They sent him away ; perhaps he will be too 
 proud to come back ! " Then faith would return, and 
 saying to herself, " He would never, never forsake 
 me; he knows I have no one in the whole world 
 but him; he knows how I love him," she would 
 regain composure, and remind herself of the many 
 detentions which might have prevented his coming 
 at the time set. Spite of all, however, she was 
 heavy at heart; and at breakfast her anxious eyes 
 and absent look were sad to see. They hurt 
 Felipe. Too well he knew what it meant. He 
 also was anxious. The Senora saw it in his face, 
 and it vexed her. The girl might well pine, and 
 be mortified if her lover did not appear. But 
 why should Felipe disquiet himself? The Senora 
 disliked it. It was a bad symptom. There might 
 be trouble ahead yet. There was, indeed, trouble 
 
RAMONA 
 
 ahead, of a sort the Senora's imaginings had 
 not pictured. 
 
 Another day passed ; another night ; another, and 
 another. One week now since Alessandro, as he 
 leaped on his horse, had grasped Felipe's hand, and 
 said : " You will tell the Senorita ; you will make 
 sure that she understands why I go; and in four 
 days I will be back." One week, and he had not 
 come. The three who were watching and wondering 
 looked covertly into each other's faces, each longing 
 to know what the others thought. 
 
 Ramona was wan and haggard. She had scarcely 
 slept. The idea had taken possession of her that 
 Alessandro was dead. On the sixth and seventh 
 days she had walked each afternoon far down the 
 river road, by which he would be sure to come; 
 down the meadows, and by the cross-cut, out to the 
 highway ; at each step straining her tearful eyes into 
 the distance, the cruel, blank, silent distance. She 
 had come back after dark, whiter and more wan than 
 she went out. As she sat at the supper-table, silent, 
 making no feint of eating, only drinking glass after 
 glass of milk, in thirsty haste, even Margarita pitied 
 her. But the Senora did not. She thought the best 
 thing which could happen, would be that the Indian 
 should never come back. Ramona would recover 
 from it in a little while ; the mortification would be 
 the worst thing, but even that, time would heal. She 
 wondered that the girl had not more pride than to 
 let her wretchedness be so plainly seen. She herself 
 
RAMONA 285 
 
 would have died before she would go about with such 
 a woe-begone face, for a whole household to see and 
 gossip about. 
 
 On the morning of the eighth day, Ramona, des 
 perate, waylaid Felipe, as he was going down the 
 veranda steps. The Senora was in the garden, and 
 saw them ; but Ramona did not care. " Felipe ! " 
 she cried, " I must, I must speak to you ! Do you 
 think Alessandro is dead? What else could keep 
 him from coming?" Her lips were dry, her cheeks 
 scarlet, her voice husky. A few days more of this, 
 and she would be in a brain fever, Felipe thought, as 
 he looked compassionately at her. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, dear ! Do not think that ! " he re 
 plied. " A thousand things might have kept him." 
 
 " Ten thousand things would not ! Nothing 
 could ! " said Ramona. " I know he is dead. Can't 
 you send a messenger, Felipe, and see?" 
 
 The Senora was walking towards them. She over 
 heard the last words. Looking towards Felipe, no 
 more regarding Ramona than if she had not been 
 within sight or hearing, the Senora said, " It se.ems 
 to me that would not be quite consistent with dignity. 
 How does it strike you, Felipe? If you thought 
 best, we might spare a man as soon as the vintage 
 is done, I suppose." 
 
 Ramona walked away. The vintage would not be 
 over for a week. There were several vineyards yet 
 which had not been touched ; every hand on the 
 place was hard at work, picking the grapes, treading 
 
286 RAMONA 
 
 them out in tubs, emptying the juice into stretched 
 raw-hides swung from cross-beams in a long shed. 
 In the willow copse the brandy-still was in full blast ; 
 it took one man to watch it; this was Juan Can's 
 favorite work; for reasons of his own he liked best 
 to do it alone; and now that he could no longer 
 tread grapes in the tubs, he had a better chance 
 for uninterrupted work at the still. " No ill but has 
 its good," he thought sometimes, as he lay com 
 fortably 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 to Felipe, and laying her 
 hand on his arm, said in a confidential tone, nod 
 ding her head in the direction in which Ramona 
 had vanished : " She looks badly, Felipe. I don't 
 know what we can do. We surely cannot send to 
 summon back a lover we do not wish her to marry, 
 can we? It is very perplexing. Most unfortunate, 
 every way. What do you think, my son ? " There 
 was almost a diabolical art in the manner in which 
 the Senora could, by a single phrase or question, 
 plant in a person's mind the precise idea she wished 
 him to think he had originated himself. 
 
 "No; of course we can't send for him," replied 
 Felipe, angrily ; " unless it is to send for him to 
 marry her; I wish he had never set foot on the 
 place. I am sure I don't know what to do. Ra- 
 mona's looks frighten me. I believe she will die." 
 
RAMONA 287 
 
 " I cannot wish Alessandro had never set foot on 
 the place," said the Senora, gently, " for I feel that 
 I owe your life to him, my Felipe ; and he 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 sud 
 den passion for a person in every way beneath them, 
 in position, in education, in all points which are 
 essential to congeniality of tastes or association of 
 life." 
 
 The Senora spoke calmly, with no excitement, as 
 if she were discussing an abstract case. Sometimes, 
 when she spoke like this, Felipe for the moment felt 
 as if she were entirely right, as if it were really a 
 disgraceful thing in Ramona to have thus loved Ales 
 sandro. It could not be gainsaid that there was this 
 gulf of which she spoke. Alessandro was undeniably 
 Ramona's inferior in position, education, in all the 
 external matters of life ; but in nature, in true nobil 
 ity of soul, no ! Alessandro was no man's inferior in 
 these; and in capacity to love, Felipe sometimes 
 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 he had, unob 
 served, studied the expression with which Alessandro 
 gazed at Ramona. But all this made no difference in 
 
288 RAMONA 
 
 the perplexity of the present dilemma, in the embar 
 rassment of his and his mother's position now. Send 
 a messenger to ask why Alessandro did not return ! 
 Not even if he had been an accepted and publicly 
 recognized lover, would Felipe do that ! Ramona 
 ought to have more pride. She ought of herself to 
 know that. And when 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 first comprehend 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 do to send to find out if Ales 
 sandro is dead, because it will look as if I wished him 
 to marry me whether he wished it or not?" and she 
 fixed her eyes on Felipe's, with an expression he 
 could not fathom. 
 
 " Yes, dear," he answered, " something like that, 
 though you put it harshly." 
 
 " 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 still more slowly, " If you feel like 
 that, we had better never talk about Alessandro 
 again. I suppose it is not possible that you should 
 know, as I do, that nothing but his being dead 
 would keep him from coming back. Thanks, dear 
 Felipe ; " and after this she did not speak again of 
 Alessandro. 
 
RAMONA 289 
 
 Days went by; a week. The vintage was over, 
 The Senora wondered if Ramona would now ask 
 again for a messenger to go to Temecula. Almost 
 even the Senora relented, as she looked into the girl's 
 white and wasted face, as she sat silent, her hands 
 folded in her lap, her eyes fixed on the willows. The 
 altar-cloth was done, folded and laid away. It would 
 never hang in the Moreno chapel. It was promised, 
 in Ramona's mind, to Father Salvierderra. She had 
 resolved to go to him ; if he, a feeble old man, could 
 walk all the way between Santa Barbara and their 
 home, she could surely do the same. She would not 
 lose the way. There were not many roads; she 
 could ask. The convent, the bare thought of which 
 had been so terrible to Ramona fourteen days ago, 
 when the Senora had threatened her with it, now 
 seemed a heavenly refuge, the only shelter she 
 craved. There was a school for orphans attached 
 to the convent at San Juan Bautista, she knew ; she 
 would ask the Father to let her go there, and she 
 would spend the rest of her life in prayer, and in 
 teaching the orphan girls. As hour after hour she 
 sat revolving this plan, her fancy projected itself so 
 vividly into the future, that she lived years of her 
 life. She felt herself middle-aged, old. She saw 
 the procession of nuns, going to vespers, leading the 
 children by the hand; herself wrinkled and white- 
 haired, walking between two of the little ones. The 
 picture gave her peace. As soon as she grew a 
 little stronger, she would set off on her journey to 
 
 VOL. i. IQ 
 
290 RAMONA 
 
 the Father; she could not go just yet, she was too 
 weak ; her feet trembled if she did but walk to the 
 foot of the garden. Alessandro was dead; there 
 could be no doubt of that. He was buried in that 
 little walled graveyard of which he had told her. 
 Sometimes she thought she would try to go there 
 and see his grave, perhaps see his father; if Ales 
 sandro had told him of her, the old man would 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 for it ; shelter and rest 
 were what she wanted, the sound of the Church's 
 prayers, 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, for she still listened, still 
 watched. Each day she walked out on the river 
 road, and sat waiting till dusk. At last came a 
 day when she could not go; her strength failed 
 her. She lay all day on her bed. To the Seriora, 
 who asked frigidly if she were ill, she answered : 
 " No, Seriora, I do not think I am ill. I have 
 no pain, but I cannot get up. I shall be better 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " I will send you strong broth and a medicine," the 
 Seriora said ; and sent her both by the hands of Mar 
 garita, whose hatred and jealousy broke down at the 
 first sight of Ramona's face on the pillow ; it looked 
 so much thinner and sharper there than it had when 
 she was sitting up. " Oh, Senorita ! Senorita ! " she 
 
PLATE XIII 
 THE CHAPEL BELLS. (CAMULOS) 
 
 In a huge wooden frame at one end of the garden, back of the 
 chapel, hang three bells, originally from old Spain. The largest 
 is cracked, but its still melodious voice summons the people to the 
 chapel near by. Beside it hangs the bell which calls the children to 
 school, and above is the dinner bell. Entwined about the frame are 
 clinging vines. 
 
RAMONA 291 
 
 cried, in a tone of poignant grief, " are you going to 
 die ? Forgive me, forgive me ! " 
 
 "I have nothing to forgive you, Margarita," re 
 plied Ramona, raising herself on her elbow, and lift 
 ing her eyes kindly to the girl's face as she took the 
 broth from her hands. " I do not know why you ask 
 me to forgive you." 
 
 Margarita flung herself on her knees by the bed, 
 in a passion of weeping. " Oh, but you do know, 
 Senonta, you do know ! Forgive me ! " 
 
 "No, I know nothing," replied Ramona; " but if 
 you know anything, it is all forgiven. I am not 
 going to die, Margarita. I am going away," she 
 added, after a second's pause. Her inmost instinct 
 told her that she could trust Margarita now. Ales- 
 sandro being dead, Margarita would no longer be her 
 enemy, and Margarita could perhaps help her. " I 
 am going away, Margarita, as soon as I feel a little 
 stronger. I am going to a convent ; but the Senora 
 does not know. You will not tell?" 
 
 " No, Senorita ! " whispered Margarita, thinking 
 in her heart, " Yes, she is going away, but it will 
 be with the angels." " No, Senorita, I will not tell. 
 I will do anything you want me to." 
 
 "Thanks, Margarita mia," replied Ramona. "I 
 thought you would;" and she lay back on her pil 
 low, and closed her eyes, looking so much more like 
 death than like life that Margarita's tears flowed 
 faster than before, and she ran to her mother, sob 
 bing out, " Mother, mother ! the Senorita is ill to 
 
292 RAMONA 
 
 death. I am sure she is. She has taken to her 
 bed ; and she is as white as Senor Felipe was at the 
 worst of the fever." 
 
 "Ay," said old Marda, who had seen all this for 
 days back ; " ay, she has wasted away, this last week, 
 like one in a fever, sure enough ; I have seen 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 ex 
 changed looks. It was not necessary to further 
 define the day. 
 
 "Juan Can says he thinks he will never be seen 
 here again," continued Margarita. 
 
 " The saints grant it, then," said Marda, hotly, " if 
 it is he has cost the 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 up with whatever 'tis has gone wrong." 
 
 " I could tell what it is," said Margarita, her old 
 pertness coming uppermost for a moment ; " but 
 I Ve got no more to say, now the Senorita 's lying 
 on her bed, with the face she's got. It's enough 
 to break your heart to look at her. I could just go 
 down on my knees to her for all I Ve said ; and I 
 will, and to Saint Francis too ! She 's going to be 
 with him before long; I know she is." 
 
 " No," said the wiser, older Marda. " She is not 
 so ill as you think. She is young. It's the heart's 
 gone out of her ; that 's all. I Ve been that way 
 myself. People are, when they're young." 
 
RAMON A 293 
 
 " 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 proverb when I 
 was your age ! " 
 
 Marda had never been much more than half-way 
 fond of this own child of hers. Their natures were 
 antagonistic. Traits which, in Margarita's father, 
 had embittered many a day of Marda's early married 
 life, were perpetually cropping out in Margarita, 
 making between the mother and daughter a barrier 
 which even parental love was not always strong 
 enough to surmount. And, as was inevitable, this 
 antagonism was constantly leading to things which 
 seemed to Margarita, and in fact were, unjust and 
 ill-founded. 
 
 " She 's always flinging out at me, whatever I do," 
 thought Margarita. " I know one thing ; I '11 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 on the bench outside the kitchen 
 door, to wrestle with it. What if it were not to a 
 convent at all, but to Alessandro, that the Senorita 
 meant to go ! No ; that was preposterous. If it 
 had been that, she would have gone with him in the 
 outset. Nobody who was plotting to run away with 
 a lover ever wore such a look as the Senorita wore 
 now. Maigarita dismissed the thought; yet it left 
 
294 RAMONA 
 
 its trace. She v would be more observant for having 
 had it ; her resuscitated affection for her young mis' 
 tress was not yet so strong that it would resist the 
 assaults of jealousy, if that passion were to be again 
 aroused in her fiery soul. Though she had never 
 been deeply in love with Alessandro herself, she had 
 been enough so, and she remembered him vividly 
 enough, to feel yet a sharp emotion of displeasure 
 at the recollection of his devotion to the Senorita. 
 Now that the Senorita seemed to be deserted, un 
 happy, prostrated, she had no room for anything 
 but pity for her; but let Alessandro come on the 
 stage again, and all would be changed. The old 
 hostility would return. It was but a dubious sort 
 of ally, after all, that Ramona had so unexpectedly 
 secured in Margarita. She might prove the sharpest 
 of broken reeds. 
 
 It was sunset of the eighteenth day since Alessan- 
 dro's departure. Ramona had lain for four days 
 well-nigh motionless on her bed. She herself be 
 gan to think she must be going to die. Her mind 
 seemed to be vacant of all thought. She did not 
 even sorrow for Alessandro's death; she seemed 
 torpid, body and soul. Such prostrations as these 
 are Nature's enforced rests. It is often only by 
 help of them that our bodies tide over crises, 
 strains, in which, if we continued to battle, we 
 should be slain. 
 
 As Ramona lay half unconscious, neither awake 
 nor yet asleep, on this evening, she was suddenly 
 
RAMONA 295 
 
 aware of a vivid impression produced upon her; it 
 was not sound, it was not sight. She was alone; 
 the house was still as death; the warm September 
 twilight silence reigned outside. She sat up in her 
 bed, intent half alarmed half glad bewildered 
 alive. What had happened? Still there was no 
 sound, no stir. The twilight was fast deepening; 
 not a breath of air moving. Gradually her bewil 
 dered senses and faculties awoke from their long- 
 dormant condition; she looked around the room; 
 even the walls seemed revivified; she clasped her 
 hands, and leaped from the bed. "Alessandro is not 
 dead ! " she said aloud ; and she laughed 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. Aftet the first few seconds she found her 
 self strangely strong; she did not tremble; her feet 
 trod firm on the ground. " Oh, miracle ! " she thought, 
 as she hastened down the garden-walk ; " I am well 
 again ! Alessandro is near ! " So vivid was the im 
 pression, that when she reached the willows and 
 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 1 
 mad? Is it this way, perhaps, people lose their 
 senses, when they are as I have been?" 
 
 But the young, strong blood was running swift in 
 her veins. No ! this was no madness ; rather a newly 
 
296 RAMONA 
 
 discovered power; a fulness of sense; a revelation. 
 Alessandro was near. 
 
 Swiftly she walked down the river road. The 
 farther she went, the keener grew her expectation, 
 her sense of Alessandro's nearness. In her present 
 mood she would have walked on and on, even to 
 Temecula itself, sure that she was at each step draw 
 ing nearer to Alessandro. As she approached the 
 second willow copse, which lay perhaps a quarter of 
 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 be Alessandro. He would not have 
 paused for a moment so near the house where he was 
 to find her. She was afraid to go on. It was late 
 to meet a stranger in this lonely spot. The figure was 
 strangely still; so still that, as she peered through 
 the dusk, she half fancied it might be an optical illu 
 sion. She advanced a few steps, hesitatingly, then 
 stopped. As she did so, the man advanced a few 
 steps, then stopped. As he came out from the 
 shadows of the trees, she saw that he was of Ales 
 sandro's height. She quickened her steps, then sud 
 denly stopped again. What did this mean? It could 
 not be Alessandro. Ramona wrung her hands in 
 agony of suspense. An almost unconquerable in 
 stinct urged her forward ; but terror held her back. 
 After standing irresolute for some minutes, she turned 
 to walk back to the house, saying, " I must not run 
 the risk of its being a stranger. If it is Alessandro, 
 he will come." 
 
RAMON A 297 
 
 But her feet seemed to refuse to move in the 
 opposite direction. Slower and slower she walked 
 for a few paces, then turned again. The man had 
 returned to his former place, and stood as at first, 
 leaning against the tree. 
 
 " It may be a messenger from him," she said ; " a 
 messenger who has been told not to come to the 
 house until after dark." 
 
 Her mind was made up. She quickened her pace 
 to a run. A few moments more brought her so near 
 that she could see distinctly. It was yes, it was 
 Alessandro. He did not see her. His face was 
 turned partially away, his head resting against the 
 tree ; he must be ill. Ramona flew, rather than ran. 
 In a moment more, Alessandro had heard the light 
 steps, turned, saw Ramona, and, with a cry, bounded 
 forward, and they were clasped in each other's arms 
 before they had looked in each other's faces. Ra 
 mona spoke first. Disengaging herself gently, and 
 looking up, she began : " Alessandro " But at 
 the first sight of his face she shrieked. 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, what is it?" 
 
 Alessandro passed his hand slowly over his fore 
 head, as if trying to collect his thoughts before speak 
 ing, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on Ramona, 
 with the same anguished look, convulsively holding 
 both her hands in his. 
 
298 RAMONA 
 
 " Senorita," he said, " my Senorita ! " Then 
 he stopped. His tongue seemed to refuse him 
 utterance; and this voice, this strange, hard, 
 unresonant voice, whose voice was it? Not Ales- 
 sandro's. 
 
 " My Senorita," he began again, " I could not go 
 without one sight of your face ; but when I was here, 
 I had not courage to go near the house. If you 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 what has happened?" 
 
 " I know nothing, love," answered Ramona. " I 
 have heard nothing since you went away. For ten 
 days I have been sure you were dead ; but to-night 
 something told me that you were near, and I came 
 to meet you." 
 
 At the first words of Ramona's sentence, Alessan 
 dro threw his arms around her again. As she said 
 " love," his whole frame shook with emotion. 
 
 " My Senorita ! " he whispered, " my Senorita ! how 
 shall I tell you ! How shall 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 impos* 
 sible. At last, straining her closer to his breast, he 
 
RAMONA 299 
 
 cried : " Dearest Senorita ! I feel as if I 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 against the 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 its look of incredulous horror. He 
 misread it. 
 
 " I only came to look at you once more," he con 
 tinued. " I will go now. May the saints bless you, 
 my Senorita, always. I think the Virgin sent you to 
 me to-night. I should never have seen your face if 
 you had not come." 
 
 While he was speaking, Ramona had buried her 
 face in his bosom. Lifting it 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," he said, " and that you would 
 know I had no home, and could not come, to seem to 
 remind you of what you had said. Oh, Senorita, it 
 was little enough I had before to give you ! I don't 
 know how I dared to believe that you could come to 
 be with me ; but I loved you so much, I had thought 
 of many things I could do; and " lowering his 
 voice and speaking almost sullenly " it is the saints, 
 I believe, who have punished me thus for having re- 
 
300 RAMONA 
 
 solved to leave my people, and take all I had for my 
 self and you. Now they have left me nothing ; " and 
 he groaned. 
 
 "Who?" cried Ramona. " Was there a battle? 
 Was your father killed ? " She was 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 it would only make it worse for us in the 
 end. The sheriff, too, he begged me to let it all 
 go on peaceably, and help him keep the people 
 quiet. He felt terribly to have to do it. It was 
 Mr. Rothsaker, from San Diego. We had often 
 worked for him on his ranch. He knew all about 
 us. Don't you recollect, Senorita, I told you about 
 him, how fair he always was, and kind too ? He 
 has the biggest wheat-ranch in Cajon ; we Ve har 
 vested miles and 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 
 his men to shoot. He had twenty men with him. 
 They thought there would be trouble; and well 
 they might, turning a whole village full of men 
 and women 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 no help for us." 
 
 " But, Alessandro," interrupted Ramona, " I can't 
 
RAMONA 301 
 
 understand. Who was it made Mr. Rothsaker do 
 it? Who has the land now?" 
 
 " I don't know who they are," Alessandro replied, 
 his voice full of anger and scorn. " They 're Ameri 
 cans, eight or ten of them. They all got to 
 gether and brought a suit, they call it, up in San 
 Francisco; and it was decided in the court that 
 they owned all our land. That was all Mr. Roth 
 saker could tell about it. It was the law, he said, 
 and nobody could go against the law." 
 
 " Oh," said Ramona, " that 's the way the Ameri 
 cans took so much of the Senora'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 General had always had, was not hers 
 at all. They said it belonged to the United States 
 Government." 
 
 " They are a pack of thieves and liars, every one 
 of them ! " cried Alessandro. " They are going to 
 steal all the land in this country; we might all 
 just as well throw ourselves into the sea, and let 
 them have it. My father has been telling me this 
 for years. He saw it coming; but I did not be 
 lieve him. I did not think men could be so wicked ; 
 but he was right. I am glad he is dead. That is 
 the only thing I have to be thankful for now. One 
 day I thought he was going to get well, and I 
 prayed to the Virgin not to let him. I did not 
 want him to live. He never knew anything clear 
 &fter they tock him out of his house* That was 
 
RAMONA 
 
 before I got there. I found him sitting on the 
 ground outside. They said it was the sun that had 
 turned him crazy ; but it was not. It was his heart 
 breaking in his bosom. He would not come out 
 of his house, and the men lifted him up and carried 
 him out by force, and threw him on the ground ; 
 and then they threw out all the furniture we had ; 
 and when he saw them doing that, he put his hands 
 up to his head, and called out, ' Alessandro ! Ales- 
 sandro ! ' and I was not there ! Senorita, they said 
 it was a voice to make the dead hear, that he called 
 with; and nobody could stop him. All that day 
 and all the night he kept on calling. God ! Seno 
 rita, 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 the sun off. 
 He did not call any more, only for water, water. 
 That was what made them think the sun had done 
 it. They did all they could; but it was such a 
 dreadful time, nobody could do much; the sheriff's 
 men were in great hurry; they gave no time. 
 They said the people must all be off in two days. 
 Everybody was running hither and thither. Every 
 thing out of the houses in piles on the ground. 
 The people took all the roofs off their houses too. 
 They were made of the tule reeds; so they would 
 do again. Oh, Senorita, don't ask me to tell you 
 any more ! It is like death. I can't ! " 
 
 Ramona was crying bitterly. She did not know 
 what to say. What was love, in face of such ca- 
 
RAMONA 303 
 
 lamity? What had she to give to a man stricken 
 like this? 
 
 " Don't weep, Senorita," said Alessandro, drearily. 
 " Tears kill one, and do no good." 
 
 " How long did your father live?" asked Ramona, 
 clasping her arms closer around his neck. They 
 were sitting on the ground now, and Ramona, yearn 
 ing over Alessandro, as if she were the strong one 
 and he the one to be sheltered, had drawn his head 
 to her bosom, caressing him as if he had been hers 
 for years. Nothing could have so clearly shown 
 his enfeebled and benumbed condition, as the man 
 ner in which he received these 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 came away. I have been three 
 days on the way; the horse, poor beast, is almost 
 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 take enough of our cattle and 
 horses to pay all it had cost for the suit up in San 
 Francisco. They did n't reckon the cattle at what 
 they were worth, I thought; but they said cattle 
 were selling very low now. There were not enough 
 in all the village to pay it, so we had to make it 
 up in horses ; and they took mine. I was not there 
 
3 o 4 RAMONA 
 
 the day they drove the cattle away, or I would 
 have put a ball into Benito's head before any Ameri 
 can should ever have had him to ride. But I was 
 over in Pachanga with my father. He would not 
 stir a step for anybody but me; so I led him all 
 the way ; and then after he got there he was so ill 
 I never left him a minute. He did not know me 
 any more, nor know anything that had happened. 
 I built a little hut of tule, and he lay on the ground 
 till he died. When I put him in his grave, I was 
 glad." 
 
 " In Temecula? " asked Ramona. 
 
 " In Temecula ! " exclaimed Alessandro, fiercely* 
 "You don't seem to understand, Senorita. We 
 have no right in Temecula, not even to our grave 
 yard full of the dead. Mr. Rothsaker warned us 
 all not to be hanging about there ; for he said the 
 men who were coming in were a rough set, and 
 they would shoot any Indian at sight, if they saw 
 him trespassing 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 always said, if 
 the Senor Valdez had only given him a paper ! But 
 they never did 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 father murdered just as much 
 
RAMONA 305 
 
 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 will 
 speak no more." 
 
 "No, no, Alessandro. Tell me all, all. You 
 must have no grief I do not share. Tell me about 
 Jose," cried Ramona, breathlessly. 
 
 " Senorita, it will break your heart to hear. Jose* 
 was married a year ago. He had the best house 
 in Temecula, next to my father's. It was the only 
 other one that had a shingled roof. And he had 
 a barn too, and that splendid horse he rode, and 
 oxen, and a flock of sheep. He was at home when 
 the sheriff came. A great many of the men were 
 away, grape-picking. That made it worse. But 
 Jose" was at home; for his wife had a little baby 
 only 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 sheriff riding into 
 the village, and the band of armed men behind him, 
 and Jose knew what it meant. He had often talked 
 it over with me and with my father, and now he 
 saw that it had come; and he went crazy in one 
 minute, and fell on the ground all froth at his mouth. 
 He had had a fit like that once before; and the 
 doctor said if. he had another, he would die. 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 first day as 
 
 VOL. I. 20 
 
jo6 RAMONA 
 
 Jos6 did. Most of the men would not lift a hand 
 They sat on the ground with the women, and cov 
 ered up their faces, and would not see. But Jos6 
 worked; and, Senorita, one of the first things he 
 did, was to run with my father's violin to the store, 
 to Mrs. Hartsel, and ask her to hide it for us ; Jose 
 knew it was worth money. But before noon the 
 second day he had another fit, and died in it, 
 died right in his own door, carrying out some of 
 the things; and after Carmena that's his wife's 
 name saw he was dead, she never spoke, but 
 sat rocking back and forth on the ground, with the 
 baby in her arms. She went over to Pachanga at 
 the same time I did with my father. It was a long 
 procession of us." 
 
 "Where is Pachanga? " asked Ramona. 
 
 " About three miles from Temecula, a little sort 
 of canon. I told the people they'd better move 
 over there ; the land did not belong to anybody, 
 and perhaps they could make a living there. There 
 is n't any water ; that 's the worst of it." 
 
 " No water ! " cried Ramona. 
 
 "No running water. There is one little spring, 
 and they dug a well by it as 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 on one arm, while I led my father 
 with the other hand ; but the baby cried, so she 
 took it back. I thought then it would n't live the 
 day out; but it did live till the morning of the day 
 
RAMONA 307 
 
 my father died. Just a few hours before 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, * How is 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 will bury them to 
 gether.' So she sat by me all that morning, and 
 at night she helped me dig the graves. I wanted 
 to put the baby on my father's breast; but she said, 
 no, it must have a little grave. So she dug it her 
 self; and we put them in; and she never spoke, 
 except that once. She was sitting there by the 
 grave when I came away. I made a cross of two 
 little trees with the boughs chopped off, and set it 
 up by the graves. So that is the way our new grave 
 yard was begun, my father and the little baby; it 
 is the very young and the very old that have the 
 blessed fortune 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 dig a grave in our old graveyard 
 for Jose. But I think Carmena will go at night and 
 bring his body away. I would ! But, my Senorita, 
 it is very dark, I can hardly see your beloved eyes. 
 I think you must not stay longer. Can I go as far as 
 the brook with you, safely, without being seen? The 
 saints bless you, beloved, for coming. I could not 
 have lived, I think, without one more sight of your 
 face ; " and, springing to his feet, Alessandro stood 
 
308 RAMONA 
 
 waiting for Ramona to move. She remained still. 
 She was in a sore strait. Her heart held but one 
 impulse, one desire, to go with Alessandro ; noth 
 ing was apparently farther from his thoughts than 
 this. Could she offer to go ? Should she risk laying 
 a burden on him greater than he could bear? If he 
 were indeed a beggar, as he said, would his life be 
 hindered or helped by her? She felt herself strong 
 and able. Work had no terrors for her; privations 
 she knew nothing 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 not often. If I think of you by 
 any other name than as my Senorita, it is usually 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, the wood-dove. In the Luiseno 
 tongue that is Majel; that was what I thought my 
 people would have called you, if you had come to 
 dwell among us. It is a beautiful name, Senorita, 
 and is like you." 
 
 Alessandro was still standing. Ramona rose ; com 
 ing close to him, she laid both her hands on his breast, 
 and her head on her hands, and said: "Alessandro, 
 
RAMONA 309 
 
 I have something to tell you. I am an Indian. 1 
 belong to your people." 
 
 Alessandro's silence astonished her. "You are 
 surprised," she said. " I thought you would be glad." 
 
 "The gladness of it came to me long ago, my 
 Senorita," he said. " I knew it ! " 
 
 " 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 in a 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 Ales 
 sandro. 
 
 "Who did he say was my iatftcr? " 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 he gave 
 me. But I think, Alessandro, I have more of my 
 mother than of my father." 
 
 " Yes, you have, my Senorita," replied Alessandro, 
 tenderly. " After I knew it, I then saw what it was 
 in your face had always seemed to me like the faces 
 of m}' own people." 
 
 "Are you not glad, Alessandro?" 
 
 "Yes, my Senorita." 
 
 What more should Ramona say? Suddenly bet 
 
3io RAMONA 
 
 heart gave way ; and without premeditation, without 
 resolve, almost without consciousness of what she 
 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 than have 
 you leave me again ! " 
 
 END OF VOL. 1 
 
PLATE XIV 
 
 FATHER GASPARA'S HOUSE. (OLD TOWN) 
 
 Father Gaspara's house was at the end of a long, low, adobe build 
 ing. . . . All its rooms, except those occupied by the father, had 
 been long uninhabited. . . . Everything about it was in unison with 
 the atmosphere of the place the most profoundly melancholy in 
 all Southern California. Page 85, Vol. II. 
 
 He would sit ... and smoke by the hour, gazing out on the 
 placid water of the deserted harbor. Page 88, Vol. II. 
 
 The book of the marriage-records was kept in Father Gaspara's 
 own rooms, locked up and hidden. Page 90, Vol. II. 
 
RAMONA 
 
 VOLUME II. 
 
LIST OF PLATES 
 
 VOLUME TWO 
 
 FROM PHOTOGRAPHS BY A. C. y ROM AN 
 
 PLATB 
 
 XIV Father Gaspara's House. (Old Town) Frontispiece 
 
 FACING PAGE 
 
 XV Santa Barbara Mission 30 
 
 XVI San Gabriel Mission from the Southeast ... 56 
 
 XVII Mission San Luis Key from the Southeast . . 82 
 
 CVIII Servants' Quarters. (Guajome) 108 
 
 XIX The South Veranda at Guajome 134 
 
 XX The Inner Court at Guajome from the Roof-top 160 
 
 XXI The Washing Place. (Guajome) 186 
 
 XXII The Sheep Sheds. (Guajome) 212 
 
 XXIII Indian Houses at Temecula 238 
 
 XXIV Chapel where Ramona was Married .... 264 
 
DECORATIVE HEADINGS 
 
 VOLUME TWO 
 FROM DRAWINGS BY HENRY SANDHAM 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 XV. San Juan Bautista Mission 3 
 
 XVI. General View of San Luis Rey Mission ... 27 
 
 XVII. Entrance to Graveyard, Temecula 46 
 
 XVIII. Pala 71 
 
 XIX. San Diego Mission 95 
 
 XX. Ramona's Bedroom, San Pasquale 116 
 
 XXI. San Luis Obispo Mountain from Site of Mission 145 
 
 XXII. Sheep Corral and Hut 166 
 
 XXIII. House of Indian Agency Doctor 197 
 
 XXIV. San Jacinto Mountain 223 
 
 XXV. San Juan Capistrano Mission, showing door to 
 
 room where Felipe found Antonio . , . . 242 
 
 XXVI. Monterey Bay 273 
 
XV 
 
 A LESSANDRO'S first answer to this cry of Ra- 
 * ^ mona's was a tightening of his arms around 
 her ; closer and closer he held her, till it was almost 
 pain ; 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 on his forehead reverently, and 
 said, in a voice which was so husky and trembling 
 she could barely understand his words : " My Seno- 
 rita knows that my life is hers. She can ask me to go 
 into the fire or into the sea, and neither the fire nor 
 the sea would frighten me ; they would but make me 
 glad for her sake. But I cannot take my Senorita's 
 life to throw it away. She is tender ; she would die ; 
 
4 RAMONA 
 
 she cannot lie on the earth for a bed, and have no 
 food to eat. My Seriorita does not know what she 
 says." 
 
 His solemn tone; this third-person designation, as 
 if he were speaking of her, not with her, almost as 
 if he were thinking aloud to God rather than speak 
 ing to her, merely calmed and strengthened, did not 
 deter Ramona. " I am strong ; I can work too, Ales 
 sandro. You do not know. We can both work. I 
 am not afraid to lie on the earth ; and God will give 
 us food," she said. 
 
 " That was what I thought, my Senorita, until now. 
 When I rode away that morning, I had it in my 
 thoughts, as you say, that if you were not afraid, I 
 would not be ; and that there would at least always 
 be food, and I could make it that you should never 
 suffer ; but, Seriorita, the saints are displeased. They 
 do not pray for us any more. It is as my father said, 
 they have forsaken us. These Americans will destroy 
 us all. I do not know but they will presently begin 
 to shoot us and poison us, to get us all out of the 
 country, as they do the rabbits and the gophers ; it 
 would not be any worse than what they have done. 
 Would not you rather be dead, Senorita, than be as 
 I am to-day? " 
 
 Each word he spoke but intensified Ramona's 
 determination to share his lot. " Alessandro," 
 she interrupted, " there are many men among your 
 people who have wives, are there not?" 
 
 " Yes, Senorita ! " replied Alessandro, wonderingly. 
 
RAMONA 5 
 
 " Have their wives left them and gone away, now 
 that this trouble has come?" 
 
 "No, Senorita!" still more wonderingly; "how 
 could they?" 
 
 "They are going to stay with them, help them 
 to earn money, try to make them 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 wliich Ramona narrowed in her 
 lines of interrogation. 
 
 " Do the women of your people love their hus 
 bands very much ? " 
 
 " Very much, Senorita." A pause. It was very 
 dark now. Alessandro could not see the hot cur 
 rents running swift and red over Ramona's face; 
 even her neck changed color as she asked her last 
 question. " Do you think any one 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 not enough 
 to make such a love as Alessandro's selfish. Ales 
 sandro was silent. 
 
 " 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 out breathless : " My 
 Senorita, you take me to the door of heaven, but I 
 
6 RAMONA 
 
 dare not go in. I know it would kill you, Senorita, 
 to live the life we must live. Let me go, dearest 
 Senorita ; let me go ! It had been better if you 
 had never seen me." 
 
 " Do you know what I was going to do, Alessan- 
 dro, if you had not come ? " said Ramona. " I was 
 going to run away from the Senora's house, all alone, 
 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 is what I will do now 
 if you leave me ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, no, Senorita, my Senorita, you will not 
 do that! My beautiful Senorita 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 out to-morrow." 
 
 Her words carried conviction to Alessandro's soul. 
 He knew she would do as she said. " Even that would 
 not be so dreadful as to be hunted like a wild beast, 
 Senorita; as you may be, if you come with me." 
 
 "When I thought you were dead, Alessandro, I 
 did not think the convent would be dreadful at all. 
 I thought it would be peace ; and I could do good, 
 teaching the children. But if I knew you were alive, 
 I could never have peace ; not for one minute have 
 peace, Alessandro ! I would rather die, 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 was hollow: "I 
 
RAMONA 7 
 
 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 any one who does not forsake 
 them. You will be glad all our lives long, Alessan 
 dro," cried Ramona ; and she laid her head on his 
 breast in solemn silence for a moment, as if register 
 ing a vow. 
 
 Well might Felipe have said that he would hold 
 himself fortunate if any woman ever loved him as 
 Ramona loved Alessandro. 
 
 When she lifted her head, she said timidly, now 
 that she was sure, " Then you will take your Ramona 
 with you, Alessandro ? " 
 
 " I will take you with me till I die ; and may the 
 Madonna guard you, my Ramona," replied Alessan 
 dro, clasping her to his breast, and bowing his head 
 upon hers. But there were tears in his eyes, and 
 they were not tears of joy; and in his heart he said, 
 as in his rapturous delight when he first saw Ramona 
 bending over the brook under the willows he had 
 said aloud, " My God ! what shall I do ! " 
 
 It was not easy to decide on the best plan of pro 
 cedure now. Alessandro wished to go boldly to the 
 house, see Senor Felipe, and if need be the Senora. 
 Ramona quivered with terror at the bare mention of 
 it. " You do not know the Senora, Alessandro," she 
 cried, " or you would never think of it. She has been 
 terrible all this time. She hates me so that she would 
 kill me if she dared. She pretends that she will do 
 
8 RAMONA 
 
 nothing to prevent my going away ; but I believe at 
 the last minute she would throw me in the well in the 
 court-yard, rather than have me go with you." 
 
 " I would never let her harm you," said Alessan- 
 dro. " Neither would Sefior Felipe." 
 
 " She turns Felipe round her finger as if he were 
 soft wax," answered Ramona. " She makes him of a 
 hundred minds in a minute, and he can't help him 
 self. Oh, I think she is in league with the fiends, 
 Alessandro ! Don't dare to come near the house ; I 
 will come here as soon as every one is asleep. We 
 must go at once." 
 
 Ramona's terrors overruled Alessandro's judgment, 
 and he consented to wait for her at the spot where 
 they now stood. She turned back twice to embrace 
 him again. "Oh, my Alessandro, promise me that 
 you will not stir from 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 the utmost. It must be nine o'clock now." 
 
 She did not observe that Alessandro had evaded 
 the promise not to leave the spot. That promise 
 Alessandro would not have given. He had some 
 thing to do in preparation for this unexpected flight 
 of Ramona. In her innocence, her absorption in 
 her thoughts of Alessandro and of love, she had 
 never seemed to consider how she would make this 
 long journey. As Alessandro had ridden towards 
 Temecula, eighteen days ago, he had pictured him- 
 
RAMONA 9 
 
 self riding back on his fleet, strong Benito, and bring 
 ing Antonio's matchless little dun mare for Ramona 
 to ride. Only eighteen short days ago ; and as he 
 was dreaming that very dream, he had looked up and 
 seen Antonio on the little dun mare, galloping towards 
 him like the wind, the overridden creature's breath 
 coming from her like pants of a steam-engine, and 
 her sides dripping blood, where Antonio, who loved 
 her, had not spared the cruel spurs ; and Antonio, 
 seeing him, had uttered a cry, and flinging himself 
 off, came with a bound to his side, and with gasps 
 between -his words told him. Alessandro could not 
 remember the words, only that after them he set his 
 teeth, and dropping the bridle, laid his head down 
 between Benito's ears, and whispered to him; and 
 Benito never stopped, but galloped on all that day, 
 till he came into Temecula; and there Alessandro 
 saw the roofless houses, and the wagons being loaded, 
 and the people running about, the women and chil 
 dren wailing; and then they showed him the place 
 where his father lay 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 ! And now here he was, under the willows, 
 the same copse where he first halted, at his first 
 sight of Ramona; and it was night, dark night, and 
 Ramona had been there, in his arms; she was his; 
 and she was coming back presently to go away with 
 him, where? He had no home in the wide world 
 to which to take her, and this poor beast he had 
 
io RAMONA 
 
 ridden from Temecula, had it strength enough left 
 to carry her? Alessandro doubted. He had him 
 self walked more than half the distance, to spare the 
 creature, and yet there had been good pasture all 
 the way; but the animal had been too long starved 
 to recover quickly. In the Pachanga canon, where 
 they had found refuge, the grass was burned up by 
 the sun, and the few horses taken over there had 
 suffered wretchedly; some had died. But Alessan 
 dro, even while his arms were around Ramona, had 
 revolved in his mind a project he would not have 
 dared to confide to her. If Baba, Ramona's own 
 horse, was still in the corral, Alessandro could with 
 out difficulty lure 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 had al 
 ways been her own; had followed her about like a 
 dog ever since he could run ; in fact, the only taming 
 he had ever had, had been done by Ramona, with 
 bread and honey. He was intractable to others ; but 
 Ramona could guide him by a wisp of his silky mane. 
 Alessandro also had nearly as complete control over 
 him ; for it had been one of his greatest pleasures, 
 during the summer, when he could not see Ramona, 
 to caress and fondle her horse, till Baba knew and 
 loved him next to his young mistress. If only Baba 
 were in the corral, all would be well. As soon as the 
 sound of Ramona's footsteps had died away, Ales 
 sandro followed with quick but stealthy steps ; keep 
 ing well down in the bottom, below the willows, he 
 
RAMONA ii 
 
 skirted the terrace where the artichoke-patch and the 
 sheepfolds lay, and then turned up to approach the 
 corral from the farther side. There was no light in 
 any of the herdsmen's huts. They were all asleep. 
 That was good. Well Alessandro knew how sound 
 they slept; many a night while he slept there with 
 them he had walked twice over their bodies as they 
 lay stretched on skins on the floor, out and in with 
 out rousing them. If only Baba would not give a 
 loud whinny. Leaning on the corral-fence, Alessan 
 dro gave a low, hardly audible whistle. The horses 
 were all in a group together at the farther end of the 
 corral. At the sound there was a slight movement 
 in the group ; and one of them turned and came a 
 pace or two towards Alessandro. 
 
 " I believe that is Baba himself," thought Alessan 
 dro ; and he made another low sound. The horse 
 quickened his steps ; then halted, as if he suspected 
 some mischief. 
 
 " Baba," whispered Alessandro. The horse knew 
 his name as well as any dog; knew Alessandro's 
 voice too, but the sagacious creature seemed in 
 stinctively to know that here was an occasion for 
 secrecy and caution. If Alessandro whispered, he, 
 Baba, would whisper back; and it was little more 
 than a whispered whinny which he gave, as he trotted 
 quickly to the fence, and put his nose to Alessandro's 
 face, rubbing and kissing and giving soft whinnying 
 sighs. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! Baba," whispered Alessandro, as 
 
12 RAMONA 
 
 if he were speaking to a human being. " Hush ! " 
 and he proceeded cautiously to lift off the upper 
 rails and bushes of the fence. The horse under 
 stood instantly; and as soon as the fence was a 
 little lowered, leaped over it and stood still by Ales- 
 sandro's side, while he replaced the rails, smiling to 
 himself, spite of his grave anxiety, to think of Juan 
 Can's wonder in the morning as to how Baba had 
 managed to get out of the corral. 
 
 This had taken only a few moments. It was better 
 luck than Alessandro had hoped for ; emboldened by 
 it, he began to wonder if he could not get the saddle 
 too. The saddles, harnesses, bridles, and all such 
 things hung on pegs in an open barn, such as is con 
 stantly to be seen in Southern California ; as signifi 
 cant 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 summer-houses on a large scale are the South 
 California barns. Alessandro stood musing. The 
 longer 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 the ground here and wait while I 
 got the saddle. But I dare not risk leaving you. 
 Come, Baba ! " and he struck down the hill again, the 
 horse following him softly. When he got down be 
 low the terrace, he broke into a run, with his hand 
 in Baba's mane, as if it were a frolic ; and in a few 
 moments they were safe in the willow copse, where 
 
RAMONA i^ 
 
 Alessandro's poor pony was tethered. Fastening 
 Baba with the same lariat, Alessandro patted him on 
 the neck, pressed his face to his nose, and said aloud, 
 " Good Baba, stay here till the Sefiorita comes." Baba 
 whinnied. 
 
 " Why should n't he know the Senorita's name ! I 
 believe he does ! " thought Alessandro, as he turned 
 and again ran swiftly back to the corral. He felt 
 strong now, felt like a new man. Spite of all the 
 terror, joy thrilled him. When he reached the corral, 
 all was yet still. The horses had not moved from their 
 former position. Throwing himself flat on the ground, 
 Alessandro crept on his breast from the corral to the 
 barn, several rods' distance. This was the most haz 
 ardous part of his adventure; every other moment 
 he paused, lay motionless for some seconds, then 
 crept a few paces more. As he neared the corner 
 where Ramona'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. Grop 
 ing in the darkness, Alessandro pulled himself up on 
 the post, felt for the saddle, found it, lifted it, and 
 in a trice was flat on the ground again, drawing the 
 saddle along after him. Not a sound had he made, 
 that the most watchful of sheep-dogs could hear. 
 
 " Ha, old Capitan, caught you napping this time ! " 
 said Alessandro to himself, 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 
 
I 4 RAMONA 
 
 felt it not, for the rejoicing he had in its possession. 
 Now his Senorita would go in comfort. To ride Baba 
 was to be rocked in a cradle. If need be, Baba would 
 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 was stretched out on the 
 ground exhausted ; Baba standing by, looking down 
 in scornful wonder at this strange new associate. 
 
 " The saints be praised ! " thought Alessandro, as 
 he seated himself to wait. " This looks as if they 
 would not desert my Senorita." 
 
 Thoughts whirled in his brain. Where should they 
 go first? What would be best? Would they be 
 pursued? Where could they hide? Where should 
 he seek a new home? 
 
 It was bootless thinking, until Ramona was by 
 his side. He must lay each plan before her. She 
 must decide. The first thing was to get to San Diego, 
 to the priest, to be married. That would be three 
 days' hard ride ; five for the exhausted Indian pony. 
 What should they eat on the way? Ah ! Alessandro 
 bethought him of the violin at Hartsel's. Mr. Hartsel 
 would give him money on that; perhaps buy it. 
 Then Alessandro remembered his own violin. He 
 had not once thought of it before. It lay in its case 
 on a table in Senor Felipe's room when he came 
 away. Was it possible? No, of course it could not 
 be possible that the Senorita would think to bring 
 it. What would she bring? She would be wise, 
 Alessandro was sure. 
 
RAMONA 15 
 
 How long the hours seemed as he sat thus plotting 
 and conjecturing; more and more thankful, as each 
 hour went by, to see the sky still clouded, the dark 
 ness dense. " It must have been the saints, too, 
 that brought me on 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 my Senorita; they will let me take care 
 of her." 
 
 Ramona was threading a perilous way, through 
 great difficulties. She had reached her room unob 
 served, so far as she could judge. Luckily for her, 
 Margarita was in bed with a terrible toothache, for 
 which her mother had given her a strong sleeping- 
 draught. Margarita was disposed of. If she had not 
 been, Ramona would never have got away, for Mar 
 garita would have known that she had been out of 
 the house for two hours, and would have watched 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 not late. 
 
 As she entered her room, she heard them talking. 
 She closed one of her windows, to let them know she 
 was there. Then she knelt at the Madonna's feet, 
 and in an inaudible whisper told her all she was 
 going to do, and prayed that she would watch over 
 her and Alessandro, and show them where to go. 
 
 " I know she will ! I am sure she will ! " whispered 
 Ramona to herself as she rose from her knees. 
 
16 RAMONA 
 
 Then she threw herself on her bed, to wait till the 
 Senora and Felipe should be asleep. Her brain was 
 alert, clear. She knew exactly what she wished 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, two of the large nets which the Indian 
 women use for carrying all sorts of burdens. They 
 are woven out of the fibres of a flax-like plant, and 
 are strong as iron. The meshes being large, they are 
 very light; are gathered at each end, and fastened to 
 a band which goes around the forehead. In these 
 can be carried on the back, with comparative ease, 
 heavier loads than could be lifted in any other way. 
 Until Ramona recollected these, she had been per 
 plexed to know how she should carry the things 
 which she had made up her mind it would be right 
 for her to take, only a few ; simply necessaries ; 
 one stuff gown and her shawls ; the new altar-cloth, 
 and two changes of clothes; that would not be a 
 great deal ; she had a right to so much, she thought, 
 now that she had seen the jewels in the Senora's 
 keeping. " I will tell Father Salvierderra exactly 
 what I took," she thought, " and ask him if it was 
 too much." She did not like to think that all these 
 clothes she must take had been paid for with the 
 Senora Moreno's money. 
 
 And Alessandro's violin. Whatever else she left, 
 that must go. What would life be to Alessandro 
 
RAMONA 17 
 
 without a violin ! And if they went to Los Angeles, 
 he might earn money by playing at dances. Already 
 Ramona had devised 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 rilled her heart as she recalled how gaunt 
 he looked. " Starving," he said they had been. 
 Good God ! Starving ! And she had sat down each 
 day at loaded tables, and seen, each day, good 
 food thrown to the dogs to eat. 
 
 It was long before the Senora went to her room ; 
 and long after that before Felipe's breathing had 
 become so deep and regular that Ramona dared 
 feel sure that he was asleep. At last she ventured 
 out. All was dark; it was past midnight. 
 
 " The violin first ! " she said ; and creeping into 
 the dining-room, and through the inner door to 
 Felipe's room, she brought it out, rolled it in shawl 
 after shawl, and put it in the net with her clothes. 
 Then she stole out, with this net on her back, " like 
 a true Indian woman as I am," she said, almost 
 gayly, to herself, through the court-yard, around 
 the 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 cold meat. She did not know so 
 well where to put her hand on old Marda's posses 
 sions as on her own, and she dared not strike a 
 VOL. n. 2. 
 
i8 RAMONA 
 
 light. She made several journeys to the kitchen 
 and pantry before she had completed her store. 
 Wine, luckily, she found in the dining-room, 
 two full bottles; also milk, which she poured into 
 a leathern flask which hung on the wall in the 
 veranda. 
 
 Now all was ready. She leaned from her window, 
 and listened to Felipe's breathing. " How can I 
 go without bidding him good-by ? " she said. " How 
 can I?" and she stood irresolute. 
 
 " Dear Felipe ! Dear Felipe ! He has always 
 been so good to me ! He has done all he could 
 for me ! I wish I dared kiss him. I will leave a 
 note for him." 
 
 Taking a pencil and paper, and a tiny wax taper, 
 whose light would hardly be seen across a room, she 
 slipped once more into the dining-room, knelt on the 
 floor behind the door, lighted her taper, and wrote : 
 
 " DEAR FELIPE, Alessandro has come, and I am go 
 ing away with him to-night. Don't let anything be done 
 to us, if you can help it. I don't know where we are 
 going. I hope, to Father Salvierderra. I shall love you 
 always. Thank you, dear Felipe, for all your kindness. 
 
 " RAMONA." 
 
 It had not taken a moment. She blew out her 
 taper, and crept back into her room. Felipe's bed 
 was now moved close to the wall of the house. 
 From her window she could reach its foot. Slowly, 
 cautiously, she stretched out her arm and dropped 
 
RAMONA 19 
 
 the little paper on the coverlet, just over Felipe's 
 feet. There was a risk that the Senora would come 
 out in the morning, before Felipe awaked, and see 
 the note first; but that risk she would take. 
 
 " Farewell, dear Felipe ! " she whispered, under 
 her breath, as she turned from the window. 
 
 The delay had cost her dear. The watchful 
 Capitan, from his bed at the upper end of the court, 
 had half heard, half scented something strange 
 going on. As Ramona stepped out, he gave one 
 short, quick bark, and came bounding 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 a piece of meat, fondling and caressing him. 
 While he ate it, wagging his tail, and making great 
 demonstrations of joy, she picked up net load again, 
 and still fondling him, said, " Come on, Capitan ! " 
 It was her last chance. If he barked again, some 
 body would be waked ; if he went by her side 
 quietly, she might escape. A cold sweat of terror 
 burst on her forehead as she took her first step 
 cautiously. The dog followed. She quickened her 
 pace; he trotted along, still smelling the meat in 
 the net. When she reached the willows, she halted, 
 debating whether she should give him a large piece 
 of meat, and try to run away while he was eating 
 it, or whether she should let him go quietly along. 
 She decided on the latter course; and, picking up 
 her other net, walked on. She was safe now. She 
 
20 RAMONA 
 
 turned, and looked back towards the house; all 
 was dark and still. She could hardly see its out 
 line. A great wave of emotion swept over her. 
 It was the only home she had ever known. All she 
 had experienced of happiness, as well as of bitter 
 pain, had been there, Felipe, Father Salvierderra, 
 the servants, the birds, the garden, the dear chapel ! 
 Ah, if she could have once more prayed in the 
 chapel ! Who would put fresh flowers and ferns 
 in the chapel now? How Felipe would miss her, 
 when he knelt before the altar ! For fourteen years 
 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 all 
 be sorry I have gone, all but the Senora ! I wish 
 it had been so that I could have bidden them all 
 good-by, and had them all bid me good-by, and 
 wish us good fortune ! " thought the gentle, loving 
 girl, as she drew a long sigh, and, turning her back 
 on her home, went forward in the path she 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 three short, 
 sharp notes of delight. " Good Capitan, come ! 
 They will not miss him out of so many," she thought, 
 " and it will always seem like something from home, 
 as long as I have Capitan." 
 
 When Alessandro first saw Ramona's figure dimly 
 in the gloom, drawing slowly nearer, he did not rec- 
 
RAMONA 21 
 
 ognize it, and he was full of apprehension at the 
 sight. What stranger could it be, abroad in these 
 lonely meadows at this hour of the night? Hastily 
 he led the horses farther back into the copse, and hid 
 himself behind a tree, to watch. In a few moments 
 more he thought he recognized Capitan, bounding 
 by the side of this bent and slow-moving figure. Yet 
 this was surely an Indian woman toiling along under 
 a heavy load. But what Indian woman would have 
 so superb a colley 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 be you ? To think that you 
 have brought these heavy loads ! " 
 
 Ramona laughed. " Do you remember the day 
 you showed me how the Indian women carried so 
 much on their backs, in these nets? I did not think 
 then I would use it so soon. But it hurts my fore 
 head, Alessandro. It is n't the weight, but the strings 
 cut. I could n't have carried them much farther ! " 
 
 " Ah, you had no basket to cover the head," re 
 plied Alessandro, as he threw up the two nets on his 
 shoulders as if they had been feathers. In doing 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 rather have it than anything else 
 
22 RAMONA 
 
 I brought very little, Alessandro ; it seemed nothing 
 while I was getting it ; but it is very heavy to carry. 
 Will it be too much for the poor tired horse? You 
 and I can walk. And see, Alessandro, here is Capi- 
 tan. He waked up, and I had to bring him, to keep 
 nim still. Can't he go with us? " 
 
 Capitan was leaping up, putting his paws on Ales- 
 sandro's breast, licking his face, yelping, doing all a 
 dog could do, to show welcome and affection. 
 
 Alessandro laughed aloud. Ramona had not more 
 than two or three times heard him do this. It fright 
 ened 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, at the first 
 note of which Baba came trotting out of the copse to 
 the end of his lariat, and began to snort and whinny 
 with delight as soon as he perceived Ramona. 
 
 Ramona burst into tears. The surprise was too 
 great. 
 
 "Are you not glad, Senorita?" cried Alessandro, 
 aghast. " Is it not your own horse ? If you do not 
 wish to take him, I will lead him back. My pony 
 can carry you, if we journey very slowly. But I 
 thought it would be joy to you to have Baba." 
 
 " Oh, it is ! it is ! " sobbed Ramona, with her head 
 on Baba's neck. " It is a miracle, a miracle. How 
 did he come here? And the saddle too ! " she cried, 
 for the first time observing that. " Alessandro," in 
 
RAMONA 23 
 
 an awe-struck whisper, " did the saints send him ? 
 Did you find him here?" It would have seemed to 
 Ramona's faith no strange thing, had this been so. 
 
 " I think the saints helped me to bring him," an 
 swered Alessandro, seriously, " or else I had not done 
 it so easily. I did but call, near the corral-fence, and 
 he came to my hand, and leaped over the rails at my 
 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 his legs ; he 
 was only two days old ; and I have fed him out of 
 my hand every day till now; and now he is five. 
 Dear Baba, we will never be parted, never ! " and she 
 took his paw in both her hands, and laid her cheek 
 against it lovingly. 
 
 Alessandro was busy, fastening the two nets on 
 either side the saddle. " Baba will never know he 
 has a load at all; they are not so heavy as my 
 Senorita thought," he said. " It was the weight on 
 the forehead, with nothing to keep the strings from 
 the skin, which gave her pain." 
 
 Alessandro was making all haste. His hands trem 
 bled. " We must make all the speed we can, dearest 
 Senorita," he said, " for a few hours. Then we will 
 rest. Before light, we will be in a spot where we can 
 hide safely all day. We will journey only by night, 
 lest they pursue us." 
 
 " They will not," said Ramona. " There is no 
 
24 RAMONA 
 
 danger. The Sefiora said she should do nothing. 
 
 * Nothing ! ' " she repeated, in a bitter tone. " That 
 is what she made Felipe say, too. Felipe wanted to 
 help us. He would have liked to have you stay with 
 us; but all he could get was, that she would do 
 
 * nothing ! ' But they will not follow us. They will 
 wish never to hear of me again. I mean, the Senora 
 will wish never to hear of me. Felipe will be sorry. 
 Felipe is very good, Alessandro." 
 
 They were all ready now, Ramona on Baba, the 
 two packed nets swinging from her saddle, one on 
 either side. Alessandro, walking, led his tired pony. 
 It was a sad sort of procession for one going to be 
 wed, but Ramona's heart was full of joy. 
 
 " I don't know why it is, Alessandro," she said ; " I 
 should think I would be afraid, but I have not the 
 least fear, not the least ; not of anything that can 
 come, Alessandro," she reiterated with emphasis. " Is 
 it not strange ? " 
 
 " Yes, Senorita," he replied solemnly, laying his 
 hand on hers as he walked 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 
 the saints will help you, and will let me take care of 
 you. They must love you, Senorita ; but they do not 
 love me, nor my people." 
 
 "Are you never going to call me by my name? " 
 asked Ramona. " I hate your calling me Senorita. 
 That was what the Senora always called me when 
 she was displeased." 
 
RAMONA 25 
 
 " I will never speak the word again ! " cried Ales- 
 sandro. " The saints forbid 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 him difficult to say Ramona. 
 
 " What was that other name, you said you always 
 thought of me by?" she continued. " The Indian 
 name, the name of the dove?" 
 
 " Majel," he said. " It is by that name I have often- 
 est thought of you since 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 : the wood-dove's voice is low like hers, 
 and sweeter than any other sound in the earth ; and 
 the wood-dove is true to one mate always " He 
 stopped. 
 
 " As I to you, Alessandro," said Ramona, leaning 
 from her horse, and resting her hand on Alessandro's 
 shoulder. 
 
 Baba stopped. He was used to knowing by the 
 most trivial signs what his mistress wanted ; he did 
 not understand this new situation ; no one had ever 
 before, when Ramona was riding him, walked by his 
 side so close that he touched his shoulders, and rested 
 his hand in his mane. If it had been anybody else 
 than Alessandro, Baba would not have permitted it 
 even now. But it must be all right, since Ramona 
 was quiet ; and now she had stretched out her hand 
 
26 RAMONA 
 
 and rested it on Alessandro's shoulder. Did that 
 mean halt for a moment? Baba thought it might, 
 and acted accordingly ; turning his head round to the 
 right, and looking back to see what came of it. 
 
 Alessandro's arms around Ramona, her head bent 
 down to his, their lips together, what could Baba 
 think? As mischievously as if he had been a human 
 being or an elf, Baba bounded to one side and tore 
 the lovers apart. They both laughed, and cantered 
 on, Alessandro running; the poor Indian pony 
 feeling the contagion, and loping as it had not done 
 for many a day. 
 
 " Majel is my name, then," said Ramona, " is it? 
 It is a sweet sound, but I would like it better Majella. 
 Call me Majella." 
 
 " That will be good," replied Alessandro, " for the 
 reason that never before had any one the same name. 
 It will not be hard for me to say Majella. I know not 
 why your name of Ramona has always been hard to 
 my tongue." 
 
 " 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 Senora called 
 me by and dear Felipe too," she added thoughtfully. 
 " He would not know me by my new name. I would 
 like to have him always call me Ramona. But for all 
 the rest of the world I am Majella, now, Alessan* 
 dro'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, began turn 
 ing him round and round in the road. 
 
 " We will not go any farther in the road," he said, 
 " but I must conceal our tracks here. We will go 
 backwards for a few paces." The obedient Baba 
 backed slowly, half dancing, as if he understood the 
 trick ; the Indian pony, too, curvetted awkwardly, then 
 by a sudden bound under Alessandro's skilful guid 
 ance, leaped over a rock to the right, and stood wait 
 ing further orders. Baba followed, and Capitan ; and 
 there was no trail to show where they had left the road 
 
28 RAMONA 
 
 After trotting the pony round and round again 
 in ever-widening circles, cantering off in one direc 
 tion after another, then backing over the tracks for 
 a few moments, Ramona docilely following, though 
 much bewildered as to what it all meant, Alessandro 
 said : " I think now they will never discover where 
 we left the road. They will ride along, seeing our 
 tracks plain, and then they will be so sure that we 
 would have kept straight 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 
 Majella has 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 for the day in a canon he knew, from 
 which a narrow trail led direct to Temecula, a trail 
 which was known to none but Indians. Once in this 
 canon, they would be safe from all possible pursuit. 
 Alessandro did not in the least share Ramona's confi 
 dence that no effort would be made to overtake them. 
 To his mind, it appeared certain that the Senpra 
 would never accept the situation without making 
 an attempt to recover at least the horse and the 
 dog. " She can say, if she chooses, that I have stolen 
 one of her horses," he thought to himself bitterly; 
 " and everybody would believe her. Nobody would 
 believe us, if we said it was the Senorita's own 
 horse." 
 
RAMONA 29 
 
 The head of the canon was only a couple of miles 
 from the road ; but it was in a nearly impenetrable 
 thicket of chaparral, where young oaks had grown up 
 so high that their tops made, as it were, a second 
 stratum of thicket. Alessandro had never ridden 
 through it; he had come up on foot once from the 
 other side, and, forcing his way through the tangle, 
 had found, to his surprise, that he was near the high 
 way. It was from this canon that he had brought 
 the ferns which it had so delighted Ramona to ar 
 range for the decoration of the chapel. The place 
 was filled with them, growing almost in tropical 
 luxuriance ; but this was a mile or so farther down, 
 and to reach that spot from above, Alessandro had 
 had to let himself down a sheer wall of stone. The 
 canon at its head was little more than a rift in the 
 rocks, and the stream which had its rise in it was only 
 a trickling spring at the beginning. It was this pre 
 cious water, as well as the inaccessibility of the spot, 
 which had decided Alessandro to gain the place at all 
 hazards and costs. But a wall of granite would not 
 have seemed a much more insuperable obstacle than 
 did this wall of chaparral, along which they rode, 
 vainly searching for a break in it. It appeared to 
 Alessandro to have thickened and knit even since 
 the last spring. At last they made their way down a 
 small side canon, a sort of wing to the main canon ; 
 a very few rods down this, and they were as hidden 
 from view from above as if the earth had swallowed 
 them. The first red tints of the dawn were coming. 
 
jo RAMONA 
 
 From the eastern horizon 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 a hard ride at all, Ales- 
 sandro ! Is this where we are to stay?" 
 
 Alessandro turned a compassionate look upon her. 
 " How little does the wood-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, disappearing from sight the moment he en 
 tered the chaparral in any direction. Returning at 
 last, with a grave face, he said, " Will Majella let me 
 leave her here for a little time ? There is a way, but 
 I can find it only on 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 losing sight of Alessandro. He 
 gazed at her anxiously. " I must go, Majella," he 
 said 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 and snapping before him, it seemed to 
 Ramona that she was again alone in the world. 
 Capitan, too, bounded after Alessandro, and did not 
 return at her call. All was still. Ramona laid her 
 head on Baba's neck. The moments seemed hours. 
 At last, just as the yellow light streamed across the 
 sky, and the crimson fleeces turned in one second to 
 
PLATE XV 
 
 SANTA BARBARA MISSION. 
 
 And her best beloved uncle . . . was at that time the Superior of 
 the Santa Barbara Mission. Page 33, Vol. I. 
 
 The right tower of the Mission church at Santa Barbara had been 
 just completed. Page 34, Vol. I. 
 

RAMONA 31 
 
 gold, she heard Alessandro'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 out of this ; and it is too light. 
 I like it not." 
 
 With fear and trembling they urged their horses 
 up and out into the open again, and galloped a half- 
 mile farther west, still keeping as close to the chap 
 arral thicket as possible. Here Alessandro, who 
 led the way, suddenly turned into the very thicket 
 itself; no apparent opening; but the boughs parted 
 and closed, and his head appeared above them ; still 
 the little pony was trotting bravely along. Baba 
 snorted with displeasure as he plunged into the same 
 bristling pathway. The thick-set, thorny branches 
 smote Ramona's cheeks. What was worse, they 
 caught the nets swung on Baba's sides; presently 
 these were held fast, and Baba began to rear and 
 kick. Here was a real difficulty. Alessandro dis 
 mounted, cut the strings, and put both the packages 
 securely on the back of his own pony. " I will walk," 
 he said. " It was only a little way longer I would 
 have ridden. I shall lead Baba, where it is narrow." 
 
 " Narrow," indeed. It was from sheer terror, soon, 
 that Ramona shut her eyes. 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 
 stones rolled, and rolled, and rolled, echoing, far out 
 of sight, as they passed ; at each step the beasts took, 
 the stones rolled and fell. Only the yucca-plants, 
 
3 2 RAMONA 
 
 with their sharp bayonet-leaves, had made shift to 
 keep foothold on this precipice. Of these there 
 were thousands; and their tall flower-stalks, fifteen, 
 twenty feet high, set thick with the shining, smooth 
 seed-cups, glistened like satin chalices in the sun. 
 Below hundreds of feet below lay the canon 
 bottom, a solid bed of chaparral, looking soft and 
 even as a bed of moss. Giant sycamore-trees lifted 
 their heads, at intervals, above this ; and far out in 
 the plain glistened the loops of the river, whose 
 sources, unknown to the world, seen of but few 
 human eyes, were to be waters of comfort to these 
 fugitives this day. 
 
 Alessandro was cheered. The trail was child's 
 play to him. At the first tread of Baba's dainty 
 steps on the rolling stones, he saw that the horse 
 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, there was 
 running water, clear as crystal, and cold, almost 
 colder than one could drink, and green grass too ; 
 plenty for two days' feed for the horses, or even 
 three ; and all California might be searched over in 
 vain for them, once they were down this trail. His 
 heart full of joy at these thoughts, he turned, to see 
 Ramona pallid, her lips parted, her eyes full of terror. 
 He had forgotten that her riding had hitherto been 
 only on the smooth ways of the valley and the plain. 
 There she was so fearless, that he had had no mis 
 giving about her nerves here ; but she had dropped 
 
RAMONA 33 
 
 the reins, was clutching Baba's mane with both hands, 
 and sitting unsteadily in her saddle. She had been 
 too proud to cry out ; but she was nearly beside her 
 self with fright. Alessandro halted so suddenly that 
 Baba, whose nose was nearly on his shoulder, came 
 to so sharp a stop that Ramona uttered a cry. She 
 thought he had lost his footing. 
 
 Alessandro looked at her in dismay. To dismount 
 on that perilous trail was impossible; moreover, to 
 walk there would take more nerve than to ride. 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 the way is; but it is safe. I can 
 run in it. I ran all this way with the ferns on my 
 back I brought for you." 
 
 " Oh, did you ? " gasped Ramona, diverted, for the 
 moment, from her contemplation of the abyss, and 
 more reassured by that change of her thoughts than 
 she could have been by anything else. " Did you ? 
 It is frightful, Alessandro. I never heard of such a 
 trail. I feel as if I were on a rope in the air. If 
 I could get down and go on my hands and knees, 
 I think I would like it better. Could I?" 
 
 " I would not dare to have you get off, just here, 
 Majella," answered Alessandro, sorrowfully. " It is 
 dreadful to me to see you suffer so ; I will go very 
 slowly. Indeed, it is safe ; we all came up here, the 
 whole band, for the sheep-shearing, old Fernando 
 on his horse all the way." 
 VOL. ii. 3 
 
34 RAMONA 
 
 " Really," said Ramona, taking comfort at each 
 word, " I will try not to be so silly. Is it far, dear 
 est Alessandro?" 
 
 " Not much more as steep as this, dear, nor so 
 narrow; but it will be an hour yet before we stop." 
 
 But the worst was over for Ramona now, and long 
 before they reached the bottom 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 
 had come, little more than a brown thread, they 
 seemed, flung along the rock, she shuddered. 
 
 Down in the bottom of the canon it was still the 
 dusky gloaming when they arrived. Day came late 
 to this fairy spot. Only at high noon did the sun 
 fairly shine in. As Ramona looked around her, she 
 uttered an exclamation of delight, which satisfied 
 Alessandro. "Yes," he said, "when I came here 
 for the ferns, I wished to myself many times that 
 you could 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 the first feeling of joy he had expe 
 rienced. 
 
 " 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, and never see the 
 
RAMONA 35 
 
 face of a white man again ! " Already the instinct 
 of the hunted and wounded animal to seek hiding, 
 was striving in Alessandro's blood. "But there 
 would be no food. We could not live here." Ra- 
 mona's exclamation had set Alessandro to thinking, 
 however. " Would Majella be content to stay here 
 three days now?" he asked. " There is grass 
 enough for the horses for that time. We should be 
 very safe here ; and I fear very much we should not 
 be safe on any road. I think, Majella, the Senora 
 will send men after Baba." 
 
 " Baba ! " cried Ramona, aghast at the idea. " My 
 own horse ! She would not dare to call it stealing 
 a horse, to take my own Baba ! " But even as she 
 spoke, her heart misgave her. The Senora would 
 dare anything; would misrepresent anything; only 
 too well Ramona knew what the very mention of the 
 phrase " horse-stealing " meant all through the coun 
 try. She looked piteously at Alessandro. He read 
 her thoughts. 
 
 "Yes, that is it, Majella," he said. "If she sent 
 men after Baba, there is no knowing what they might 
 do. It would not do any good for you to say he 
 was yours. They would not believe you ; and they 
 might take me too, if the Senora had told them to, 
 and put me into Ventura jail." 
 
 " She 's just wicked enough to do it ! " cried Ra 
 mona. " Let us not stir out of this spot, Alessandro, 
 not for a week! Couldn't we stay a week? By 
 that time she would have given over looking for us." 
 
3 6 RAMONA 
 
 " I am afraid not a week. There is not feed for 
 the horses; and I do not know what we could eat. 
 I have my gun, but there is not much, now, to 
 kill." 
 
 " 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 like a 
 child, in her simplicity and eagerness. Every other 
 thought was for the 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 
 the reclaiming of Baba and Capitan, that was another 
 thing. The more Ramona thought of it, the more 
 it seemed to her a form of vengeance which would 
 be likely to commend itself to the Senora's mind. 
 Felipe might possibly prevent it. It was he who had 
 given Baba to her. He would feel that it would be 
 shameful to recall or deny the gift. Only in Felipe 
 lay Ramona's hope. 
 
 If she had thought to tell Alessandro that in her 
 farewell note to Felipe she had said that she sup 
 posed they were going to Father Salvierderra, it 
 would have saved both her and Alessandro much 
 disquietude. Alessandro would have known that 
 men pursuing them, on that supposition, would have 
 gone straight down the river road to the sea, and 
 struck northward along the coast. But it did not 
 occur to Ramona to mention this ; in fact, she hardly 
 recollected it after the first day. Alessandro had 
 explained to her his plan, which was to go by way 
 
RAMONA 37 
 
 of Temecula to San Diego, to be married there by 
 Father Gaspara, the priest of that parish, and then 
 go to the village or pueblo of San Pasquale, about 
 fifteen miles northwest of San Diego. A cousin of 
 Alessandro's was the head man of this village, and 
 had many times begged him to come there to live ; 
 but Alessandro had steadily refused, believing it to 
 be his duty to remain at Temecula with his father. 
 San Pasquale was a regularly established pueblo, 
 founded by a number of the Indian neophytes of the 
 San Luis Rey Mission at the time of the breaking up 
 of that Mission. It was established by a decree of 
 the Governor of California, and the lands of the San 
 Pasquale Valley given to it. A paper recording this 
 establishment and gift, signed by the Governor's own 
 hand, was given to the Indian who was the first 
 Alcalde of the pueblo. He was Chief Pablo's brother. 
 At his death the authority passed into the hands of 
 his son, Ysidro, the cousin of whom Alessandro had 
 spoken. 
 
 " Ysidro has that paper still," Alessandro said, 
 " and he thinks it will keep them their village. Per 
 haps it will; but the Americans are beginning 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 can perhaps stay there. There 
 are nearly two hundred Indians in the valley ; it is 
 much better than Temecula, and Ysidro's people 
 are much better off than ours were. They have 
 splendid herds of cattle and horses, and large wheat- 
 
38 RAMONA 
 
 fields. Ysidro's house stands under a great fig-tree ; 
 they say it is 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 got the feeling now that nothing 
 will be of any use against the Americans. I don't 
 believe they will mind the paper." 
 
 " They did n't mind the papers the Senora had for 
 all that land of hers they took away," said Ramona, 
 thoughtfully. " But Felipe said that was because Pio 
 Pico was a bad man, and gave away lands he had no 
 right to give away." 
 
 " That 's just it," said Alessandro. " Can't they say 
 that same thing about any governor, especially if he 
 has given lands to us ? If the Senora could n't keep 
 hers, with Senor Felipe to help her, and he knows all 
 about the law, and can speak the American language, 
 what chance is there for us? We can't take care of 
 ourselves any better than the wild beasts can, 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. It 
 was strange that the gentle girl, unused to hardship, 
 or to the thought of danger, did not find herself ter 
 rified by these fierce glooms and apprehensions of 
 her lover. Cut she was appalled by nothing. Saved 
 
RAMONA 39 
 
 from the only thing in life she had dreaded, sure that 
 Alessandro lived, and that he would not leave her, 
 she had no fears. This was partly from her inex 
 perience, from her utter inability to conceive of the 
 things Alessandro's imagination painted in colors 
 only too true ; but it was also largely due to the 
 inalienable loyalty and quenchless courage of her 
 soul, qualities in her nature never yet tested ; 
 qualities of which she hardly knew so much as the 
 name, but which were to bear her steadfast and 
 buoyant through many sorrowful years. 
 
 Before nightfall of this their first day in the wilder- 
 ,ness, Alessandro had prepared for Ramona a bed of 
 finely broken twigs of the manzanita and 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 Ramona 
 seated herself on it, she exclaimed : " Now I shall 
 see how it feels to lie 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 
 how beautiful 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 ever dared to dream of 
 the Senorita Ramona as his own. " Yes, I remem 
 ber it, my Majella," he answered slowly; and in a 
 moment more added, " That was the day Juan Can 
 had told me that your mother was of my people ; 
 
4 o 
 
 RAMONA 
 
 and that was the night I first dared in my thoughts 
 to say that perhaps you might some day love me." 
 
 " But where are you going to sleep, Alessandro?" 
 said Ramona, seeing that he spread no more boughs. 
 " You have made yourself no bed." 
 
 Alessandro laughed. " I need no bed/' he said. 
 " We think it is on our mother's lap we lie, when 
 we lie on the ground. It is not hard, Majella. It 
 is soft, and rests one better than be^ds. But to-night 
 I shall not sleep. 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 shall 
 feel 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 him uneasi 
 ness. They were faint and evidently old ; but they 
 looked like the tracks of a mountain lion. As soon 
 as it was dark enough to prevent the curl of smoke 
 from being seen from below, he would light a fire, 
 and keep it blazing all night, and watch, gun in 
 hand, lest the beast return. 
 
 " But you will be dead, Alessandro, if you do 
 not sleep. You are not strong," said Ramona, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I am strong now, Majella," answered Alessandro. 
 And indeed he did already look like a renewed man, 
 spite of all his fatigue and anxiety. " I am no 
 
RAMONA 41 
 
 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 is not so soft, this bed of 
 boughs, that one need fear to be made tender by 
 lying 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 slept like a child. She did not hear 
 Alessandro's steps. She did not hear the crackling 
 of the fire he lighted. She did not hear the bark 
 ing of Capitan, who more than once, spite of all 
 Alessandro could do to quiet him, made the canon 
 echo with sharp, quick notes of warning, as he 
 heard the stealthy steps of wild creatures in the 
 chaparral. Hour after hour she slept on. And 
 hour after hour Alessandro sat leaning against a 
 huge sycamore-trunk, and watched her. As the 
 fitful firelight played over her face, he thought 
 he had never seen it so beautiful. Its expression 
 of calm repose insensibly soothed and strengthened 
 him. She looked like a saint, he thought ; perhaps 
 it was as a saint of help and guidance, the Virgin 
 was sending her to him and his people. The dark- 
 
42 RAM ON A 
 
 ness deepened, became blackness ; only the red 
 gleams from the fire broke it, in swaying rifts, as 
 the wind makes rifts in black storm-clouds in the 
 heavens. With the darkness, the stillness also 
 deepened. Nothing broke that, except an occa 
 sional motion of Baba or the pony, or an alert signal 
 from Capitan; then all seemed stiller than ever. 
 Alessandro felt as if God himself were in the canon. 
 Countless times in his life before he had lain in 
 lonely places under the sky and watched the night 
 through, but he never felt like this. It was ecstasy, 
 and yet it was pain. What was to 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 and loving woman who 
 lay there sleeping, so confident, so trustful, guarded 
 only by him, by him, Alessandro, the exile, fugi 
 tive, homeless man? 
 
 Before the dawn, wood-doves began their calling. 
 The canon was full of them, no two notes quite alike, 
 it seemed to Alessandro's sharpened sense ; pair after 
 pair, he fancied that he recognized, speaking and re 
 plying, as did the pair whose voices had so comforted 
 him the night he watched under the geranium hedge 
 by the Moreno chapel, " Love ? " " Here ! " " Love ? " 
 " Here ! " They comforted him still more now. 
 " They too have only each 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 morning twilight in the canon; but the 
 
RAMONA 4 j 
 
 birds in the upper boughs of the sycamores caught 
 the tokens of the coming day, and began to twitter 
 in the dusk. Their notes fell on Ramona's sleeping 
 ear, like the familiar sound of the linnets in the 
 veranda-thatch at home, and waked her instantly. 
 Sitting up bewildered, and looking about her, she 
 exclaimed, " Oh, is it morning already, and so dark? 
 The birds can see more sky than we ! Sing, Alessan- 
 dro," and she began the hymn : 
 
 " * Singers at dawn 
 
 From the heavens above 
 People all regions ; 
 Gladly we too sing.' " 
 
 Never went up truer invocation, from sweeter spot. 
 
 " Sing not so loud, my Majel," whispered Alessan- 
 dro, as her voice went carolling like a lark's in the 
 pure ether. " There might be hunters near who 
 would hear; " and he joined in with low and muffled 
 tones. 
 
 As she dropped her voice at this caution, it seemed 
 even sweeter than before : 
 
 " ' Come, O sinners, 
 
 Come, and we will sing 
 Tender hymns 
 To our refuge.' " 
 
 " Ah, Majella, there is no sinner here, except me ! " 
 said Alessandro. " My Majella is like one of the 
 Virgin's own saints." And indeed he might have 
 been forgiven the thought, as he gazed at Ramona, 
 sitting there in the shimmering light, her face thrown 
 
44 RAMONA 
 
 out into relief by the gray wall of fern-draped rock 
 behind her; her splendid hair, unbound, falling in 
 tangled masses to her waist ; her cheeks flushed, her 
 face radiant with devout and fervent supplication, 
 her eyes uplifted to the narrow belt of sky overhead, 
 where filmy vapors were turning to gold, touched 
 by a sun she could not see. 
 
 " Hush, my love," she breathed rather than said. 
 " That would be a sin, if you really thought it. 
 
 1 O beautiful Queen, 
 Princess of Heaven,' " 
 
 she continued, repeating the first lines of the song; 
 and then, sinking on her knees, reached out one hand 
 for Alessandro's, and glided, almost without a break 
 in the melodious sound, into a low recitative of the 
 morning prayers. Her rosary was of fine-chased 
 gold beads, with an ivory crucifix; a rare and 
 precious relic of the Missions' olden times. It had 
 belonged to Father Peyri himself, was given by him 
 to Father Salvierderra, and by Father Salvierderra to 
 the " blessed child," Ramona, at her confirmation. 
 A warmer token of his love and trust he could not 
 have bestowed upon her, and to Ramona's religious 
 and affectionate heart it had always seemed a bond 
 and an assurance, not only of Father Salvierderra's 
 love, but of the love and protection of the now 
 sainted Peyri. 
 
 As she pronounced the last words of her trusting 
 prayer, and slipped the last of the golden beads 
 along on its string, a thread of sunlight shot into the 
 
RAMONA 45 
 
 canon through a deep narrow gap in its rocky east 
 ern crest, shot in for a second, no more ; fell 
 aslant the rosary, lighted it; 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 a flash, and it was gone! To both Ramona 
 and Alessandro it came like an omen, like a mes 
 sage straight from the Virgin. Could she choose 
 better messenger, she, the compassionate one, the 
 loving woman in heaven; mother of the Christ to 
 whom they prayed, through her, mother, for whose 
 sake He would regard their least cry, could she 
 choose better messenger, or swifter, than the sun 
 beam, to say that she heard and would help them in 
 these sore straits? 
 
 Perhaps there were not, in the whole great world, 
 at that moment to be found, two souls who were ex 
 periencing so vivid a happiness as thrilled the veins 
 of these two friendless ones, on their knees, alone in 
 the wilderness, gazing half awe-stricken at the shin 
 ing rosary* 
 
XVII 
 
 BEFORE the end of their second day in the 
 canon, the place had become to Ramona so 
 like a friendly home, that she dreaded to leave its 
 shelter. Nothing is stronger proof of the original 
 intent of Nature to do more for man than civilization 
 in its arrogance will long permit her to do, than the 
 quick and sure way in which she reclaims his affec 
 tion, when by weariness, idle chance, or disaster, he 
 is returned, for an interval, to her arms. How soon 
 he rejects the miserable subterfuges of what he had 
 called habits; sheds the still more miserable pre 
 tences of superiority, makeshifts of adornment, and 
 chains of custom ! " Whom the gods love, die 
 
RAM ON A 47 
 
 young," has been too long carelessly said. It is not 
 true, in the sense in which men use the words. 
 Whom the gods love, dwell with nature ; if they are 
 ever lured away, return to her before they are old. 
 Then, however long they live before they die, they 
 die young. Whom the 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 wonted look of one at 
 home; how she watched the shadows, and knew 
 what they meant. 
 
 " 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 in shadow sooner 
 than it did yesterday." 
 
 And, " What millions of things grow here, Ales 
 sandro ! I did not know there 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 do nothing 
 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, 
 
48 RAMONA 
 
 but never too glad, I think, when he lives with noth 
 ing between him and the sky, and the saints can see 
 him every minute." 
 
 And, " I cannot believe that it is but two days I 
 have lived in the air, Alessandro. This seems to me 
 the first home I have ever had. Is it because I am 
 Indian, Alessandro, that it gives me such joy? " 
 
 It was strange how many more words Ramona 
 spoke than Alessandro, yet how full she felt their 
 intercourse to be. His silence was more than silent ; 
 it was taciturn. Yet she always felt herself answered. 
 A monosyllable of Alessandro's, nay, a look, told 
 what other men took long sentences to say, and said 
 less eloquently. 
 
 After long thinking over this, she exclaimed, " You 
 speak as the trees speak, and like the rock yonder, 
 and the flowers, without saying anything ! " 
 
 This delighted Alessandro's very heart. "And 
 you, Majella," he exclaimed ; " 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 she would 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 if seemed that its contour was already fuller. 
 There is a beautiful old Gaelic legend of a Fairy who 
 wooed a Prince, came again and again to him, and, 
 herself invisible to all but the Prince, hovered in the 
 
RAMONA 49 
 
 air, sang loving songs to draw him away from the 
 crowd of his indignant nobles, who heard her voice 
 and summoned magicians to rout her by all spells 
 and enchantments at their command. Finally they 
 succeeded in silencing her and driving her off; but 
 as she vanished from the Prince's sight she threw 
 him an apple, a magic golden apple. Once having 
 tasted of this, he refused all other food. Day after 
 day, night after night, he ate only this golden apple ; 
 and yet, morning after morning, evening after even 
 ing, there lay the golden 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 magic 
 boat, sailed away with her, and never was seen in 
 his kingdom again. It was only an allegory, this 
 legend, a beautiful allegory, and true, of love 
 and lovers. The food on which Alessandro was, 
 hour by hour, now growing strong, was as magic 
 and invisible as Prince Connla's apple, and just 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 you would die. 
 Now you look nearly strong as ever; your eyes 
 shine, and your hand is not hot! It is the blessed 
 air; it has cured you, as it cured Felipe of the 
 fever." 
 
 " If the air could keep me well, I had not been ill, 
 Majella," replied Alessandro. " I had been under 
 no roof except the tule-shed, till I saw you. It is 
 VOL. ii. 4 
 
50 RAMONA 
 
 not the air ; " and he looked at her with a gaze that 
 said the rest. 
 
 At twilight of the third day, when Ramona saw 
 Alessandro leading up Baba, saddled ready for the 
 journey, the tears filled her eyes. At noon Ales 
 sandro had said to her: " To-night, Majella, we must 
 go. There is not grass enough for another day, 
 We must go while the horses are strong. I dare 
 not lead them any farther down the canon to graze, 
 for there is a ranch only a few miles lower. To-day 
 I found one of the man's cows feeding near Baba." 
 
 Ramona made no remonstrance. The necessity 
 was too evident ; but the look on her face gave Ales 
 sandro a new pang. He, too, felt as if exiled afresh 
 in leaving the spot. And now, as he led the horses 
 slowly up, and saw Ramona sitting in a dejected atti 
 tude beside the nets, in which were again carefully 
 packed their small stores, his heart ached anew. 
 Again the sense of his homeless and destitute con 
 dition settled like an unbearable burden on his soul. 
 Whither and to what was he leading his Majella? 
 
 But once in the saddle, Ramona recovered cheer 
 fulness. Baba was in such gay heart, she could not 
 be wholly sad. The horse seemed fairly rollicking 
 with satisfaction at being once more on the move. 
 Capitan, too, was gay. He had found the canon dull, 
 spite of its refreshing shade and cool water. He 
 longed for sheep. He did not understand this inac 
 tivity. The puzzled look on his face had made 
 Ramona laugh more than once, as he would come 
 
RAMONA 51 
 
 and stand before her, wagging his tail and fixing his 
 eyes intently on her face, as if he said in so many 
 words, " What in the world are you about in this 
 canon, and do not you ever intend to return home? 
 Or if you will stay here, why not keep sheep? Do 
 you not see 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. It is where we get our acorns 
 for the winter. It is on the top of a high hill." 
 
 "Will it be safe there?" she asked. 
 
 " I think so," he replied ; " though not so safe 
 as here. There is no such place 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, dear Majella. I must go to Mr. 
 Hartsel's. He is friendly. He will give me money 
 for my father's violin. If it were not for that, I 
 would never go near the place again." 
 
 "I would like to see it, Alessandro," she said 
 gently. 
 
 " Oh, no, no, Majeiia ! " he cried ; " you would not. 
 It is terrible ; the houses all unroofed, all but my 
 father's and Jose's. They were shingled roofs ; they 
 will be just the same; all the rest are only walls, 
 Antonio's mother threw hers down; I don't know 
 
52 RAMONA 
 
 how the old woman ever had the strength ; they said 
 she was like a fury. She said nobody should ever 
 live in those walls again ; and she took a pole, and 
 made a great hole in one side, and then she ran 
 Antonio's wagon against it with all her might, till it 
 fell in. No, Majella. It will be dreadful." 
 
 " Would n't you like to go into the graveyard 
 again, Alessandro?" she said timidly. 
 
 " The saints forbid ! " he said solemnly. " I think 
 it would make me a murderer to stand in that grave 
 yard ! If I had not you, my Majel, I should kill 
 some white man when I came out. Oh, do not speak 
 of it ! " he added, after a moment's silence; " it takes 
 the strength all out of my blood again, Majella. It 
 feels as if I should die ! " 
 
 And the word " Temecula " was not mentioned 
 between them again until dusk the next day, when, 
 as they were riding slowly along between low, wooded 
 hills, they suddenly came to an opening, a green, 
 marshy place, with a little thread of trickling water, 
 at which their horses stopped, and drank thirstily; 
 and Ramona, looking ahead, saw lights twinkling 
 in the distance. " Lights, Alessandro, lights ! " she 
 exclaimed, pointing to them. 
 
 ".Yes, Majella," he replied, "it is Temecula;" 
 and springing off his pony he came to her side, and 
 putting both his hands on hers, said : " I have been 
 thinking, for a long way back, Carita, what is to 
 be done here. I do not know. What does Majella 
 think will be wise? If men have been sent out to 
 
RAMONA 53 
 
 pursue us, they may be at Hartsel's. His store is 
 the place where everybody 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 as she gazed ahead 
 into the blackness of the great plain. It looked 
 vast as the sea. "That is the only safe thing, 
 Alessandro." 
 
 " I think so too," he said ; " but, oh, I am afraid 
 for you ; and will not you be afraid ? " 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " I am afraid. But it is not 
 so dangerous as the other." 
 
 " 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 and Capitan." 
 
 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 the horse," he said. 
 
 " But you would not have the horse with you," 
 she said. "How could they take you?" 
 
 "That mightn't make any difference," replied 
 Alessandro. " They might take me, to make me 
 tell where the horse was." 
 
 " Oh, Alessandro," sobbed Ramona, " what shall 
 we do ! " Then in another second, gathering her 
 courage, she exclaimed, " Alessandro, I know what 
 
54 RAMONA 
 
 I will do. I will stay in the graveyard. No one 
 will come there. Shall I not 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 would all help us if they could. 
 I have no fear. I will wait there while you go; 
 and if you do not come in an hour, I will come to 
 Mr. Hartsel's after 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 punish them. I will not be afraid. And if 
 they are ordered to take Baba, they can have him ; 
 we can walk when the pony is tired." 
 
 Her confidence was contagious. " My wood-dove 
 has in her breast the heart of the lion," said Ales 
 sandro, fondly. "We will do as she says. She 
 is wise; " and he turned their horses' heads in the 
 direction of the graveyard. It was surrounded by 
 a low adobe wall, with one small gate of wooden 
 paling. As they reached it, Alessandro exclaimed, 
 " The thieves have 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. They might have left the 
 graves safe from wild beasts and cattle ! " 
 
 As they entered the enclosure, a dark figure 
 rose from one of the graves. Ramona started. 
 
 " Fear nothing," whispered Alessandro. " It must 
 
RAMONA 
 
 55 
 
 be one of our people. I am glad; now you will 
 not be alone. It is Carmena, I am sure. That was 
 the corner where they buried Jose\ I will speak 
 to her;" and leaving Ramona at .the gate, he went 
 slowly on, saying in a low voice, in the Luiseno 
 language, "Carmena, is that you? Have no fear. 
 It is I, Alessandro ! " 
 
 It was Carmena. The poor creature, nearly crazed 
 with grief, was spending her days by her baby's grave 
 in Pachanga, and her nights by her husband's in 
 Temecula. She dared not come to Temecula by day, 
 for the Americans 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 told her all. She cannot speak a 
 word of Spanish, but she is very glad, she says, that 
 you have come with me, and she will stay close by 
 your side till I come back." 
 
 Ramona's tender heart ached with desire to com 
 fort the girl ; but all she could do was to press her 
 hand in silence. Even in the darkness she could see 
 the hollow, mournful eyes and the wasted cheek. 
 Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy. Car 
 mena felt in every fibre how Ramona was pitying 
 her. Presently she made a gentle motion, as if to 
 draw her from the saddle. Ramona bent down and 
 looked inquiringly into her face. Again she drew 
 her gently with one hand, and with the other pointed 
 to the corner from which she had come. Ramona 
 
56 RAMONA 
 
 understood. " She wants to show me her husband's 
 grave," she thought. " She does not like to be away 
 from it. I will go with her." 
 
 Dismounting, and taking Baba's bridle over her 
 arm, she bowed her head assentingly, and still keep 
 ing firm hold of Carmena's hand, followed her. The 
 graves were thick, and irregularly placed, each 
 mound marked by a small wooden cross. Carmena 
 led with the swift step of one who knew each inch 
 of the way by heart. More than once Ramona 
 stumbled and nearly fell, and Baba was impatient 
 and restive at the strange inequalities under his feet. 
 When they reached the corner, Ramona saw the 
 fresh-piled earth of the new grave. Uttering a wail 
 ing cry, Carmena, drawing Ramona to the edge of 
 it, pointed down with her right hand, then laid both 
 hands on her heart, and gazed at Ramona piteously. 
 Ramona burst into weeping, and again clasping Car 
 mena'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, sudden sympathy of this 
 stranger, this girl like herself, yet so different, so 
 wonderful, so beautiful, Carmena was sure she must 
 be. Had the saints sent her from heaven to Alessan- 
 dro? What did it mean? Carmena's bosom was 
 heaving with the things she longed to say arid to 
 ask ; but all she could do was to press Ramona's 
 hand again and again, and occasionally lay her soft 
 cheek upon it. 
 
PLATE XVI 
 SAN GABRIEL MISSION FROM THE SOUTHEAST. 
 
 Finally Angus disappeared, and after a time the news came . . . 
 that he ... had gone out to the San Gabriel Mission, and was 
 living with the Indians. p age 4 6, Vol. I. 
 
 Before the little Ramona was a year old, Angus Phail died. An 
 Indian messenger from San Gabriel brought the news to Senora 
 Ortegna. Page 51, Vol. I. 
 

 
KAMONA 57 
 
 " Now, was it not the saints that put it into my 
 head to come to the graveyard ? " thought Ramona. 
 " What a comfort to this poor heart-broken thing 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 harm me ; 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 thought 
 ful, she remembered that Alessandro would expect 
 to find them there. But it was a long and weary 
 watch they had, waiting for Alessandro to come. 
 
 After leaving them, and tethering his pony, he had 
 struck off at a quick run for Hartsel's, which was 
 perhaps an eighth of a mile from the graveyard. 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 our house ! " he exclaimed ; 
 and he clenched his hands. " Those cursed robbers 
 have gone into it to live already ! " His blood 
 seemed turning to fire. Ramona would not have 
 recognized the face of her Alessandro now. It was 
 full of implacable vengeance. Involuntarily he felt 
 for his knife. It was gone. His gun he had left 
 inside the graveyard, leaning against the wall. Ah ! 
 in the graveyard ! Yes, and there also was Ramona 
 waiting for him, Thoughts of vengeance fled. The 
 world held now but one work, one hope, one passion, 
 for him. But he would at least see who were these 
 dwellers in his father's house. A fierce desire to see 
 
58 RAMONA 
 
 their faces burned within him. Why should he thus 
 torture himself? Why, indeed? But he must. He 
 would see the new home-life already begun on the 
 grave of his. Stealthily creeping under the window 
 from which the light shone, he listened. He heard 
 children's voices ; a woman's voice ; at intervals the 
 voice of a man, gruff and surly; various household 
 sounds also. It was evidently the supper-hour. Cau 
 tiously raising himself till his eyes were on 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 it a man, woman, and two chil 
 dren. The youngest, little more than a baby, sat 
 in its high chair, drumming with a spoon on the 
 table, impatient for its supper. The room was in 
 great confusion, beds made on the floor, open 
 boxes half unpacked, saddles and harness thrown 
 down in corners; evidently there were new-comers 
 into the house. The window was open by an inch. 
 Ic had warped, and would not shut down. Bitterly 
 Alessandro recollected how he had put off from 
 day to day the planing of that window to make it 
 shut tight. Now, thanks to that crack, he could 
 hear all that was said. The woman looked weary 
 and worn. Her face was a sensitive one, and her 
 voice kindly; but the man had the countenance 01 
 a brute, of a human brute. Why do we malign 
 the so-called brute creation, making their names a 
 unit of comparison for base traits which never one 
 of them possessed? 
 
RAMONA 59 
 
 " It seems as if I never should get to rights in 
 this world ! " said the woman. Alessandro under 
 stood enough English to gather the meaning of 
 what 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 that cursed canon, and blocked the 
 road. They won't be here for several days yet. 
 Hain't you got stuff enough round now? If you 'd 
 clear up what's here now, then 'twould be time 
 enough to grumble because you hadn't got every 
 thing." 
 
 " But, John," she replied, " I can't clear up till 
 the bureau comes, to put the things away in, and 
 the bedsteads. I can't seem to do anything." 
 
 " You can grumble, I take notice," he answered. 
 "That's about all you women are good for, anyhow. 
 There was a first-rate raw-hide bedstead in here. If 
 Rothsaker had n't been such a fool 's to let those 
 dogs of Indians 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, she ex 
 claimed, " Well, I 'm thankful enough he did let the 
 poor things take their furniture. I'd never have 
 slept a wink on that bedstead, I know, if it had ha' 
 been left here. It's bad enough to take their houses 
 this way ! " 
 
 '"' Oh, you shut up your head for a blamed fool, 
 
6o RAMONA 
 
 will you ! " crie^ the man. He was half drunk, his 
 worst and most dangerous state. She glanced at 
 him half timorously, half indignantly, and turning to 
 the children, began feeding the baby. At that second 
 the other child looked up, and catching sight of the 
 outline of Alessandro's head, cried out, " Triers 's a 
 man there ! There, at the window ! " 
 
 Alessandro threw himself flat on the ground, and 
 held his breath. Had he imperilled all, brought 
 danger on himself and Ramona, by yielding to 'his 
 mad impulse to look once more inside the walk of 
 his home? With a fearful oath, the half-drunken 
 man exclaimed, " One of those damned Indians, I 
 expect. I Ve seen several hangin' round to-day. 
 We '11 have to shoot two or three of 'em yet, before 
 we 're rid of 'em ! " and he took his gun down frofi 
 the pegs above the fireplace, and went to the doc.' 
 with it in his hand. 
 
 " Oh, don't fire, father, don't ! " cried the woman 
 " They '11 come and murder us all in our sleep if yoi 
 do ! Don't fire ! " and she pulled him back by tht 
 sleeve. 
 
 Shaking her off, with another oath, he stepped 
 across the threshold, and stood listening, and peering 
 into the darkness. Alessandro's heart beat like a 
 hammer in his breast. Except for the thought of 
 Ramona, he would have sprung on the man, seized 
 his gun, and killed him. 
 
 " I don't believe it was anybody, after all, father," 
 persisted the woman. " Bud 's always seein' things 
 
RAMONA 61 
 
 I don't believe there was anybody there. Come in ; 
 supper 's gettin' all cold." 
 
 " Well, I '11 jest fire, to let 'em know there 's powder 
 V shot round here," said the fiend. " If it hits any on 
 'em roamin' round, he won't know what hurt him ; " 
 and levelling his gun at random, with his drunken, 
 unsteady hand he fired. The bullet whistled away 
 harmlessly into the empty darkness. Hearkening a 
 few moments, and hearing no cry, he hiccupped, 
 " 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 own folly in having brought him 
 self into this plight ! What needless pain of waiting 
 he was inflicting on the faithful one, watching for 
 him in that desolate and fearful place of graves ! At 
 last he ventured, sliding along on his belly a few 
 inches at a time, till, several rods from the house, he 
 dared at last to^ spring to his feet and bound away at 
 full speed for Hartsel's. 
 
 Hartsel's was one of those mongrel establishments 
 to be seen nowhere except in Southern California. 
 Half shop, half farm, half tavern, it gathered up to 
 itself all the threads of the life of the whole region. 
 Indians, ranchmen, travellers of all sorts, traded at 
 Hartsel's, drank at Hartsel's, slept at Hartsel's. It 
 was the only place of its kind within a radius of 
 twenty miles; and it was the least bad place of its 
 kind within a much wider radius. 
 
 Hartsel was by no means a bad fellow when he 
 
62 RAMONA 
 
 was sober ; but as that condition was not so frequent 
 as it should have been, he sometimes came near being 
 a very bad fellow indeed. At such times everybody 
 was afraid of him, wife, children, travellers, ranch 
 men, and all. " It was only a question of time and 
 occasion," they said, " Hartsel's killing somebody 
 sooner or later ; " and it looked as if the time were 
 drawing near fast. But, out of his cups, Hartsel was 
 kindly, and fairly truthful; entertaining, too, to a 
 degree which held many a wayfarer chained to his 
 chair 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 have told in 
 minute detail himself, there had been so many stages 
 and phases of the strange journey ; but he had come 
 to his last halt now. Here, in this Temecula, he 
 would lay his bones. He liked the country. He 
 liked the wild life, and, for a wonder, he liked the 
 Indians. Many a good word he spqke for them to 
 travellers who believed no good of the race, and 
 evidently listened with polite incredulity when he 
 would say, as he often did : " I Ve never lost a dollar 
 off these Indians yet. They do all their trading with 
 me. There 's some of them I trust as high 's a hun 
 dred dollars. If they can't pay this year, they '11 pay 
 next; and if they die, their relations will pay their 
 debts for them, a little at a time, till they Ve got it 
 all paid off. They '11 pay in wheat, or bring a steer, 
 maybe, or baskets or mats the women make ; but 
 they '11 pay. They 're honester 'n the general run oi 
 
RAMONA 63 
 
 Mexicans about paying; I mean Mexicans that are 
 as poor 's they are." 
 
 Hartsel's dwelling-house was a long, low adobe 
 building, with still lower flanking additions, in which 
 were bedrooms for travellers, the kitchen, and store 
 rooms. The shop was a separate building, of rough 
 planks, a story and a half high, the loft of which 
 was one great dormitory well provided with beds 
 on the floor, but with no other article of bedroom 
 furniture. They who slept in this loft had no fas 
 tidious standards of personal luxury. These two 
 buildings, with some half-dozen out-houses of one 
 sort and another, stood in an enclosure surrounded 
 by a low white picket fence, which gave to the 
 place a certain home-like look, spite of the neglected 
 condition of the ground, which was bare sand, or 
 sparsely tufted with weeds and wild grass. A few 
 plants, parched and straggling, stood in pots and 
 tin cans around the door of the dwelling-house. 
 One hardly knew whether they made the place 
 look less desolate or more so. But they were 
 token of a woman's hand, and of a nature which 
 craved something more than the unredeemed wil 
 derness around her afforded. 
 
 A dull and lurid light streamed out from the wide- 
 open door of the store. Alessandro drew cautiously 
 near. The place was full of men, and he heard loud 
 laughing and talking. He dared not go in. Steal 
 ing around to the rear, he leaped the fence, and 
 went to the other house and opened the kitchen 
 
64 RAMONA 
 
 door. Here he was not afraid. Mrs. Hartsel had 
 never any but Indian servants in her employ. The 
 kitchen was lighted only by one dim candle. On 
 the stove were sputtering and hissing all the pots 
 and frying-pans it would hold. Much cooking was 
 evidently going on for the men 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 to 
 find an Indian quietly sitting by her fire. In the 
 dim light she did not recognize Alessandro, but 
 mistook him, as he sat bowed over, his head in his 
 hands, for old Ramon, who was a sort of recognized 
 hanger-on of the place, 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 cottonwood is so dry, it burns out like 
 rotten punk ; I 'm off my feet to-night, with all these 
 men to cook for; " then turning to the table, she 
 began cutting her bread, and did not see how tall 
 and unlike Ramon was the man who silently rose 
 and went out to do her bidding. When, a few 
 moments later, Alessandro re-entered, bringing a 
 huge armful of wood, which it would have cost poor 
 old Ramon three journeys at least to bring, and 
 throwing it down on the hearth, said, " Will that 
 be enough, Mrs. Hartsel ? " she gave a scream of 
 surprise, and dropped her knife. " Why, who " 
 
RAMONA 65 
 
 she began; then, seeing his face, her own lighting 
 up with pleasure, she continued, " Alessandro ! Is 
 it you? Why, I took you in the dark for old 
 Ramon ! I thought you were in Pachanga." 
 
 " In Pachanga ! " Then as yet no one had come 
 from the Senora Moreno's to Hartsel's in search of 
 him and the Senorita Ramona ! Alessandro's heart 
 felt almost light in his bosom. From the one imme 
 diate danger he had dreaded, they were safe; but 
 no trace of emotion showed on his face, and he did 
 not raise his eyes as he replied : " I have been in 
 Pachanga. My father is dead. I have buried him 
 there." 
 
 " Oh, Alessandro ! Did he die? " cried the kindly 
 woman, coming close to Alessandro, and laying her 
 hand on his shoulder. " I heard he was sick." She 
 paused ; she did not know what to say. She had suf 
 fered so at the time of the ejectment of the Indians, 
 that it had made her ill. For two days she had kept 
 her doors shut and her windows close curtained, that 
 she 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 blood ran in 
 her veins. This was not improbable ; and it seemed 
 more than ever probable now, as she stood still by 
 Alessandro's side, her hand on his shoulder, her eyes 
 fixed in distress on his face. How he had altered ! 
 How well she recollected his lithe figure, his alert 
 motion, his superb bearing, his handsome face, when 
 she last saw him in the spring ! 
 VOL. n. 5 
 
66 RAMONA 
 
 "You were away all summer, Alessandro?" she 
 said at last, turning back to 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 her son grown a fine man? He was a 
 lad when I saw him. He went through here with a 
 drove of sheep once." 
 
 " Ay, he is a man now," said Alessandro, and buried 
 his face in his hands again. 
 
 " 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 some moments. 
 
 Alessandro sat still by the fire. A strange apathy 
 seemed to have seized him ; 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 company that 's coming in here 
 in the valley ; they Ve been here two days. Oh, Ales 
 sandro," she continued, bethinking herself, " Jim 's 
 got your violin here ; Jose" brought it." 
 
 " Yes, I know it," answered Alessandro. " Jose" 
 told me; and that was one thing I stopped for." 
 
 " I '11 run and get it," she exclaimed. 
 
 " No," said Alessandro, in a slow, husky voice. " I 
 do not want it. I thought Mr. Hartsel might buy it. 
 I want some money. It was not mine ; it was my 
 father's. It is a great deal better than mine. My 
 father said it would bring a great deal of money, 
 It is very old." 
 
RAMONA 67 
 
 " Indeed it is," she replied ; " one of those men in 
 there was looking at it last night. He was astonished 
 at it, and he would not believe Jim when he told him 
 about its having come from the Mission." 
 
 "Does he play? Will he buy it?" cried Ales- 
 sandro. 
 
 " I don't know ; I '11 call Jim," she said ; and run 
 ning out she looked in at 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 dis 
 guises, " Jim 's drunk. No use your talking to him 
 to-night. Wait till morning." 
 
 " Till morning ! " A groan escaped from Alessan- 
 dro, in spite of himself. " I can't ! " he cried. " I 
 must go on to-night." 
 
 "Why, what for? " exclaimed Mrs. Hartsel, much 
 astonished. For one brief second Alessandro re 
 volved in his mind the idea of confiding everything 
 to her ; only for a second, however. No ; the fewer 
 knew his secret and Ramona'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 been there three days ago." 
 
 Mrs. Hartsel mused. " Jim can't do anything 
 to-night," she said ; " that 's certain. You might see 
 the man yourself, and ask him if he 'd buy it." 
 
68 RAMONA 
 
 Alessandro shook his head. An invincible repug 
 nance withheld him. He could not face one of these 
 Americans who were " coming in " to his valley. 
 Mrs. Hartsel understood. 
 
 " I '11 tell you, Alessandro," said the kindly woman, 
 " I '11 give you what money you need to-night, and 
 then, if you say so, Jim '11 sell the violin to-morrow, 
 if that man wants it, and you can pay me back out of 
 that, and when you 're along this way again you can 
 have the rest. Jim '11 make as good 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 man in this country," said 
 Alessandro. " He 's about the only white man I 
 do trust ! " 
 
 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 thought I 
 had," she said. " I Ve kept all that 's been paid 
 in here to-day, for I knew Jim'd be drunk before 
 night." 
 
 Alessandro's eyes fastened on the gold. How he 
 longed for an abundance of those little shining pieces 
 for his Majella ! He sighed as Mrs. Hartsel counted 
 them out on the table, one, two, three, four, bright 
 five-dollar pieces. 
 
 " That is as much as I dare take," said Alessandro, 
 when she put down the fourth. " Will you trust me 
 for so much?" he added sadly. " You know I have 
 
RAMONA 69 
 
 nothing left now. Mrs. Hartsel, I am only a beggar, 
 till I get some work to do." 
 
 The tears came into Mrs. Hartsel's eyes. " It 's a 
 shame ! " she said, "a shame, Alessandro ! Jim 
 and I have n't thought of anything else, since it 
 happened. Jim says they'll never prosper, never. 
 Trust you? Yes, indeed. Jim and I'll trust you, 
 or your father, the last day of our lives." 
 
 " I 'm glad he is dead," said Alessandro, as he 
 knotted the gold into his handkerchief and put it 
 into his bosom. " But he was murdered, Mrs. Hart 
 sel, murdered, just as much as if they had fired a 
 bullet into him." 
 
 " 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 
 so inhuman ! " 
 
 The words had hardly left her lips, when the door 
 from the dining-room burst open, and a dozen men, 
 headed by the drunken Jim, came stumbling, laugh 
 ing, reeling into the kitchen. 
 
 " Where's supper? Give us our supper! What are 
 you about with your Indian here ? I '11 teach you 
 how to cook ham ! " stammered Jim, making a lurch 
 towards the stove. The men behind caught him and 
 saved him. Eying the group with slow scorn, Mrs. 
 Hartsel, who had not a cowardly nerve in her body, 
 said : " Gentlemen, if you will take your seats at the 
 table, I will bring in your supper immediately. It is 
 all ready." 
 
7 o RAMONA 
 
 One or two of the soberer ones, shamed by her tone t 
 led the rest back into the dining-room, where, seat 
 ing themselves, they began to pound the table and 
 swing the chairs, swearing, and singing ribald songs. 
 
 " Get off as quick as you can, Alessandro," whis 
 pered Mrs. Hartsel, as she passed by him, standing 
 like a statue, his eyes, full of hatred and contempt, 
 fixed on the tipsy group. " You'd better go. There's 
 no knowing what they '11 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 's round somewhere, 
 he and the bull-pups; if worse comes to worst, I 
 can call the dogs. These San Francisco fellows are 
 always the worst to get drunk. 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 swiftly back 
 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 dwell long on past wrongs, how 
 ever bitter. The present called him too loudly. 
 Putting his hand in his bosom, and feeling the soft, 
 knotted handkerchief, he thought: " Twenty dol 
 lars ! It is not much ! But it will buy food for many 
 days for my Majella and for Baba ! " 
 
XVIII 
 
 T?XCEPT for the reassuring help of Carmena's 
 
 Dy 
 
 presence by her side, Ramona would never 
 
 have had courage to remain during this long hour 
 in the graveyard. As it was, she twice resolved to 
 bear the suspense no longer, and made a movement 
 to go. The chance of Alessandro's encountering at 
 Hartsel's the men sent in pursuit of him and of Baba, 
 loomed in her thoughts into a more and more fright 
 ful danger each moment she reflected upon it. It 
 was a most unfortunate suggestion for Alessandro to 
 have made. Her excited fancy went on and on, 
 picturing the possible scenes which might be going 
 on almost within stone's-throw of where she was 
 sitting, helpless, in the midnight darkness, Ales- 
 
72 RAMONA 
 
 sandro seized, tied, treated as a thief, and she, 
 Ramona, not there to vindicate him, to terrify the 
 men into letting him go. She could not bear it; 
 she would ride boldly to Hartsel's door. But when 
 she made a motion as if she would go, and said in 
 the soft Spanish, of which Carmena knew no word, 
 but which yet somehow conveyed Ramona's mean 
 ing, " I must go ! It is too long ! I cannot wait 
 here ! " Carmena had clasped her hand tighter, and 
 said in the San Luiseno tongue, of which Ramona 
 knew no word, but which yet somehow conveyed 
 Carmena's meaning, " O beloved lady, you must not 
 go ! Waiting is the only safe thing. Alessandro 
 said, to wait here. He will come." The word 
 " Alessandro " was plain. Yes, Alessandro had said, 
 wait; Carmena was right. She would obey, but it 
 was a fearful ordeal. It was strange how Ramona, 
 who felt herself preternaturally brave, afraid of 
 nothing, so long as Alessandro was by her side, be 
 came timorous and wretched the instant he was lost 
 to her sight. When she first heard his steps com 
 ing, she quivered with terror lest they might not 
 be his. The next second she knew ; and with a glad 
 cry, " Alessandro ! Alessandro ! " she bounded to 
 him, dropping Baba's reins. 
 
 Sighing gently, Carmena picked up the reins, and 
 stood still, holding the horse, while the lovers clasped 
 each other with breathless words. " How she loves 
 Alessandro ! " thought the widowed Carmena. " Will 
 they leave him alive to stay with her? It is better 
 
RAMONA 73 
 
 not to love ! " But there was no bitter envy in her 
 mind for the two who were thus blest while she went 
 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 around her. " You have feared ! Yet 
 you were not alone." He glanced at Carmena's 
 motionless 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 one there ? " 
 
 " No ! No one had heard anything. All was well. 
 They thought 1 had just come 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 her speech?" 
 
 "I do not know. Was it not a strange thing?" 
 replied Ramona. " She spoke in your tongue, but 
 I thought I understood her. Ask her if she did not 
 say 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. 
 
74 RAMONA 
 
 " You see, then, she has understood the Luiseno 
 words," he said delightedly. " She is one of us." 
 
 " Yes," said Carmena, gravely, " she is one of us ! " 
 Then, taking Ramona's hand in both of her own for 
 farewell, she repeated, in a tone as of dire prophecy, 
 " One of us, Alessandro ! one of us ! " And as she 
 gazed after their retreating forms, almost immediately 
 swallowed and lost in the darkness, she repeated the 
 words again to herself, " One of us ! one of us ! 
 Sorrow came to me ; she rides to meet it ! " and she 
 crept back to her husband's grave, and threw herself 
 down, to watch till the dawn. 
 
 The road which Alessandro would naturally have 
 taken would carry them directly by Hartsel's again. 
 But, wishing to avoid all risk of meeting or being 
 seen by any of the men on the place, he struck well 
 out to the north, to make a wide circuit around it. 
 This brought them past the place where Antonio's 
 house had stood. Here Alessandro halted, and put 
 ting his hand on Baba's rein, walked the horses close 
 to the pile of ruined walls. " This was Antonio's 
 house, Majella," he whispered. " I wish every house 
 in the valley had been pulled down like this. Old 
 Juana was right. The Americans are living in my 
 father's house, Majella," he went on, his whisper 
 growing Jthick with rage. " That was what kept me 
 so long. I was looking in at the window at them 
 eating their supper. I thought I should go mad, 
 Majella. If I had had my gun, I should have shot 
 them all dead ! " 
 
RAMONA 75 
 
 An almost inarticulate gasp was Ramona's first 
 reply to this. " Living in your house ! " she said. 
 "You saw them?" 
 
 " Yes," he said ; " the man, and his wife, and two 
 little children ; and the man came out, with his gun, 
 on the doorstep, and fired it. They thought they 
 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 caught round 
 his foot, Alessandro," said Ramona. " It keeps 
 moving." 
 
 Alessandro jumped off his horse, and kneeling 
 down, exclaimed, " It 's a stake, and the lariat 
 fastened to it. Holy Virgin! what " The rest 
 of his ejaculation was inaudible. The next Ramona 
 knew, he had run swiftly on, a rod or two. Baba 
 had followed, and Capitan and the pony; and there 
 stood a splendid black horse, as big as Baba, and 
 Alessandro talking under his breath to him, and 
 clapping both his hands over the horse's nose, to 
 stop him, as often as he began whinnying; and it 
 seemed hardly a 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 saddled 
 the black horse, and leaping on his back, said, with 
 almost a sob in his voice : " My Majella, it is Benito, 
 my own Benito. Now the saints indeed have helped 
 us ! Oh, the ass, the idiot, to stake out Benito with 
 
76 RAMONA 
 
 such a stake as that ! A jack rabbit had pulled it up. 
 Now, my Majella, we will gallop ! Faster ! faster ! 
 I will not breathe easy till we are out of this cursed 
 valley. When we are once in the Santa Margarita 
 Canon, I know a trail 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. 
 And neck by neck with Benito came Baba. How 
 the ground flew away under their feet ! This was 
 companionship, indeed, worthy of Baba's best powers. 
 Not in all the California herds could be found two 
 superber horses than Benito and Baba. A wild, 
 almost reckless joy took possession of Alessandro 
 Ramona was half terrified as she heard him still 
 talking, talking to Benito. For an hour they did 
 not draw rein. Both Benito and Alessandro knew 
 every inch of the ground. Then, just as they had 
 descended into the deepest part of the canon, Ales 
 sandro suddenly reined sharply to the left, and be 
 gan climbing the precipitous wall. " Can you follow, 
 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 stimu 
 lus of Benito ahead, he would have given Ramona 
 trouble. 
 
 "There is only a little, rough like this, dear," 
 called Alessandro, as he leaped a fallen tree, and 
 
RAMONA 77 
 
 halted to see how Baba took it. " Good ! " he cried, 
 as Baba jumped it like a deer. " Good ! Majella ! 
 We have got the two best horses in the country. 
 You '11 see they are alike, when daylight comes. I 
 have often wondered they were so much alike. They 
 would go together splendidly." 
 
 After a few rods of this steep climbing they came 
 out on the top of the canon's south wall, in a 
 dense oak forest comparatively free from underbrush. 
 " Now," said Alessandro, " I can go from here to 
 San Diego by paths that no white man knows. We 
 will be near there before daylight." 
 
 Already the keen salt air of the ocean smote their 
 faces. Ramona drank it 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. I wish we could go by the shore, 
 Majella. It is beautiful there. When it is 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 the green cliffs almost over your 
 head ; and the air off the water is like wine 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 the shore-way, at all times, there 
 are people going and coming." 
 
 " Some other time, Alessandro, we can come, aftei 
 we are married, and there is no danger? " she asked. 
 
7 8 RAMONA 
 
 " Yes, Majella," he replied ; but as he spoke the 
 words, he thought, " Will a time ever come when 
 there will be no danger?" 
 
 The shore of the Pacific Ocean for many miles 
 north of San Diego is a succession of rounding 
 promontories, walling the mouths of canons, down 
 many of which small streams make to the sea. 
 These canons are green and rich at bottom, and 
 filled with trees, chiefly oak. Beginning as little 
 more than rifts in the ground, they deepen and 
 widen, till at their mouths they have a beautiful 
 crescent of shining beach from an eighth to a quar 
 ter of a mile long. The one which Alessandro hoped 
 to reach before morning was not a dozen miles from 
 the old town of San Diego, and commanded a fine 
 view of the outer harbor. When he was last in it, 
 he had found - it a nearly impenetrable thicket of 
 young oak-trees. Here, he believed, they could hide 
 safely all day, and after nightfall ride into San 
 Diego, be married at the priest's house, and push 
 on to San Pasquale that 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 have been cut down, and we cannot 
 be so close to the shore." 
 
 It was near sunrise when they reached the place. 
 The trees had not been cut down. Their tops, seen 
 from above, looked like a solid bed of moss filling in 
 the canon bottom. The sky and the sea were both 
 red. As Ramona looked down into the soft green 
 
RAMONA 79 
 
 pathway, it seemed, leading out to the wide and 
 sparkling sea, she thought Alessandro had brought 
 her into a fairy-land. 
 
 " What a beautiful world ! " she cried ; and riding 
 up so close to Benito that she could lay her hand on 
 Alessandro's, she said solemnly : " Do you not think 
 we ought to be very happy, Alessandro, in such a 
 beautiful world as this? Do you think we might 
 sing our sunrise hymn here?" 
 
 Alessandro glanced around. They were alone on 
 the breezy open ; it was not yet full dawn ; great 
 masses of crimson vapor were floating upward from 
 the hills behind San Diego. The light was still burn 
 ing in the light-house on the promontory walling the 
 inner harbor, but in a few moments more it would be 
 day. " No, Majella, not here ! " he said. " We must 
 not stay. As soon as the sun rises, a man or a horse 
 may be seen on this upper coast-line as far as eye 
 can reach. We must be among the trees with all 
 the speed we can make." 
 
 It was like a house with a high, thick roof of oak 
 tree-tops, the shelter they found. No sun penetrated 
 it; a tiny trickle of water still remained, and some 
 grass along its rims was still green, spite of the long 
 drought, a scanty meal for Baba and Benito, but 
 they ate it with relish in each other's company. 
 
 " They like each other, those two," said Ramona, 
 laughing, as she watched them. " They will be 
 friends." 
 
 " Ay," said Alessandro, also smiling. " Horses are 
 
80 RAMONA 
 
 friends, like men, and can hate each other, like men, 
 too. Benito would never see Antonio's mare, 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 a time 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 was there ; but he is a friend of 
 Indians. I know he came with the men from San 
 Diego at the time when there was righting, and the 
 whites were in great terror ; and they said, except for 
 Father Gaspara's words, there would not have been a 
 white man left alive in Pala. My father had sent all 
 his people away before that fight began. He knew 
 it was coming, but he 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 worst thing, my Majella. The stupid Indians 
 fight and kill, and then what can we do? The white 
 men think we are all the same. Father Gaspara has 
 never been to Pala, I heard, since that time. There 
 goes there now the San Juan Capistrano priest. He 
 is a bad man. He takes money from the starving 
 poor." 
 
 " A priest ! " ejaculated Ramona, horror-stricken. 
 
 " Ay ! a priest ! " replied Alessandro. " They are 
 not all good, not like Father Salvierderra." 
 
 " Oh, if we could but have gone to Father Salvier 
 derra ! " exclaimed Ramona, involuntarily. 
 
RAMONA 81 
 
 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 one feather-weight of additional burden 
 on this loving man ! " Oh, this is much better, 
 really," she said. " I did not mean what I said. It 
 is only because I have always loved Father Salvier- 
 derra so. And the Senora will tell him what is not 
 true. Could we not send him a letter, Alessandro?" 
 
 " There is a Santa Inez Indian I know," replied 
 Alessandro, " who comes down with nets to sell, 
 sometimes, to Temecula. I know not if he goes to 
 San Diego. If I could get speech with him, he would 
 go up from Santa Inez to Santa Barbara for me, I 
 am sure ; for once he lay in my father's house, sick 
 for many weeks, and I nursed him, and since then 
 he is always begging me to take a net from him, 
 whenever he comes. It is not two days from Santa 
 Inez to Santa Barbara." 
 
 " I wish it were the olden time now, Alessandro," 
 sighed Ramona, " when the men like Father Salvier- 
 derra had all the country. Then there would be work 
 for all, at the Missions. The Senora says the Missions 
 were like palaces, and that there were thousands of 
 Indians in every one of them ; thousands and thou 
 sands, all working so happy and peaceful." 
 
 " The Senora does not know all that happened at 
 the Missions," replied Alessandro. " My father says 
 triat at some of them were dreadful things, when bad 
 VOL. n. 6 
 
82 RAMONA 
 
 men had power. Never any such things at San Luis 
 Rey Father Peyri was like a father to all his Indians,, 
 My father says that they would 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 you and I have 
 done ; for if the Indians had known it, they would 
 have risen up to keep him. There was a ship here in 
 San Diego harbor, to sail for Mexico, and the Father 
 made up his mind to go in it ; and it was over this 
 same road we have come, my Majella, that he rode, 
 and by night; and my father was the only one he 
 trusted to know it. My father came with him ; they 
 took the swiftest horses, and they rode all night, and 
 my father carried in front of him, on the horse, a box 
 of the sacred things of the altar, very heavy. And 
 many a time my father has told me the story, how 
 they got to San Diego at daybreak, and the Father 
 was rowed out to the ship in a little boat; and not 
 much more than on board was he, my father stand 
 ing like one dead on the shore, watchmg, he loved 
 him so, when, lo ! he heard a great crying, and shout 
 ing, and trampling of horses' feet, and there came 
 galloping down to the water's edge three hundred 
 of the Indians from San Luis Rey, who had found 
 out that the Father had gone to San Diego to take 
 ship, and they had ridden all night on his track, to 
 fetch him back. And when my father pointed to the 
 ship, and told them he was already on board, they 
 

 PLATE XVII 
 
 MISSION SAN Luis KEY FROM THE SOUTHEAST. 
 
 Alessandro's father had managed the Mission flocks and herds at 
 San Luis Rey for twenty years. Page 126, Vol I. 
 
 His father, Chief Pablo, had been the leader of the choir at the 
 
 San Luis Rey Mission in the last years of its splendor. 
 
 Page 85, Vol. I. 
 
RAMONA 83 
 
 set up a cry fit to bring the very sky down; and 
 some of them flung themselves into the sea, and 
 swam out to the ship, and cried and begged to be 
 taken on board and go with him. And Father Peyri 
 stood on the deck, blessing them, and saying fare 
 well, with the tears running on his face ; and one of 
 the Indians how they never knew made shift 
 to climb up on the chains and ropes, and got into the 
 ship itself; and they let him stay, and he sailed away 
 with the Father. And my father said he was all his 
 life sorry that he himself had not thought to do the 
 same thing ; but he was like one dumb and deaf and 
 with no head, he was so unhappy at the Father's 
 going." 
 
 " Was it here, in this very harbor? " asked Ramona, 
 in breathless interest, pointing out towards the blue 
 water of which they could see a broad belt framed 
 by their leafy foreground arch of oak tops. 
 
 " Ay, just there he sailed, as that ship goes 
 now," he exclaimed, as a white-sailed schooner sailed 
 swiftly by, going out to sea. " But the ship lay at 
 first inside the bar; you cannot see the inside har 
 bor from here. It is the most beautiful water I have 
 ever seen, Majella. The two high lands come out 
 like two arms to hold it and keep it safe, as if they 
 loved it." 
 
 " But, Alessandro," continued Ramona, " were there 
 really bad men at the other Missions? Surely not the 
 Franciscan Fathers ? " 
 
 " Perhaps not the Fathers themselves, but the men 
 
84 RAMONA 
 
 under them. It was too much power, Majella. When 
 my father has told me how it was, it has seemed to 
 me I should not have liked to be as he was. It is 
 not right that one man should have so much power. 
 There was one at the San Gabriel Mission ; he was 
 an Indian. He had been set over the rest ; and when 
 a whole 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 ; the pieces 
 were strung on a string; and he laughed, and said 
 that was to know 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 the 
 Mission 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 always had 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 know anything ; but do you not think 
 they had the right? " 
 
 " It is the command to preach the gospel to every 
 creature," replied the pious Ramona. " That is what 
 Father Salvierderra said was the reason the Francis 
 cans came here. I think they ought to have made 
 the Indians listen. But that was dreadful about the 
 ears, Alessandro. Do you believe it?" 
 
 " The old woman laughed when she told it," he 
 answered. "She said it was a joke; so I think it 
 was true. I know I would have killed the man who 
 tried to crop my ears that way." 
 
RAMONA 85 
 
 "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't believe 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 to resume 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 San Luis 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 they reached the town. Father 
 Gaspara's house was at the end of a long, low adobe 
 building, which had served no mean purpose in the 
 old Presidio days, but was now fallen into decay ; and 
 all its rooms, except those occupied by the Father, had 
 been long uninhabited. On the opposite side of the 
 way, in a neglected, weedy open, stood his chapel, 
 a poverty-stricken little place, its walls imperfectly 
 whitewashed, decorated by a few coarse pictures and 
 by broken sconces of looking-glass, rescued in their 
 dilapidated condition from the Mission buildings now 
 gone utterly to ruin. In these had been put candle- 
 holders of common tin, in which a few cheap candles 
 dimly lighted the room. Everything about it was in 
 unison with the atmosphere of the place, the most 
 
86 RAMONA 
 
 profoundly melancholy in all Southern California. 
 Here was the spot where that grand old Franciscan, 
 Padre Junipero Serra, began his work, full of the 
 devout and ardent purpose to reclaim the wilderness 
 and its peoples to his country and his Church ; on this 
 very beach he went up and down for those first 
 terrible weeks, nursing the sick, praying with the 
 dying, and burying the dead, from the pestilence- 
 stricken Mexican ships lying in the harbor. Here he 
 baptized his first Indian converts, and founded his 
 first Mission. And the only traces now remaining of 
 his heroic labors and hard-won successes were a pile 
 of crumbling ruins, a few old olive-trees and palms ; 
 in less than another century even these would be 
 gone ; returned into the keeping of that mother, the 
 earth, who puts no headstones at the sacredest of her 
 graves. 
 
 Father Gaspara had been for many years at San 
 Diego. Although not a Franciscan, having, indeed, 
 no especial love for the order, he had been from 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 he could have been, a 
 soldier, a poet, or a priest. Circumstances had made 
 him a priest; and the fire and the poetry which would 
 have wielded the sword or kindled the verse, had he 
 found himself set either to fight or .to 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 the tread ; and his flashing dark eyes, 
 
RAMONA 87 
 
 heavy black hair and beard, and quick elastic step, 
 seemed sometimes strangely out of harmony with his 
 priest's gown. And it was the sensitive soul of the 
 poet in him which had made him withdraw within him 
 self more and more, year after year, as he found him 
 self comparatively powerless to do anything for the 
 hundreds of 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 in 
 their shifting refuges, following up family after family, 
 band after band, that he knew ; he had written boot 
 less letter after letter to the Government officials of 
 one sort and another, at Washington. He had made 
 equally bootless efforts to win some justice, some pro 
 tection for them, from officials nearer home ; he had 
 endeavored to stir the Church itself to greater effi 
 ciency in their behalf. Finally, weary, disheartened, 
 and indignant with that intense, suppressed indignation 
 which the poetic temperament 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 
 down into the routine of his parochial duties to the 
 little Mexican and Irish congregation of his charge in 
 San Diego, he had abandoned all effort to do more 
 for the Indians than visit their chief settlements once 
 or twice a year, to administer the sacraments. When 
 fresh outrages were brought to his notice, he paced 
 his room, plucked fiercely at his black beard, with 
 ejaculations, it is to be feared, savoring more of the 
 camp than the altar; but he made no effort to do 
 
88 RAMONA 
 
 anything. Lighting his pipe, he would sit down on 
 the old bench in his tile-paved veranda, and smoke 
 by 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 fine brick church, which it had been the 
 dream and pride of his heart to see builded, and full 
 of worshippers. This, too, had failed. With San 
 Diego's repeatedly vanishing hopes and dreams of 
 prosperity had gone this hope and dream of Father 
 Gaspara's. It looked, now, as if it would be indeed 
 a waste of money to build a costly church on this 
 site. Sentiment, however sacred and loving towards 
 the dead, must yield to the demands of the living. 
 To build a church on the ground where Father 
 Junipero first trod and labored, would be a work 
 to which no Catholic could be indifferent ; but there 
 were other and more pressing claims to be met first. 
 This was right. Yet the sight of these silent walls, 
 only a few feet high, was a sore one to Father 
 Gaspara, a daily cross, which he did not find grow 
 lighter as he paced up and down his veranda, year 
 in and year out, in the balmy winter and cool summer 
 of that magic climate. 
 
 " Majella, the chapel is lighted ; but that is good ! " 
 exclaimed Alessandro, as they rode into the silent 
 plaza. " Father Gaspara must be there; " and jump 
 ing off his horse, he peered in at the uncurtained 
 window. " A marriage, Majella, a marriage ! " he 
 
KAMONA 89 
 
 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 had just come in, wishing to be 
 married, the Father frowned. His supper was wait 
 ing; 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 whom he hired to 
 take care of the few acres the Church yet owned 
 there had been neglecting the Church lands and 
 trees, to look after their own. The Father was vexed, 
 tired, and hungry, and the expression with which he 
 regarded Alessandro and Ramona, as they came 
 towards him, was one of the least prepossessing of 
 which his dark face was capable. Ramona, who had 
 never knelt to any priest save the gentle Father 
 Salvierderra, and who had supposed that all priests 
 must look, at least, friendly, was shocked at the sight 
 of the impatient visage confronting her. But, as his 
 first glance fell on Ramona, Father Gaspara's expres 
 sion changed. 
 
 "What is all this?" he thought; and as quick as 
 he thought it, he exclaimed, in a severe tone, looking 
 at Ramona, " Woman, are you an Indian? " 
 
 " Yes, Father," answered Ramona, gently. " My 
 mother was an Indian." 
 
 " Ah ! half-breed ! " thought Father Gaspara. " It 
 is strange how sometimes one of the types will con 
 quer, and sometimes another ! But this is no common 
 creature ; " and it was with a look of new interest and 
 
9 o 
 
 RAMONA 
 
 sympathy on his face that he proceeded with the 
 ceremony, the other couple, a middle-aged Irish 
 man, with his more than middle-aged bride, standing 
 quietly by, and looking on with a vague sort of won 
 der 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 bitter 
 reason to take this precaution. It had been for more 
 than one man's interest 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, the Irish 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; and Alessandro slipping the bridles of 
 the two horses over his left arm, they walked on. 
 Father Gaspara heard the question and answer, and 
 was still more puzzled. 
 
 " He speaks as a gentleman speaks to a lady," he 
 mused. "What does it mean? Who are they? " 
 
 Father Gaspara was a well-born man, and in his 
 home in Spain had been used to associations far 
 superior to any which he had known in his Califor- 
 nian life. A gentle courtesy of tone and speech, such 
 
RAMONA 91 
 
 as that with which Alessandro had addressed Ramona, 
 was not often heard in his parish. When they entered 
 his house, he again regarded them both attentively. 
 Ramona wore on her head the usual black shawl of 
 the Mexican women. There was nothing distinctive, 
 to the Father's eye, in her figure or face. In the dim 
 light of the one candle, Father Gaspara allowed 
 himself no luxuries, the exquisite coloring of her 
 skin and the deep blue of her eyes were not to be 
 seen. Alessandro's tall figure and dignified bearing 
 were not uncommon. The Father had seen many as 
 fine-looking Indian men. But his voice was remark 
 able, and he spoke better Spanish than was wont to 
 be heard from Indians. 
 
 " Where are you from ? " said the Father, as he 
 held his pen poised in hand, 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 the other 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 all over," he 
 said fiercely to the Irish bride and groom, who had 
 given him their names and their fee, but were still 
 hanging about irresolute, not knowing if all were 
 ended or not. " A burning shame ! The most das 
 tardly thing I have seen yet in this land forsaken of 
 God ! " cried the Father. " I saw the particulars of 
 
92 RAMONA 
 
 it in the San Diego paper yesterday." Then, coming 
 to a halt in front of Alessandro, he exclaimed : " The 
 paper said that the Indians were compelled to pay all 
 the costs of the suit ; that the 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 are you going to do ? " he 
 said. " Where have you all gone ? There were two 
 hundred in your village the last time I was there." 
 
 " Some have gone over into Pachanga," replied 
 Alessandro, " some to San Pasquale, and the rest to 
 San Bernardino." 
 
 " Body of Jesus ! man ! But you take it with 
 philosophy ! " stormed Father Gaspara. 
 
 Alessandro did not understand the word " philoso 
 phy," but he knew what the Father meant. " Yes, 
 Father," he said doggedly. " It is now twenty-one 
 days 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 angry invectives. 
 
 " The United States Government will suffer for it ! " 
 he continued. " It is a 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 sons and their daughters shall be desolate ! But 
 why do I prate in these vain words? My son, tell me 
 your names again ; " and he seated himself once more 
 
RAMONA 93 
 
 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 Phail is my name." 
 
 She pronounced the word " Phail," slowly. It was 
 new to her. She had never seen it written ; as it 
 lingered on her lips, the Father, to whom also it was 
 a new word, misunderstood it, took it to be in two 
 syllables, and so wrote it. 
 
 The last step was taken in the disappearance ot 
 Ramona. How should any one, searching in after 
 years, find any trace of Ramona Ortegna, in the 
 woman married under the name of " Majella 
 Fayeel " ? 
 
 " No, no ! Put up your money, son," said Father 
 Gaspara, as Alessandro began to undo the knots 
 of the handkerchief in which his gold was tied. 
 " Put up your money. I '11 take no money from a 
 Temecula Indian. I would the 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," said Father Gaspara. " He was 
 showing it to me the other day. That will, it may 
 be, save you there. But do not trust to it, son. Buy 
 
94 RAMONA 
 
 yourself a piece 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," replied Father Gaspara ; " and, faith, they 
 appear to me to be backwards of motion also, like 
 the crabs : but the lawyers understand. When you 
 have picked out your land, and have the money, come 
 to me, and I will go with you and 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 again getting the better 
 of sympathy in Father Gaspara, and as he sat down 
 to his long-deferred supper, the Indian couple faded 
 from his mind ; but after supper was over, as he sat 
 smoking his pipe on the veranda, they returned again, 
 and lingered in his thoughts, lingered strangely, it 
 seemed to him ; he could not shake off the impression 
 that there was something unusual* about the woman. 
 " I shall hear of them again, some day," he thought 
 And he thought rightly. 
 
XIX 
 
 A FTER leaving Father Gaspara's door, Alessan- 
 * ^ dro and Ramona rode slowly through the 
 now deserted plaza, and turned northward, on the 
 river road, leaving the old Presidio walls on their 
 right. The river was low, and they forded it 
 without difficulty. 
 
 " I have seen this river so high that there was no 
 fording it for many days," said Alessandro ; " but 
 that was in spring." 
 
 " Then it is well we came not at that time," said 
 Ramona. " All the times have fallen out well for us, 
 Alessandro, the dark nights, and the streams low ; 
 but look ! as I say it, there comes the moon ! " and 
 
96 RAMONA 
 
 she pointed to the fine threadlike arc of the new 
 moon, just visible in the sky. " Not big enough to 
 do us any harm, however," she added. " But, dear 
 Alessandro, do you not think we are safe now? " 
 
 " I know not, Majella, if ever we may be safe; but 
 I hope so. I have been all day thinking I had gone 
 foolish last night, when I told Mrs. Hartsel that I 
 was on my way to San Pasquale. But if men should 
 come there asking 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 twelve miles 
 of this, they descended among winding ridges, into 
 a narrow valley, the Poway valley. It was here 
 that the Mexicans made one of their 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 picked up in 
 the ground about here. Many a time I have looked 
 at them and thought if there should come another 
 war against the Americans, I would fire them again, 
 if I could. Does Senor Felipe think there is any 
 likelihood that his people will rise against them any 
 more? If they would, they would have all the 
 Indians to help them, now. It would be a mercy 
 if they might be driven out of the land, Majella." 
 
 " Yes," sighed Majella. " But there is no hope, 
 
RAMONA 97 
 
 I have heard the Senora speak of it with Felipe. 
 There is no hope. They have power, and great 
 riches, she said. Money is all that they think of. 
 To get money, they will commit any crime, even 
 murder. Every day there comes the news of their 
 murdering each other for gold. Mexicans kill each 
 other only for hate, 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 vehe 
 mence; but this last outrage on his people had 
 kindled in his veins a fire of scorn and hatred which 
 would never die out. Trust in an American was 
 henceforth to him impossible. The name was a 
 synonym for fraud and cruelty. 
 
 " They cannot all be so bad, I think, Alessan 
 dro," said Ramona. " There must 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 in disgrace. 
 My father punished them, the whole people punished 
 them. If there are Americans who are good, who 
 will not cheat and kill, why do they not send after 
 these robbers and punish them ? And how is it that 
 they make laws which cheat? It was the American 
 law which too* Temecula away from us, and gave 
 VOL. n. 7 
 
98 RAMONA 
 
 it to those men ! The law was on the side of the 
 thieves. No, Majella, it is a people that steals ! 
 That is their name, a people that steals, and that 
 kills for money. Is not that a good name for 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 all thieves ; that she knows not, 
 each day, but that on the next will come more of 
 them, with new laws, to take away more of her land. 
 She had once more than twice what she has now, 
 Alessandro." 
 
 " Yes," he replied ; " I know it. My father has 
 told me. He was with Father Peyri at the place, 
 when General Moreno was alive. Then all was his 
 to the sea, all that land we rode over the second 
 night, Majella." 
 
 " Yes," she said, " all to the sea ! That is what 
 the Senora is ever saying: 'To the sea! ' Oh, the 
 beautiful sea ! Can we behold it from San Pasquale, 
 Alessandro ? " 
 
 " No, my Majella, it is too far. San Pasquale is 
 in the valley; it has hills 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 
 is the way with our people. In two days it will be 
 done. But it will be a poor place for my Majella," 
 he said sadly. Alessandro's heart was ill at ease. 
 Truly a strange bride's journey was this ; but Ramona 
 felt no fear. 
 
RAMONA 99 
 
 " 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. " She has lived like a queen." 
 
 " Oh, Alessandro," merrily laughed Ramona, " how 
 little you know of the way queens live ! Nothing 
 was fine at the Senora Moreno's, only comfortable ; 
 and any house you will build, I can make as com 
 fortable as that was; it is nothing but trouble to 
 have one so large as the Senora's. Margarita used 
 to be tired to death, sweeping all those rooms in 
 which nobody lived except the blessed old San Luis 
 Rey saints. Alessandro, if we could have had just 
 one statue, either Saint Francis or the Madonna, to 
 bring luck to our house ! That is what I would like 
 better than all other things in the world. It is beau 
 tiful to sleep with the Madonna close to your bed. 
 She speaks often to you in dreams." 
 
 Alessandro fixed serious, questioning eyes on Ra 
 mona as she uttered these words. When she spoke 
 like this, he felt indeed as if a being of some other 
 sphere had come to dwell by his side. " I cannot 
 find how to feel towards the saints as you do, my 
 Majella," he said. " I am afraid of them. It must 
 be because they love you, and do not love us. That 
 is what I believe, Majella. I believe they are dis 
 pleased with us, and no longer make mention of us 
 in heaven. That is what the Fathers taught that the 
 
ioo RAMONA 
 
 saints were ever doing, praying to God for us, and 
 to the Virgin and Jesus. It is not possible, you see, 
 that they could have been praying for us, and yet 
 such things have happened, as happened in Teme- 
 cula. I do not know how it is my people have dis 
 pleased them." 
 
 " I think Father Salvierderra would say that it is 
 a sin to be afraid of the saints, Alessandro," replied 
 Ramona, earnestly. " He has often told me that it 
 was a sin to be unhappy; and that withheld me 
 many times from being wretched because the Senora 
 would not love me. And, Alessandro," she went on, 
 growing more and more fervent in tone, " even if 
 nothing but misfortune comes to people, that does 
 not prove that the saints do not love them ; for when 
 the saints were on earth themselves, look what they 
 suffered : martyrs they were, almost all of them. 
 Look at what holy Saint Catharine endured, and the 
 blessed Saint Agnes. It is not by what happens 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 I knew 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 what happens. If you are dead, I 
 shall know that you love me. And you, you will 
 know that I love you, the same." 
 
 "Yes," said Alessandro, reflectively, "that is 
 
RAMONA 101 
 
 true. But, Majella, it is not possible to have the 
 same thoughts about a saint as about a person that 
 one has seen, and heard the voice, and touched the 
 hand." 
 
 " No, not quite," said Ramona ; " not quite, about 
 a saint; but one can for the Blessed Virgin, Ales- 
 sandro ! I am sure of that. Her statue, in my 
 room at the Senora's, has been always my mother. 
 Ever since I was little I have told her all I did. It 
 was she helped me to plan what I should bring 
 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 very 
 different from what it is if you only see her in a 
 chapel. Oh, I could never 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 be struck dead if you 
 laid your hand on her ! I fear even the thought 
 was a sin." 
 
 " There was a small figure of her in the wall of 
 our house," said Alessandro. " It was from San 
 Luis Rey. I do not know what became of it, if 
 it were left behind, or if they took it with my 
 
102 RAMONA 
 
 father's things to 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 will not leave 
 me, Alessandro?" 
 
 At the bare mention of Alessandro' s leaving her, 
 Ramona's courage always vanished. In a moment, 
 in the twinkling of an eye, she was transformed 
 from the dauntless, confident, sunny woman, who 
 bore him up as it were on 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 must go, to fetch the wagon and 
 the few things tha'_ were ours. There is the raw 
 hide bed which was Father Peyri's, and he gave to 
 my father. Majella will 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 so large as they are now: this is 
 not so broad as Senor Felipe's. There are chairs, 
 too, from the Mission, three of them, one almost 
 as fine as those on your veranda at home. They 
 were given to my father. And music-books, 
 beautiful parchment books ! Oh, I hope those are 
 not lost, Majella ! If Jos6 had lived, he would have 
 looked after it all. But in the confusion, all the 
 things belonging to the village were thrown into 
 wagons together, and no one knew where anything 
 
RAMONA 103 
 
 was. But all the people knew my father's chairs 
 and the books of the music. If the Americans did 
 not 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 so whipped, he ran 
 away and never came back. I heard he was living 
 in San Jacinto, and was a thief yet, spite of all that 
 whipping he had. I think if 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 the voice. " Whipping would not 
 cure them." 
 
 It wanted yet more than an hour of dawn when 
 they reached the crest of the hill from which they 
 looked down on the San Pasquale valley. Two 
 such crests and valleys they had passed; this was 
 the broadest of the three valleys, and the hills wall 
 ing it were softer and rounder of contour than any 
 they had yet seen. To the east and northeast lay 
 ranges of high mountains, their tops lost in the 
 clouds. The whole sky was overcast and gray. 
 
 " If it were spring, this would mean rain," said 
 Alessandro ; " but it cannot rain, I think, now." 
 
 " No ! " laughed Ramona, " not till we get our 
 house done. Will it be of adobe, Alessandro?" 
 
 " Dearest Majella, not yet ! At first it must be 
 of the tule. They are very comfortable while it is 
 warm, and before winter I will build one of adobe." 
 
 " Two houses ! Wasteful Alessandro ! If the tule 
 
io 4 RAMONA 
 
 house is good, I shall not let you, Alessandro, build 
 another." 
 
 Ramona's mirthful moments bewildered Alessan 
 dro. To his slower temperament and saddened na 
 ture they seemed preternatural; as if she were all 
 of a sudden changed into a bird, or some gay crea 
 ture outside the pale of human life, outside and 
 above it. 
 
 " You speak as the birds sing, my Majella," he 
 said slowly. " It was well to name you Majel ; only 
 the wood-dove has not joy in her voice, as you 
 have. She says only that she loves and waits." 
 
 " I say that, too, Alessandro ! " replied Ramona, 
 reaching out both her arms towards him. 
 
 The horses were walking slowly, and very close 
 side by side. Baba and Benito were now such 
 friends they liked to pace closely side by side ; and 
 Baba and Benito were by no means without in 
 stinctive recognitions of the sympathy between their 
 riders. Already Benito knew Ramona's voice, and 
 answered it with pleasure; and Baba had long ago 
 learned to stop when his mistress laid her hand on 
 Alessandro's shoulder. He stopped now, and it 
 was long minutes before he had the signal to go 
 on again. 
 
 " Majella ! Majella ! " cried Alessandro, as, grasp 
 ing both her hands in his, he held them to his cheeks, 
 to his neck, to his mouth, " if the saints would ask 
 Alessandro to be a martyr for Majella's sake, like 
 those she was telling of, then she would know if 
 
RAMONA 105 
 
 Alessandro loved her! But what can Alessandro 
 do now? What, oh, what? Majella gives all; 
 Alessandro gives nothing ! " and he bowed his fore 
 head 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, this distrusting lover, to the joy 
 which was his desert? " Alessandro can do one 
 thing," she said, insensibly falling into his mode 
 of speaking, "one thing for his Majella: never, 
 never, never say that he has nothing to give her. 
 When he says that, he makes Majella a liar; for she 
 has said that he is all the world to her, he himself 
 all the world which she desires. Is Majella a liar?" 
 
 But it was. even now with an ecstasy only half 
 joy, the other half anguish, that Alessandro replied: 
 " Majella cannot lie. Majella is like the saints. 
 Alessandro is hers." 
 
 When they rode down into the valley, the whole 
 village was astir. The vintage-time had nearly passed ; 
 everywhere were to be seen large, flat baskets of 
 grapes drying in the sun. Old women and children 
 were turning these, or pounding acorns in the deep 
 stone bowls; others were beating the yucca-stalks, 
 and putting them to soak in water ; the oldest women 
 were sitting on the ground, weaving baskets. There 
 were not many men in the village now ; two large 
 bands were away at work, one at the autumn sheep- 
 shearing, and one working on a large irrigating ditch 
 at San Bernardino. 
 
io6 RAM ON A 
 
 In different directions from the village slow-mov 
 ing herds of goats or of cattle could be seen, being 
 driven to pasture on the hills; some men were 
 ploughing; several groups were at work building 
 houses of bundles of the tule reeds. 
 
 " These are some of the Temecula people," said 
 Alessandro ; " they are building themselves new 
 houses here. See those piles of bundles darker- 
 colored than the rest. Those are their old roofs they 
 brought from 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 recog 
 nized Alessandro, he flung himself from his horse. 
 Alessandro did the same, and both running swiftly 
 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, Ysidro saluted her, and turning to Alessan 
 dro, said in their own tongue, " Who is this woman 
 whom you bring, that has heard my name?" 
 
 " My wife ! " answered Alessandro, in the same 
 tongue. " We were married last night by Father 
 Gaspara. She comes from the house of the Senora 
 Moreno. We will live in San Pasquale, if you have 
 land for me, as you have said." 
 
 Whatever astonishment Ysidro felt, he showed none. 
 Only a grave and courteous welcome was in his face 
 and in his words as he said, " It is well. There is 
 
KAMONA 107 
 
 room. You are welcome." But when he heard the 
 soft Spanish syllables in which Ramona spoke to 
 Alessandro, and Alessandro, translating her words 
 to him, said, " Majel speaks only in the Spanish 
 tongue, but she will learn ours," a look of disquiet 
 passed over his countenance. 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 re 
 assured him. " Indian on the mother's side ! " said 
 Alessandro, " and she belongs in heart to our people. 
 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 is like the wood- 
 dove; and she is glad to lay her old name down 
 forever, to bear this new name in our tongue." 
 
 And this was Ramona's introduction to the Indian 
 village, this and her smile ; perh^Ds the smile did 
 most. Even the little children were not afraid of her. 
 The women, though shy, in the beginning, at sight of 
 her noble bearing, and her clothes of a kind and 
 quality they associated only with superiors, soon felt 
 her friendliness, and, what was more, saw by her every 
 word, tone, look, that she was Alessandro's. If Ales 
 sandro's, theirs. She was one of them. Ramona 
 would have been profoundly impressed and touched, 
 could she have heard them speaking among them 
 selves 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 
 
io8 RAMON A 
 
 loving wife. It must be, they thought in their sim 
 plicity, that the saints had sent it as an omen of good 
 to the Indian people. Towards night they came, 
 bringing in a hand-barrow the most aged woman in 
 the village to look at her. She wished to see the 
 beautiful stranger before the sun went down, they 
 said, because she was now so old she believed each 
 night that before morning her time would come to 
 die. They also wished to hear the old woman's ver 
 dict on her. When Alessandro saw them coming, he 
 understood, and made haste to explain it to Ramona. 
 While he was yet speaking, the procession arrived, 
 and the aged woman in her 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 her withdrew, and seated themselves a few 
 paces off. Alessandro spoke first. In a few words 
 he told the old*woman of Ramona's birth, of their 
 marriage, 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 shriv 
 elled arm and hand outstretched in greeting; but 
 Ramona took it in hers with tender reverence : " Say 
 to her for me, Alessandro," she said, " that I bow 
 down to her great age with reverence, and that I hope, 
 if it is the will of God that I live on the earth so long 
 as she has, I may be worthy of such reverence as 
 these people all feel for her." 
 
 Alessandro turned a grateful look on Ramona as 
 
PLATE XVIII 
 
 SERVANTS' QUARTERS. (GUAJOME) 
 
 Nobody stayed inside the walls, except when it was necessary. All 
 the kitchen work, except the actual cooking, was done here, in front 
 of the kitchen doors and windows. . . . Old Juanita shelled her 
 beans there, and threw the pods down on the tile floor, till towards 
 night they were sometimes piled up high around her, like corn husks 
 at a husking. Page 26, Vol. I. 
 
 
. 
 
RAMONA 109 
 
 he translated this speech, so in unison with Indian 
 modes of thought and feeling. A murmur of pleas 
 ure rose from the group of women sitting by. The 
 aged woman made no reply; her eyes still studied 
 Ramona's face, and she still held her hand. 
 
 " Tell her," continued Ramona, " that I ask if there 
 is anything I can do for 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 say that you will be her 
 son," added Ramona. 
 
 Alessandro said it. It was perhaps for this that 
 the old woman had waited. Lifting up her arm, like 
 a sibyl, she said : " It is well ; I am your mother. The 
 winds of the valley shall love you, and the grass shall 
 dance when you come. The daughter looks on her 
 mother's face each day. I will go ; " and making a 
 sign to her bearers, she was lifted, and carried to her 
 house. 
 
 The scene affected Ramona deeply. The simplest 
 acts of these people seemed to her marvellously 
 profound in their meanings. She was not herself 
 sufficiently educated or versed in life to know 
 why she was so moved, to know that such utter 
 ances, such symbolisms as these, among primitive 
 peoples, are thus impressive because they are truly 
 and grandly dramatic; but she was none the less 
 
no RAMONA 
 
 stirred by them, because she could not analyze or 
 explain them. 
 
 " I will go and see her every day," she said ; " she 
 shall be like my mother, whom I never saw." 
 
 " We must both go each day," said Alessandro. 
 " What we have said is a solemn 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 rising ground ; it was a picturesque 
 group of four small houses, three of tule reeds and 
 one of adobe, the latter a comfortable little house 
 of two rooms, with a floor and a shingled roof, both 
 luxuries in San Pasquale. The great fig-tree, whose 
 luxuriance and size were noted far and near through 
 out the country, stood half-way down the slope ; but 
 its boughs shaded all three of the tule houses. On 
 one of its lower branches was fastened a dove-cote, 
 ingeniously made of willow wands, plastered with 
 adobe, and containing so many rooms that the whole 
 tree seemed sometimes a-flutter with doves and dove- 
 lings. Here and there, between the houses, were 
 huge baskets, larger than barrels, woven of twigs, as 
 the eagle weaves its nest, only tighter and thicker. 
 These were the outdoor granaries ; in these were kept 
 acorns, barley, wheat, and corn. Ramona thought 
 them, as well she might, the prettiest things she ever 
 saw. 
 
 " Are they hard to make? " she asked. " Can you 
 make them, Alessandro ? I shall want many." 
 
 " All you want, my Majella," replied Alessandro. 
 
RAMONA in 
 
 " We will go together to get the twigs; I can, I dare 
 say, buy some in the village. It is only two days to 
 make a large one." 
 
 " No. Do not buy one," she exclaimed. " I wish 
 everything in our house to be made by ourselves." 
 In which, again, Ramona was unconsciously striking 
 one of the keynotes of pleasure in the primitive 
 harmonies of existence. 
 
 The tule house which stood nearest to the dove 
 cote was, by a lucky chance, now empty, Ysidro's 
 brother Ramon, who had occupied it, having gone 
 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 own should be 
 done. It was a tiny place, though it was really two 
 houses joined together by a roofed passage-way. In 
 this passage-way the tidy Juana, Ramon's wife, kept 
 her few pots and pans, and a small stove. It looked 
 to Ramona like a baby-house. Timidly Alessandro 
 said : " Can Majella 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 glee 
 fully, " I think it will be very comfortable, and I 
 shall feel as if we were all doves together in the 
 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 on a cross-bar from two slanting 
 
ii2 RAMONA 
 
 posts an old bronze bell which had once belonged 
 to the San Diego Mission. When Ramona read the 
 date, " 1790," on its side, and heard that it was from 
 the San Diego Mission church it had come, she felt 
 a sense of protection in its presence. 
 
 "Think, Alessandro," she said; "this bell, no 
 doubt, has rung many times for the mass for the holy 
 Father Junipero himself. It is a blessing to the 
 village. I want to live where I can see it all the 
 time. It will be like 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 his 
 shearers to San Fernando, and there he had seen in a 
 room of the old Mission buildings a dozen statues 
 of saints huddled in dusty confusion. The San Fer 
 nando church was in crumbled ruins, and such of 
 the church properties as were left there were in the 
 keeping of a Mexican not over-careful, and not in 
 the least devout. It would not trouble him to part 
 with a saint or two, Alessandro thought, and no 
 irreverence to the saint either; on the contrary, the 
 greatest of reverence, since the statue was to be taken 
 from a place where no one cared for it, and brought 
 into one where it would be tenderly cherished, and 
 worshipped every day. If only San Fernando were 
 not so far away, and the wooden saints so heavy ! 
 However, it should come about yet. Majella should 
 have a saint ; nor distance nor difficulty should keep 
 
RAMONA 113 
 
 Alessandro from procuring for his Majel the few 
 things that lay within his power. But he held his 
 peace about it. It would be a sweeter gift, if she 
 did not know it beforehand. He pleased himself as 
 subtly and secretly as if he had come of civilized 
 generations, thinking how her eyes would dilate, if 
 she waked up some morning and saw the saint by 
 her bedside ; and how sure she would be to think, at 
 first, it was a miracle, his dear, devout Majella, 
 who, with all her superior knowledge, was yet more 
 credulous than 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 Pas- 
 quale, he had heard of a piece of good-fortune which 
 almost passed his belief, and which startled him for 
 once out of his usual impassive demeanor. 
 
 " You know I have a herd of cattle of your father's, 
 and near a hundred sheep?" 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 the spring your father sent down 
 to know if I would take a herd for him up into 
 the mountains, with ours, as he feared the Temecula 
 pasture would fall short, and the people there, who 
 could not leave, must have their cattle near home ; 
 so he sent a herd over, I think, near fifty head ; 
 and many of the cows have calved ; and he sent, 
 
 VOL. II. 8 
 
n 4 RAMONA 
 
 also, a little flock of sheep, a hundred, Ramon 
 said; he herded them with ours all summer, and he 
 left a man up there with them. They will be down 
 next week. It is time they were sheared." 
 
 Before he had finished speaking, Alessandro had 
 vanished, bounding like a deer. Ysidro stared after 
 him ; but seeing him enter the doorway of the little 
 tule hut, he understood, and a sad smile passed 
 over his face. He was not yet persuaded that this 
 marriage of Alessandro's would turn out a 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 be praised ! 
 We are not like the beggars, as I said." 
 
 "I told you that God would give us food, dear 
 Alessandro," replied Ramona, 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 the 
 skies?" 
 
 " Nay, not as our eyes would see," she answered ; 
 " but the holy ones who live in the skies can do 
 anything they like on the earth. Whence came 
 these cattle, and how are they ours?" 
 
 When he told her, her face grew solemn. "Do 
 you remember that night in the willows," she said, 
 " when I was like one dying, because you would not 
 bring me with you? You had no faith that there 
 would be food. And I told you then that the saint? 
 
RAMONA 115 
 
 never forsook those who loved them, and that God 
 would give food. And even at that moment, when 
 you did not know it, there were your cattle and your 
 sheep feeding in the mountains, in the keeping of 
 God! Will my Alessandro believe after this? "and 
 she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. 
 
 " It is true," said Alessandro. " I will believe, after 
 this, that the saints 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 the saints, if she 
 had seen that, and seen the people dying for want 
 of food? It is only for her that the saints pray. 
 They are displeased with my people." 
 
XX 
 
 /"\NE year, and a half of another year, had passed. 
 ^^ Sheep-shearings and vintages had been in San 
 Pasquale ; and Alessandro's new house, having been 
 beaten on by the heavy spring rains, looked no 
 longer new. It stood on the south side of the 
 valley, too far, Ramona felt, from the blessed bell ; 
 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, the bell itself. The house 
 was small. " Small to hold so much joy," she said, 
 when Alessandro first led her to it, and said depre- 
 catingly, " It is small, Majella, too small ; " and he 
 recollected bitterly, as he spoke, the size of Ramona's 
 
RAMONA 117 
 
 own room at the Senora's house. "Too small," he 
 repeated. 
 
 " Very small to hold so much joy, my Alessandro," 
 she laughed ; " but quite large enough to hold two 
 persons." 
 
 It looked like a palace to the San Pasquale people, 
 after Ramona had arranged their little possessions in 
 it ; and she herself felt rich as she looked around her 
 two small rooms*. The old San Luis Rey chairs and 
 the raw-hide bedstead were there, and, most precious 
 of all, the statuette of the Madonna. For this Ales 
 sandro had built a niche in the wall, between the 
 head of the bed and the one window. The niche 
 was deep enough to hold small pots in front of the 
 statuette ; and Ramona kept constantly growing 
 there wild-cucumber plants, which wreathed and re- 
 wreathed the niche till it looked like a bower. Below 
 it hung her gold rosary and the ivory Christ; and 
 many a woman of the village, when she came to see 
 Ramona, asked permission to go into the bedroom 
 and say her prayers there; so that it finally came to 
 be a sort of shrine for the whole village. 
 
 A broad veranda, as broad as the Senora's, ran 
 across the front of the little house. This was the 
 only thing for which Ramona had asked. She could 
 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 ; they 
 would not build nests inside. It was not their 
 
RAMONA 
 
 way in San Pasquale. They lived in the canons, 
 but this part of the valley was too bare of trees for 
 them. " In a year or two more, when we have 
 orchards, they will come," Alessandro said. 
 
 With the money from that first sheep-shearing, 
 and from the sale of part of his cattle, Alessandro 
 had Vought all he needed in the way of farming 
 implements, a good wagon and harnesses, and a 
 plough. Baba and Benito, at first restive and indig 
 nant, soon made up their minds to work. Ramona 
 had talked to Baba about it as she would have talked 
 to a brother. In fact, except for Ramona' s help, it 
 would have been a question whether even Alessandro 
 could have made Baba work in harness. " Good 
 Baba ! " Ramona said, as she slipped piece after 
 piece of the harness over his neck, " Good Baba, 
 you must help us ; we have so much work to do, and 
 you are so strong ! Good Baba, do you love me ? " 
 and with one hand in his mane, and her cheek, every 
 few steps, laid close to his, she led Baba up and 
 down the first furrows he ploughed. 
 
 " My Senorita ! " thought Alessandro to himself, 
 half in pain, half in pride, as, running behind with 
 the unevenly jerked plough, he watched her laughing 
 face and blowing hair, " my Senorita ! " 
 
 But Ramona would not run with her hand in 
 Baba's mane this winter. There was a new work 
 for her, indoors. In a rustic cradle, which Ales 
 sandro had made, under her directions, of the woven 
 twigs, like the great outdoor acorn-granaries, only 
 
RAMONA 119 
 
 closer woven, and of an oval shape, and lifted from 
 the floor by four uprights of red manzanita stems, 
 in this cradle, on soft white wool fleeces, covered 
 with white homespun blankets, lay Ramona's baby, 
 six months old, lusty, strong, and beautiful, as only 
 children born of great love and under healthful con 
 ditions can be. This child was a girl, to Alessandro's 
 delight; to Ramona's regret, so far as a loving 
 mother can feel regret connected with her first-born. 
 Ramona had wished for an Alessandro ; but the dis 
 appointed wish faded out of her thoughts, hour by 
 hour, as she gazed into her baby-girl's blue eyes, 
 eyes so blue that their color was the first 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 an astonished 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 his heart what father it had 
 been, who had given eyes like those to one born of 
 an Indian mother. 
 
 "Eyes of the sky," became at once the baby's 
 name in the village; and Alessandro and Ramona, 
 before they knew it, had fallen into the way of so 
 calling her. But when it came to the christening, 
 they demurred. The news was brought to the vil 
 lage, one Saturday, that Father Gaspara would hold 
 
120 RAMONA 
 
 services in the valley the next day, and that K 
 wished all the new-born babes to be brought for 
 christening. Late into the night, Alessandro and 
 Ramona sat by their sleeping baby and discussed 
 what should be her name. Ramona wondered that 
 Alessandro did not wish to name her Majella. 
 
 " No ! Never but one Majella," he said, in a tone 
 which gave Ramona a sense of vague fear, it was so 
 solemn. 
 
 They discussed " Ramona," " Isabella." Alessan 
 dro suggested Carmena. This had been his mother's 
 name. 
 
 At the mention of it Ramona shuddered, recollect 
 ing the scene in the Temecula graveyard. " Oh, no, 
 no ! Not that ! " she cried. " It is ill-fated ; " and 
 Alessandro blamed himself for having forgotten her 
 only association 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 called anything but 
 ' Eyes of the Sky/ in the village." 
 
 " Let that name be her true one, then," said Ra 
 mona. And so it was settled ; and when Father 
 Gaspara took the little one in his arms, and made 
 the sign of the cross on her brow, he pronounced 
 with some difficulty 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, he had slept at Lomax's, the 
 
RAMONA 121 
 
 store and post-office, six miles away, in the Bernardo 
 valley. But Ysidro, with great pride, had this time 
 ridden to meet him, to say that his cousin Alessan- 
 dro, who had come to live in the valley, and had a 
 good new adobe house, begged that the Father would 
 do him the honor to stay with him. 
 
 " And indeed, Father," added Ysidro, " you will 
 be far better lodged and fed than in the house of 
 Lomax. My cousin's wife knows well how all should 
 be done." 
 
 " Alessandro ! Alessandro ! " said the Father, mus 
 ingly. " Has he been long married? " 
 
 " No, Father," answered Ysidro. " But little more 
 than two years. They were married by you, on their 
 way from Temecula here. " 
 
 " Ay, ay ! I remember," said Father Gaspara. " I 
 will come ; " and it was with no small interest that 
 he looked forward to meeting again the couple that 
 had so strongly impressed him. 
 
 Ramona was full of eager interest in her prepara 
 tions for entertaining the priest. This was like the 
 olden time ; and as she busied herself with her cook 
 ing and other arrangements, the thought of Father 
 Salvierderra was much in her mind. She could, per 
 haps, hear news of him from Father Gaspara. It 
 was she who had suggested the idea to Alessandro ; 
 and when he said, " But where will you sleep your 
 self, with the child, Majella, if we give our room to 
 the Father? I can lie on the floor outside; but 
 " "! will go to Ysidro's, and sleep with 
 
122 RAMONA 
 
 Juana," she replied. " For two nights, it is no 
 matter; and it is such shame to have the Father 
 sleep in the house of an American, when we have 
 a good bed like this ! " 
 
 Seldom in his life had Alessandro experienced 
 such a sense of gratification as he did when he led 
 Father Gaspara into his and Ramona's bedroom. 
 The clean whitewashed walls, the bed neatly made, 
 with broad lace on sheets and pillows, hung with 
 curtains and a canopy of bright red calico, the old 
 carved chairs, the Madonna shrine in its bower of 
 green leaves, the shelves on the walls, the white- 
 curtained window, all made up a picture such as 
 Father Gaspara had never before seen in his pil 
 grimages among the Indian villages. He could not 
 restrain an ejaculation of surprise. Then his eye 
 falling on the golden rosary, he exclaimed, " Where 
 got you that? " 
 
 " It is my wife's," replied Alessandro, proudly. " It 
 was given to her by Father Salvierderra." 
 
 "Ah!" said the Father. "He died the other 
 day." 
 
 " Dead ! Father Salvierderra dead ! " cried Ales 
 sandro. " That will be a terrible blow. Oh, Father, 
 I implore you not to speak of it in her presence. 
 She must not know it till after the christening. It 
 will make her heart heavy, so that she will have no 
 joy." 
 
 Father Gaspara was still scrutinizing the rosary 
 and crucifix. " To be sure, to be sure," he said ab- 
 
RAMONA 123 
 
 sently ; " I will say nothing of it ; but this is a work 
 of art, this crucifix ; do you know what you have 
 here? And this, is this not an altar-cloth?" he 
 added, lifting up the beautiful wrought altar-cloth, 
 which Ramona, in honor of his coming, had pinned 
 on the wall below the Madonna's shrine. 
 
 " Yes, Father, it was made for that. My wife 
 made it. It was to be a present to Father Salvier- 
 derra ; but she has not seen him, to give it to him. 
 It will take the light out of the sun for her, when 
 first she hears that he is dead." 
 
 Father Gaspara was about to ask another question, 
 when Ramona appeared in the doorway, flushed with 
 running. She had carried the baby over to Juana's 
 and left her there, that she might be free to serve 
 the Father's supper. 
 
 " I pray you tell her not," said Alessandro, under 
 his breath ; but it was too late. Seeing the Father 
 with her rosary in his hand, Ramona exclaimed : 
 
 " That, Father, is my most sacred possession. It 
 once belonged to Father Peyri, of San Luis Rey, and 
 he gave it to Father Salvierderra, who gave it to me. 
 Know you Father Salvierderra? I was hoping to 
 hear news of him through you." 
 
 " Yes, I knew him, not very well ; it is long 
 since I saw him," stammered Father Gaspara. His 
 hesitancy alone would not have told Ramona the 
 truth ; she would have set that down to the secular 
 priest's indifference, or hostility, to the Franciscan 
 order ; but looking at Alessandro, she saw terror and 
 
RAMONA 
 
 sadness on his face. No shadow there ever escaped 
 her eye. "What is it, Alessandro?" she exclaimed. 
 " Is it something about Father Salvierderra? Is he 
 ill?" 
 
 Alessandro shook his head. He did not know 
 what to say. Looking from one to the other, seeing 
 the confused pain in both their faces, Ramona, lay 
 ing both her hands on her breast, in the expressive 
 gesture she had learned from the Indian women s 
 cried out in a piteous tone : " You will not tell me ! 
 You do not speak ! Then he is dead ! " and she 
 sank on her knees. 
 
 " Yes, my daughter, he is dead," said Father Gas- 
 para, more tenderly than that brusque and warlike 
 priest often spoke. " He died a month ago, at Santa 
 Barbara. I am grieved to have brought you tidings 
 to give you such sorrow. But you must not mourn 
 for him. He was very feeble, and he longed to die, 
 I heard. He could no longer work, and he did not 
 wish to live." 
 
 Ramona had buried her face in her hands. The 
 Father's words were only a confused sound in her 
 ears. She had heard nothing after the words, " a 
 month ago." She remained silent and motionless 
 for some moments ; then rising, without speaking a 
 word, or looking at either of the men, she crossed 
 the room and knelt down before the Madonna. By 
 a common impulse, both Alessandro and Father 
 Gaspara silently left the room. As they stood to 
 gether outside the door, the Father said, " I would 
 
RAMONA 125 
 
 go back to Lomax's if it were not so late. I like not 
 to be here when your wife is in such grief." 
 
 " That would but be another grief, Father," said 
 Alessandro. " She has been full of happiness in 
 making ready for you. She is very strong of soul. 
 It is she who makes me strong often, and not I who 
 give strength to her." 
 
 " My faith, but the man is right," thought Father 
 Gaspara, a half-hour later, when, with a calm face, 
 Ramona summoned them to supper. He did not 
 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 to speak to 
 her. 
 
 When he walked by her side, later in the evening, 
 as she went across the valley to Fernando's house, 
 he ventured to mention Father Salvierderra's name. 
 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 us his 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 her the next morning. One by 
 one they gazed, astonished, then turned away, and 
 spoke softly among themselves. They all loved her, 
 and half revered her too, for her great kindness, and 
 readiness to teach and to help them. She had been 
 like a sort of missionary in the valley ever since she 
 came, and no one had ever seen her face without a 
 smile. Now she smiled not. Yet there was the 
 
126 RAMONA 
 
 beautiful baby in its white dress, ready to be chris 
 tened ; and the sun shone, and the bell had been 
 ringing for half an hour, and from every corner of 
 the valley the people were gathering, and Father 
 Gaspara, in his gold and green cassock, was praying 
 before the altar; it was a joyous day in San Pas- 
 quale. Why did Alessandro and Ramona kneel apart 
 in a corner, with such heart-stricken Countenances, 
 not even looking glad when their baby laughed, and 
 reached up her hands? Gradually it was whispered 
 about what had happened. Some one had got it 
 from Antonio, of Temecula, Alessandro's friend. 
 Then all the women's faces grew sad too. They all 
 had heard of Father Salvierderra, and many of them 
 had prayed to the ivory Christ in Ramona'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, and taking her hand in theirs, 
 laid it on their hearts, speaking no word. The ges 
 ture was more than any speech could have been. 
 
 When Father Gaspara was taking leave, Ramona 
 said, with quivering lips, " Father, if there is any 
 thing you know of Father Salvierderra's last hours, 
 I would be grateful to you for telling me." 
 
 " I heard very little," replied the Father, " except 
 that he had been feeble for some weeks; yet he 
 would persist in spending most of the night kneel 
 ing on the stone floor in the church, praying." 
 
 " Yes," interrupted Ramona ; " that he always 
 did." 
 
RAMONA 127 
 
 "And the last morning," continued the Father, 
 " the Brothers found him there, 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 ; and then 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 eyes from the ground ; and in the 
 same low, tremulous tone, " I am glad that I know 
 that he is dead." 
 
 " Strange what a hold those Franciscans got on 
 these Indians ! " mused Father Gaspara, as he rode 
 down the valley. " There 's none of them would 
 look like that if I were dead, I warrant me ! There," 
 he exclaimed, "I meant to have asked Alessandro 
 who this wife of his is ! I don't believe she is a 
 Temecula Indian. Next time I come, I will find out. 
 She 's had some schooling somewhere, that 's plain. 
 She 's quite superior to the general run of them. 
 Next time I come, I will find out about her." 
 
 " Next time I " In what calendar are kept the 
 records of those next times which never come ? Long 
 before Father Gaspara visited San Pasquale again, 
 Alessandro and Ramona were far away, and strangers 
 were living in their home. 
 
 It seemed to Ramona in after years, as she looked 
 back over this life, that the news of Father Salvier- 
 
128 RAMONA 
 
 derra's death was the first note of the knell of their 
 happiness. It was but a few days afterward, when 
 Alessandro came in one noon with an expression on 
 his face that terrified her ; seating himself in a chair, 
 he buried his face in his hands, and would neither 
 look up nor speak ; not until Ramona was near crying 
 from his silence, did he utter a word. Then, looking 
 at her with a ghastly face, he said in a hollow voice, 
 " It has begun ! " and buried his face again. Finally 
 Ramona's tears wrung from him the following story : 
 
 Ysidro, it seemed, had the previous year rented 
 a canon, at the head of the valley, to one Doctor 
 Morong. It was simply as bee-pasture that the 
 Doctor wanted it, he said. He put his hives there, 
 and built a sort of hut for the man whom he sent 
 up to look after the honey. Ysidro did not need 
 the land, and thought it a good chance to make a 
 little money. He had taken every precaution to 
 make the transaction a safe one ; had gone to San 
 Diego, and got Father Gaspara to act as interpreter 
 for him, in the interview with Morong ; it had been 
 a written agreement, and the rent agreed upon had 
 been punctually paid. Now, the time of the lease 
 having expired, Ysidro had been to San Diego to 
 ask the Doctor if he wished to renew it for another 
 year ; and the Doctor had said that the land was his, 
 and he was coming out there to build a house, and 
 live. 
 
 Ysidro had gone to Father Gaspara for help, and 
 Father Gaspara had had an angry interview with 
 
KAMONA 129 
 
 Doctor Morong; but it had done no good. The 
 Doctor said the land did not belong to Ysidro at all, 
 but to the United States Government; and that he 
 had paid the money for it to the agents in 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 lawyer in San 
 Diego, and had shown to this lawyer Ysidro's paper, 
 the old one from the Mexican Governor of Cali 
 fornia, establishing the pueblo of San Pasquale, and 
 saying how many leagues of land the Indians were 
 to have ; but the lawyer had only laughed at Father 
 Gaspara for believing that such a paper as that was 
 good for anything. He said that was all very well 
 when the country belonged to Mexico, but it was no 
 good now; that the Americans owned it now; and 
 everything was done by the American law now, not 
 by the Mexican law any more. 
 
 " Then we do not own any land in San Pasquale at 
 all," said Ysidro. " Is that what it means? " 
 
 And the lawyer had said, he did not know how it 
 would be with the cultivated land, and the village 
 where the houses were, he could not tell about 
 that; but he thought it all belonged to the men at 
 Washington. 
 
 Father Gaspara was in such rage, Ysidro said, that 
 he tore open his gown on his breast, and he smote 
 himself, and he said he wished he were a soldier, and 
 no priest, that he might fight this accursed United 
 States Government ; and the lawyer laughed at him, 
 
 VOL. II. 9 
 
I 3 o RAMONA 
 
 and told him to look after souls, that was his busi 
 ness, a nd let the Indian beggars alone ! " Yes, 
 that was what he said, ' the Indian beggars ! ' and 
 so they would be all beggars, presently." 
 
 Alessandro told this by gasps, as it were ; at long 
 intervals. His voice was choked ; his whole frame 
 shook. He was nearly beside himself with rage and 
 despair. 
 
 " You see, it is as I said, Majella. There is no 
 place safe. We can do nothing ! We might better 
 be dead ! " 
 
 " It is a long way off, that canon Doctor Morong 
 had," said Ramona, piteously. " It would n'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 is 
 theirs. We can do nothing, any more than the wild 
 beasts. They are better 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 
 the little community had been plunged into great 
 anxiety and distress by this Doctor Morong's affair, 
 Alessandro sat dumb and gloomy. To whatever 
 was proposed, he had but one reply: "It is of no 
 use. We can do nothing." 
 
 " Eat your dinners to-day, to-morrow we starve," 
 he said one night, bitterly, as the council broke up. 
 
RAMONA 131 
 
 When Ysidro proposed to him that they should 
 journey to Los Angeles, where Father Gaspara had 
 said the headquarters of the Government officers 
 were, and where they could learn all 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 the American laws? " he said. " Is 
 it not enough that you know they have made a law 
 which will take the land from Indians ; from us who 
 have owned it longer than any can remember ; land 
 that our ancestors are buried in, will take that land 
 and give it to themselves, and say it is theirs? Is 
 it to hear this again said in your face, and' to see 
 the man laugh who says it, like the lawyer in San 
 Diego, that you will journey to Los Angeles? I will 
 not go ! " 
 
 And Ysidro went alone. Father Gaspara gave him 
 a letter to the Los Angeles priest, who went with 
 him to the land-office, patiently interpreted for him 
 all he had to say, and as patiently interpreted all 
 that the officials had to say in reply. They did not 
 laugh, as Alessandro in his bitterness had said. They 
 were not inhuman, and they felt sincere sympathy for 
 this man, representative of two hundred hard-working, 
 industrious people, in danger of being turned out of 
 house and home. But they were very busy; they 
 had to say curtly, and in few words, all there was 
 to be said : the San Pasquale district was certainly 
 the property of the United States Government, and 
 the lands were in market, to be filed on, and bought, 
 
RAMONA 
 
 according to the homestead laws. These officials had 
 neither authority nor option in the matter. They 
 were there simply to carry out instructions, and 
 obey orders. 
 
 Ysidro understood the substance of all this, though 
 the details were beyond his comprehension. But 
 he did not regret having taken the journey; he had 
 now made his last effort for his people. The Los 
 Angeles priest had promised that he would himself 
 write a letter to Washington, to lay the case before 
 the head men there, and perhaps something would 
 be done for their relief. It seemed incredible to 
 Ysidro,- as, riding along day after day, on his sad 
 homeward journey, he reflected on the subject, it 
 seemed incredible to him that the Government would 
 permit such a village as theirs to be destroyed. He 
 reached home just at sunset; and looking down, as 
 Alessandro and Ramona had done on the morning 
 of their arrival, from the hill-crests at the west end of 
 the valley, seeing the broad belt of cultivated fields 
 and orchards, the peaceful little hamlet of houses, he 
 groaned. " If the people who make these 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, gallop 
 ing up on Benito, and reining 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, or worse ! I have been watch- 
 
RAMONA 133 
 
 ing for you these two days. Another American 
 has come in with Morong in the canon; they are 
 making corrals; they will keep stock. You will 
 see how long we have any pasture-lands in that 
 end of the valley. I drive all my stock to San 
 Diego next week. I will sell it 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-office authorities, Alessandro broke in 
 fiercely : " I wish to hear no more of it. 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 are waiting to hear 
 it, and who yet believe that an American may speak 
 truth ! " 
 
 Alessandro was as good as his word. The very 
 next week he drove all his cattle and sheep to San 
 Diego, and sold them at great loss. " It is better 
 than nothing," he said. " They will not now be 
 sold by the sheriff, like my father's in Temecula." 
 The money he got, he took to Father Gaspara. 
 " Father," he said huskily, " I have sold all my 
 stock. I would 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 we do not starve for one year. Will you keep 
 it for me, Father? I dare not have it in San Pas- 
 quale. San Pasquale will be like Temecula, it 
 may be to-morrow." 
 
134 RAMONA 
 
 To the Father's suggestion that he should put 
 the money in a bank in San Diego, Alessandro 
 cried : " Sooner would I throw it in the sea yonder ! 
 I trust 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 saw our 
 little house, Father ! " His voice broke as he said 
 this. " I have large wheat-fields ; if I can get one 
 more crop off them, it will be something; but my 
 land is of the richest in the valley, and as soon as 
 the Americans see it, they will want it. Farewell, 
 Father. I thank you for keeping my money, and 
 for all you said to the thief Morong. Ysidro told 
 me. Farewell." And he was gone, and out of 
 sight on the swift galloping Benito, before Father 
 Gaspara bethought himself. 
 
 " And I remembered not to ask who his wife 
 was. I will look back at the record," said the 
 Father. Taking down the old volume, he ran his 
 eye back over the year. Marriages were not so 
 many in Father Gaspara's parish, that the list took 
 long to read. The entry of Alessandro's marriage 
 was blotted. The Father had been in haste that 
 night. "Alessandro Assis. Majella Fa " No 
 more could be read. The name meant nothing to 
 Father Gaspara. " Clearly an Indian name," he said 
 
PLATE XIX 
 
 THE SOUTH VERANDA AT GUAJOME. 
 
 Compare with description of south veranda at Camulos. 
 
 
RAMONA 135 
 
 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 rains set in early, promising a 
 good grain year. It seemed a pity not to get in as 
 much wheat as possible; and all the San Pasquale 
 people went early to ploughing new fields, all 
 but Alessandro. 
 
 " If I reap all I have, I will thank the saints," he 
 said. " I will plough no more land for the robbers.' 1 
 But after his fields were all planted, and the bene 
 ficent rains still kept on, and the hills all along the 
 valley wall began to turn green earlier than ever 
 before was known, he said to Ramona one morn 
 ing, " I think I will make one more field of wheat. 
 There will be a great yield this year. Maybe we 
 will be left unmolested 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 my eyes as I may, on all sides 
 all is black. You will see. Never any more har 
 vests in San Pasquale for us, after this. If we get 
 this, we are lucky. I have seen the white men 
 riding up and down in the valley, and I found some 
 of their cursed bits of wood with figures on them 
 set up on 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 
 
136 RAMONA 
 
 it is, my - thoughts go against it even now. But 1 
 will do it; and I will not come home till night, 
 Majella, for the field is too far to go and come 
 twice. I shall be the whole day ploughing." So 
 saying, he stooped and kissed the baby, and then 
 kissing Ramona, went out. 
 
 Ramona stood at the door and watched him as 
 he harnessed Benito and Baba to the plough. He 
 did not once look back at her ; his face seemed full 
 of thought, his hands acting as it were mechanically. 
 After he had gone a few rods from the house, he 
 stopped, stood still for some minutes meditating, 
 then went on irresolutely, halted again, but finally 
 went on, and disappeared from sight among the 
 low foot-hills to the east. Sighing deeply, Ramona 
 turned back to her work. But her heart was too 
 disquieted. She could not keep back the tears. 
 
 " How changed is Alessandro ! " she thought. 
 " It terrifies me to see him thus. I will tell the 
 Blessed Virgin about it ; " and kneeling before the 
 shrine, she prayed fervently and long. She rose 
 comforted, and drawing the baby's cradle out into 
 the veranda, seated herself at her embroidery. Her 
 skill with her needle had proved a not inconsider 
 able source of income, her fine lace-work being 
 always taken by San Diego merchants, 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 moment she saw 
 
RAMONA 137 
 
 Alessandro approaching, with the horses. In dis 
 may, she thought, " There is no dinner ! He said 
 he would not come ! " and springing up, was about 
 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 talking earnestly. 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 the tule sheds in the 
 rear. He seemed to be talking excitedly; the 
 white man 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 said would come? Were they to 
 be driven out, driven out this very day, when the 
 Virgin had only just now seemed to promise her 
 help and protection? 
 
 The baby stirred, waked, began to cry. Catch 
 ing the child up to her breast, she stilled her by 
 convulsive caresses. Clasping her tight in her arms, 
 she walked a few steps towards Alessandro, who, 
 seeing her, made an imperative gesture to her to 
 return. Sick at heart, she went back to the veranda 
 and sat down to wait. 
 
 In a few moments she saw the white man count 
 ing out money into Alessandro's hand ; then he 
 turned and walked away, Alessandro still standing 
 as if rooted to the spot, gazing into the palm of 
 his hand, Benito and Baba slowly walking away from 
 
ij8 RAMONA 
 
 him unnoticed; at last he seemed to rouse himself 
 as from a trance, and picking up the horses' reins, 
 came slowly towards her. Again she started to meet 
 him; again he made the same authoritative gesture 
 to her to return ; and again she seated herself, 
 trembling in every nerve of her body. Ramona 
 was now sometimes afraid of Alessandro. When 
 these fierce glooms seized him, she dreaded, she 
 knew not what. He seemed no more the Ales 
 sandro she had loved. 
 
 Deliberately, lingeringly, he unharnessed the 
 horses and put them in the corral. Then still more 
 deliberately, lingeringly, he walked to the house; 
 walked, without speaking, past Ramona, into the 
 door. A lurid spot on each cheek showed burning 
 red through the bronze of his skin. His eyes glit 
 tered. In silence Ramona followed him, and saw 
 him draw from his pocket a handful of gold-pieces, 
 fling them on the table, and burst into a laugh more 
 terrible than any weeping, a laugh which wrung 
 from her instantly, involuntarily, the cry, " Oh, my 
 Alessandro! my Alessandro! What is it? Are 
 you mad ? " 
 
 " No, my sweet Majel," he exclaimed, turning to 
 her, and flinging his arms round her and the child 
 together, drawing them so close to his breast that 
 the embrace hurt, " no, I am not mad ; but I 
 think I shall soon be! What is that gold? The 
 price of this house, Majel, and of the fields, of 
 all that was ours in San Pasquale ! To-morrow we 
 
RAMONA 
 
 139 
 
 will go out into the world again. I will see if I can 
 find a place the Americans do not want ! " 
 
 It did not take many words to tell the story. 
 Alessandro had not been ploughing more than an 
 hour, when, hearing a strange sound, he looked up 
 and saw a man unloading lumber a few rods off. 
 Alessandro stopped midway in the furrow and 
 watched him. The man also watched Alessandro. 
 Presently he came towards him, and said roughly, 
 "Look here! Be off, will you? This is my land. 
 I 'm going to build a house here." 
 
 Alessandro had replied, " This was my land 
 yesterday. How comes it yours to-day?" 
 
 Something in the wording of this answer, or some 
 thing in Alessandro's tone and bearing, smote the 
 man's conscience, or heart, or what stood to him. 
 in the place of conscience and heart, and he said: 
 " Come, now', my good fellow, you look like a 
 reasonable kind of a fellow; you just clear out, 
 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 a circle; "three 
 hundred and twenty acres, me and my brother to 
 gether, and we're coming in here to settle. We 
 got our papers from Washington last week. It 's 
 all right, and you may just as well go peaceably, as 
 make a fuss 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 
 
1 40 RAMONA 
 
 over scenes similar to this. An almost preternatural 
 calm and wisdom seemed to be given him now. 
 
 " Yes, I see, Senor," he said. " I am not sur 
 prised. I knew it would come; but I hoped it 
 would not be till after harvest. I will not give you 
 any trouble, Senor, because I cannot. If I could, 
 I would. But I have heard all about the new law 
 which gives all the Indians' lands to the Americans. 
 We cannot help ourselves. But it is very hard, 
 Senor." He paused. 
 
 The man, confused and embarrassed, astonished 
 beyond expression at being met in this way by 
 an Indian, did not find words come ready to his 
 tongue. " Of course, I know it does seem a little 
 rough on fellows like you, that are industrious, and 
 have done some work on the land. But you see 
 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 to get them settled as 
 soon as I can. My wife won't feel comfortable till 
 she 's in her own house. We 're from the States, and 
 she 's been used to having everything comfortable." 
 
 " I have a wife and child, Senor," said Alessandro, 
 still in the same calm, deliberate tone ; " and we 
 have a very good house of two rooms. It would 
 save the Senor's building, if he would buy mine." 
 
 "How far is it?" said the man. "I can't tell 
 
RAMONA 141 
 
 exactly where the boundaries 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 I have 
 large wheat-fields there, too, many acres, Senor, 
 all planted." 
 
 Here was a chance, indeed. The man's eyes 
 gleamed. He would do the handsome thing. He 
 would give this fellow something for his house and 
 wheat-crops. First he would see the house, how 
 ever; and it was for that purpose he had walked 
 back with Alessandro. When he saw the neat 
 whitewashed adobe, with its broad veranda, the 
 sheds and corrals all in good order, he instantly 
 resolved to get possession of them by fair means 
 or foul. 
 
 " There will be three hundred dollars' worth of 
 wheat in July, Senor, you can see for yourself; and 
 a house so good as that, you cannot build for less 
 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. " You have n't got any rights here, 
 whatever, according to law." 
 
 " I shall hinder, Senor," replied Alessandro. " 1 
 shall burn down the sheds and corrals, tear down the 
 
RAMONA 
 
 house; and before a blade of the wheat is reaped^ 
 I will burn that." Still in the same calm tone. 
 
 " What Ml you take ? " said the man, sullenly. 
 
 " Two hundred dollars," replied Alessandro. 
 
 " Well, leave your plough and wagon, and I '11 
 give it to you," said the man ; " and a big fool I 
 am, too. Well laughed at, I '11 be, do you know it, 
 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 
 to take away my things in. The plough you may 
 have. That is worth twenty." 
 
 " I '11 do it," said the man ; and pulling out a 
 heavy buckskin pouch, he counted out into Ales- 
 sandro'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 Ales 
 sandro. " To-morrow, at noon, you can come into 
 the house." 
 
 "Where will you go?" asked the man, again 
 slightly touched by Alessandro's manner. "Why 
 don't you stay round here? I expect you could 
 get work enough ; there are a lot of farmers com 
 ing in here; they'll want hands." 
 
 A fierce torrent of words sprang to Alessandro's 
 lips, but he choked them back. " I do not know 
 where I shall go, but I will not stay here," he said; 
 and that ended the interview. 
 
RAM ON A 143 
 
 " I don't know as I blame him a mite for feeling 
 that way," thought the man from the States, as he 
 walked slowly back to his pile of lumber. " I expect 
 I should feel just so myself." 
 
 Almost before Alessandro had finished this tale, he 
 began to move about the room, taking down, folding 
 up, opening and shutting lids ; his restlessness was ter 
 rible 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 word since her 
 first cry on hearing that terrible laugh. She was like 
 one stricken dumb. The shock was greater to her 
 than to Alessandro. He had lived with it ever pres 
 ent in his thoughts for a year. She had always hoped. 
 But far more dreadful than the loss of her home, was 
 the anguish of seeing, hearing, the changed face, 
 changed voice, of Alessandro. Almost this swallowed 
 up the other. She obeyed him mechanically, work 
 ing faster and faster as he grew more and more fev 
 erish 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 
 A-lessandro. 
 
 " Where are we going? " said the weeping Ramona. 
 
 "Where?" ejaculated Alessandro, so scornfully 
 that it sounded like impatience with Ramona, and 
 made her tears flow afresh. "Where? I know not, 
 Majella ! Into the mountains, where the white men 
 come not ! At sunrise we will start." 
 
144 RAMONA 
 
 Ramona wished to say good-by to their friends. 
 There were women in the village that she tenderly 
 loved. But Alessandro was unwilling. " There will 
 be weeping and crying, Majella ; I pray you do not 
 speak to one. Why should 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 she could not dis 
 tress 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 was heavy. Benito and Baba walked slowly. 
 Capitan, unhappy, looking first at Ramona'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 a northeasterly direction, 
 Ramona said with a sob, " Where does this road 
 lead, Alessandro?" 
 
 " To San Jacinto," he said. " San Jacinto Moun 
 tain. Do not look back, Majella ! Do not look 
 back ! " he cried, as he saw Ramona, with streaming 
 eyes, gazing back towards San Pasquale. " Do not 
 look back ! It is gone ! Pray to the saints now. 
 Majella! Pray! Pray!" 
 
XXI 
 
 / TT V HE Senora Moreno was dying. It had been a 
 * sad two years in the Moreno house. After 
 the first excitement following Ramona's departure 
 had died away, things had settled down in a sur 
 face similitude of their old routine. 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 very Mexican whose coming to the 
 place he had dreaded. The sheep had not done 
 well ; there had been a drought ; many had died of 
 hunger, a thing for which the new Mexican over 
 seer was not to blame, though it pleased Juan to 
 hold him so, and to say from morning till night 
 VOL. n. 10 
 
146 RAMONA 
 
 that if his leg had not been broken, or if the lad 
 Alessandro had been there, the wool-crop would have 
 been as big as ever. Not one of the servants liked 
 this Mexican ; he had a sorry time of it, poor fellow ; 
 each man and woman on the place had or fancied 
 some reason for being set against him; some from 
 sympathy with Juan Can, some from idleness and 
 general impatience; Margarita, most of all, because 
 he was not Alessandro. Margarita, between re 
 morse about her young mistress and pique and dis 
 appointment about Alessandro, had become a very 
 unhappy girl ; and her mother, instead of comforting 
 or soothing her, added to her misery by continually 
 bemoaning Ramona's fate. The void that Ramona 
 had left in the whole household seemed an irrepar 
 able one ; nothing came to fill it ; there was no for 
 getting ; 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 felt sure. Very well Juan 
 Can knew that nobody but Alessandro had the wit 
 and the power over Baba to lure him out of that 
 corral, " and never a rail out of its place." And the 
 saddle, too ! Ay, the smart lad ! He had done the 
 best he could for the Senorita ; but, Holy Virgin ! 
 what had got into the Senorita to run off like that, 
 with an Indian. even Alessandro ! The fiends had 
 
RAMONA 147 
 
 bewitched her. Tirelessly Juan Can questioned every 
 traveller, every wandering herder he saw. No one 
 knew anything of Alessandro, beyond the fact that 
 all the Temecula Indians had been driven out of 
 their village, and that there was now not an Indian 
 in the valley. There was a rumor that Alessandro 
 and his father had both died; but no one knew 
 anything certainly. The Temecula Indians had dis 
 appeared, that was all there was of it, disappeared, 
 like any wild creatures, foxes or coyotes; hunted 
 down, driven out; the valley was rid of them. But 
 the Senorita ! She was not with these fugitives. 
 That could not be ! Heaven forbid ! 
 
 " If I'd my legs, I 'd go and see for myself! " said 
 Juan Can. " It would be some comfort to know 
 even the worst. Perdition take the Senora, who 
 drove her to it ! Ay, drove her to it ! That 's what 
 I say, Luigo." In some of his most venturesome 
 wrathy moments he would say : " There 's none of 
 you know the truth about the Senorita but me ! 
 It 's a hard hand the Senora 's reared her with, from 
 the first. She 's a wonderful woman, our Senora ! 
 She gets power over one." 
 
 But the Senora's power was shaken now. More 
 changed than all else in the changed Moreno house 
 hold, was the relation between the Senora Moreno 
 and her son Felipe. On the morning after Ramona's 
 disappearance, words had been spoken by each 
 which neither would ever forget. In fact, the Senora 
 believed that it was of them she was dying, and 
 
148 RAMONA 
 
 perhaps that was not far from the truth ; the reason 
 that forces could no longer rally in her to repel 
 disease, lying no doubt largely in the fact that to 
 live seemed no longer to her desirable. 
 
 Felipe had found the note Ramona had laid on his 
 bed. Before it was yet dawn he had waked, and 
 tossing uneasily under the light covering had heard 
 the rustle of the paper, and knowing instinctively 
 that it was from Ramona, had risen instantly to make 
 sure of it. Before his mother opened her window, 
 he had read it. He felt like one bereft of his senses 
 as he read. Gone ! Gone with Alessandro ! Stolen 
 away like a thief in the night, his dear, sweet little 
 sister ! Ah, what a cruel shame ! Scales seemed to 
 drop from Felipe's eyes as he lay motionless, think 
 ing of it. A shame ! a cruel shame ! And he and 
 his mother were the ones who had brought it on 
 Ramona' s head, and on the house of Moreno. Fe 
 lipe felt as 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 to 
 running away ! Oh, my sweet Ramona ! what will 
 become of her? I will go after them, and bring 
 them back ; " and Felipe rose, and hastily dressing 
 himself, ran down the veranda steps, to gain a 
 little more time to think. 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 
 
RAMONA 
 
 149 
 
 what I told you we should do, drive her to running 
 away with Alessandro ! " 
 
 " With Alessandro ! " interrupted the Senora. 
 
 " Yes," continued Felipe, " with Alessandro, the 
 Indian ! Perhaps you think it is less disgrace to the 
 names of Ortegna and Moreno to have her run away 
 with him, than to be married to him here under our 
 roof! I do not! Curse the day, I say, when I ever 
 lent myself to breaking the girl's heart ! I am going 
 after them, to fetch them back ! " 
 
 If the skies had opened and rained fire, the Senora 
 had hardly less quailed and wondered than she did 
 at these words ; but even for fire from the 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 holding up his little note. " She left this, 
 her good-by to me. Bless her ! She writes like a 
 saint, to thank me for all my goodness to her, I, 
 who drove her to steal out of my house like a thief! " 
 
 The phrase, " my house," smote the Senora' s ear 
 like a note from some other sphere, which indeed it 
 was, from the new world into which Felipe had 
 been in an hour born. Her cheeks flushed, and she 
 opened her lips to reply ; but before she had uttered 
 a word, Luigo came running round the corner, Juan 
 Can hobbling after him at a miraculous pace on his 
 crutches. " Senor Felipe! Senor Felipe! Oh, Se 
 nora ! " they cried. " Thieves have been here in 
 
RAMONA 
 
 the night ! Baba is gone, Baba, and the Seiiorita's 
 saddle." 
 
 A malicious smile broke over the Senora's counte 
 nance, and turning to Felipe, she said in a tone 
 what a tone it was ! Felipe felt as if he must put 
 his hands to his ears to shut it out; Felipe would 
 never forget, " As you were saying, like a thief in 
 the night ! " 
 
 With a swifter and more energetic movement than 
 any had ever before seen Senior Felipe make, he 
 stepped forward, saying in an undertone to his 
 mother, " For God's sake, mother, not a word before 
 the men! What is that you say, Luigo? Baba 
 gone? We must see to our corral. I will come 
 down, after breakfast, and look at it; " and turning 
 his back on them, he drew 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 no man, 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 the Senora, at white heat. " You 
 may rear as many Indian families as you please 
 under the Moreno roof, I will at least have my 
 grave ! " In spite of her anger, grief convulsed her ; 
 and in another second she had burst into tears, and 
 sunk helpless and trembling into a chair. No coun- 
 
RAMONA 151 
 
 terfeiting now. No pretences. The Senora Moreno's 
 heart broke within her, when those words passed her 
 lips to her adored Felipe. At the sight, Felipe flung 
 himself on his knees before her; he kissed the aged 
 hands as they lay trembling in her lap. " Mother 
 mia," he cried, " you will break my heart if you 
 speak like that ! Oh, why, why do you command 
 me to do what a man may not? I would die for 
 you, my mother; but how can I see my sister a 
 homeless wanderer in the wilderness ? " 
 
 " I suppose the man Alessandro has something he 
 calls a home," said the Senora, regaining herself a 
 little. " Had they no plans? Spoke she not in 
 her 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 was that this would be the best 
 possible thing which could happen. 
 
 " Father Salvierderra will counsel them what to 
 do," she said. " He could no doubt establish them 
 in Santa Barbara in some way. My son, when you 
 reflect, you will see the impossibility of bringing 
 them here. Help them in any way you like, but do 
 not bring them here." She paused. " Not until I 
 am dead, Felipe ! It will not be long." 
 
 Felipe bowed his head in his mother's lap. She laid 
 her hands on his hair, and stroked it with passionate 
 tenderness. " My Felipe ! " she said. " It was a 
 cruel fate to rob me of you at the last ! " 
 
152 RAMONA 
 
 " Mother ! mother ! " he cried in anguish. " I am 
 yours, wholly, devotedly yours ! Why do you 
 torture me thus ? " 
 
 " I will not torture you more," she said wearily, 
 in a feeble tone. " I ask only one thing of you ; let 
 me never hear again the name of that wretched girl, 
 who has brought all this woe on our house ; let her 
 name never be spoken on this place by man, woman, 
 or child. Like a thief in the night ! Ay, a horse- 
 thief! " 
 
 Felipe sprang to his feet. 
 
 " Mother ! " he said, " Baba was Ramona's own ; I 
 myself gave him to her as soon as he was born ! " 
 
 The Senora made no reply. She had fainted. 
 Calling the maids, in terror and sorrow Felipe bore 
 her to her bed, and she did not leave it for many 
 days. She seemed hovering between life and death. 
 Felipe watched over her as a lover might ; her great 
 mournful eyes followed his every motion. She spoke 
 little, partly because of physical weakness, partly 
 from despair. The Senora had got her death-blow. 
 She would die hard. It would take long. Yet she 
 was dying, and she knew it. 
 
 Felipe did not know it. When he saw her going 
 about again, with a step only a little slower than 
 before, and with a countenance not so much changed 
 as he had feared, he thought she would be well again, 
 after a time. And now he would go in search of 
 Ramona. How he hoped he should find them in 
 Santa Barbara ! He must leave them there, or wher- 
 
RAMONA 153 
 
 ever he should find them ; never again would he for 
 a moment contemplate the possibility of bringing 
 them home with him. But he would see them ; help 
 them, if need be. Ramona should not feel herself 
 an outcast, so long as he lived. 
 
 When he said, agitatedly, to his mother, one night, 
 " You are so strong now, mother, I think I will take 
 a journey ; I will not be away long, 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 journey must 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 set off before sunrise, so I will say 
 farewell to-night." 
 
 But in the morning, at his first step, his mother's win 
 dow opened, and there she stood, wan, speechless, look 
 ing at him. ' " You must go, my son ? " she asked at last. 
 
 " I must, mother ! " and Felipe threw his arms 
 around her, and kissed her again and again. " Dear 
 est mother ! Do smile ! Can you not?" 
 
 " No, my son, I cannot. Farewell. The saints 
 keep you. Farewell." And she turned, that she 
 might not see him go. 
 
 Felipe rode away with a sad heart, but his pur 
 pose did not falter. Following straight down the 
 river road to the sea, he then kept up along the 
 coast, asking here and there, cautiously, if persons 
 answering to the description of Alessandro and Ra 
 
154 RAMONA 
 
 mona had been seen. No one had seen any such 
 persons. 
 
 When, on the night of the second day, he rode up 
 to the Santa Barbara Mission, the first figure he saw 
 was the venerable Father Salvierderra sitting in the 
 corridor. As Felipe approached, the old man's face 
 beamed with pleasure, and he came forward totter- 
 ;ngly, leaning on a staff in each hand. " Welcome, 
 my son!" he said. " Are all well? You find me 
 very feeble just now; my legs are failing me sorely 
 this autumn." 
 
 Dismay seized on Felipe at the Father's first words. 
 He would not have spoken thus, had he seen Ramona. 
 Barely replying to the greeting, Felipe exclaimed : 
 " Father, I come seeking Ramona. Has she not 
 been with you ? " 
 
 Father Salvierderra's face was reply to the ques 
 tion. " Ramona ! " he cried. " Seeking Ramona ! 
 What has befallen the blessed child?" 
 
 It was a bitter story for Felipe to tell ; but he told 
 it, sparing himself no shame. He would have suf 
 fered less in the telling, had he known how well 
 Father Salvierderra understood his mother's char 
 acter, and her almost unlimited power over all 
 persons around her. Father Salvierderra was not 
 shocked at the news of Ramona's attachment for 
 Alessandro. He regretted it, but he did not think 
 it shame, as the Senora had done. As Felipe talked 
 with him, he perceived even more clearly how bitter 
 and unjust his mother had been to Alessandro. 
 
RAMONA 155 
 
 " He is a noble young man," said Father Salvier- 
 derra. " His father was one of 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 yet come. When you find them, bear them 
 my blessing, and say that I wish they would come 
 hither. I would like to give them my blessing 
 before I die. Felipe, I shall never leave Santa Bar 
 bara again. My time draws near." 
 
 Felipe was so full of impatience to continue his 
 search, that he hardly listened to the Father's words. 
 " I will not tarry," he said. " I cannot rest 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 the Father. "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 bewilderment and pain. He was wholly at 
 loss to conjecture what course Alessandro and Ra- 
 mona had taken, or what could have led them to 
 abandon their intention of going to Father Salvier- 
 derra. Temecula seemed the only place, now, to look 
 for them ; and yet from Temecula Felipe had heard, 
 only a few days before 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 
 as the clew seemed, it was all he had. Cruelly 
 Felipe urged his horse on his return journey. He 
 grudged an hour's rest to himself or to the beast; 
 
156 RAMONA 
 
 and before he reached the head of the Temecula 
 canon the creature was near spent. At the steepest 
 part he jumped off and walked, to save her strength. 
 As he was toiling slowly up a narrow, rocky pass, he 
 suddenly saw an Indian's head peering over the 
 ledge. He made signs to him to come down. The 
 Indian turned his head, and spoke to some one 
 behind ; one after another a score of figures rose. 
 They made signs to Felipe to come up. " Poor 
 things ! " he thought ; " they are afraid." He 
 shouted to them that his horse was too tired to 
 climb that wall; but if they 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 held up the 
 gold again, and beckoned. As soon as they could 
 see his face distinctly, they broke into a run. That 
 was no enemy's face. 
 
 Only one of the number could speak Spanish. 
 On hearing this man's reply to Felipe's first question, 
 a woman, who had listened sharply and caught the 
 word Alessandro, came forward, and spoke rapidly in 
 the Indian tongue. 
 
 " 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." 
 
RAMONA 157 
 
 A convulsion passed over Felipe's face. " Alone ! " 
 What did this mean? He reflected. The woman 
 watched him. " Is she sure he was alone ; there was 
 no one with him? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Was he riding a big black horse? " 
 
 " No, a white horse," answered the woman, 
 promptly. " A small white horse." 
 
 It was Carmena, every nerve of her loyal nature 
 on the alert to baffle this pursuer of Alessandro and 
 Ramona. Again Felipe reflected. " Ask her if 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 of his heart, he tossed 
 
158 RAMONA 
 
 the man a gold-piece ; another to the woman. " 1 
 am sorry," he said. " Alessandro was my friend 
 I wanted to see him ; " and he rode away, Carmena's 
 eyes following him with a covert gleam of triumph. 
 
 When these last words of his were interpreted 
 to her, she started, made as if she would run aftei 
 him, but checked herself. " No," she thought. " II 
 may be a lie. He may be an enemy, for all that. ] 
 will not tell. Alessandro wished not to be found, 
 I will not tell." 
 
 And thus vanished the last chance of succor foi 
 Ramona; vanished in a moment; blown like a 
 thistle-down on a chance breath, the breath of a 
 loyal, loving friend, speaking a lie to save her. 
 
 Distraught with grief, Felipe returned home. Ra 
 mona had been very ill when she left home. Had 
 she died, and been buried by the lonely, sorrowing 
 Alessandro? And was that the reason Alessandro 
 \vas going away to the North, never to return ? Fool 
 that he was, to have shrunk from speaking 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 never cease searching till he had 
 found either Ramona or her grave. But when Felipe 
 entered his mother's presence, his first look in her 
 face told him that he would not leave her side again 
 until he had laid her at rest in the tomb. 
 
 " Thank God ! you have come, Felipe," she said in 
 a feeble voice. " I had begun to fear you would not 
 come in time to say farewell to me. I am going to 
 
RAMONA 159 
 
 leave you, my son ; " and the tears rolled down her 
 cheeks. 
 
 Though she no longer wished to live, neither did 
 she wish to die, this poor, proud, passionate, de 
 feated, bereft Senora. All the consolations of her 
 religion seemed to fail her. She had prayed inces 
 santly, but got no peace. She fixed her imploring 
 eyes on the Virgin's face and on the saints; but all 
 seemed to her to wear a forbidding look. " If Father 
 Salvierderra would only come ! " she groaned. " He 
 could give me peace. If only I can live till he comes 
 again ! " 
 
 When Felipe told her of the old man's feeble state, 
 and that he would never 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 
 wished to put into his hands the Ortegna jewels. 
 What would become of them ? To whom should she 
 transfer the charge? Was there a secular priest 
 within reach that she could trust? When her sister 
 had said, in her instructions, " the Church," she 
 meant, as the Senora Moreno well knew, the Fran 
 ciscans. The Senora dared not consult Felipe ; yet 
 she must. Day by day these fretting anxieties and 
 perplexities wasted her strength, and her fever grew 
 higher and higher. She asked no questions as to the 
 result of Felipe's journey, and he dared not mention 
 Ramona's name. At last he could bear it no longer, 
 and one day said, " Mother, I found no trace of 
 Ramona. I have not the least idea where she is, 
 
160 RAMONA 
 
 The Father had not seen her or heard of her. I 
 fear she is dead." 
 
 " Better so," was the Senora's sole reply ; and she 
 fell again into still deeper, more perplexed thought 
 about the hidden treasure. Each day she resolved, 
 " 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 found herself dying. Father Sal- 
 vierderra might yet come once more, and then 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 was empowered to 
 hire a litter and four men to bring the Father gently 
 and carefully all the way. But when the messenger 
 reached Santa Barbara, Father Salvierderra was too 
 feeble to be moved; too feeble even to write. He 
 could write only by amanuensis, and wrote, therefore, 
 guardedly, sending her his blessing, and saying that 
 he hoped her foster-child might yet be restored to 
 the keeping of her friends. The Father had been in 
 sore straits of mind, as month after month had 
 passed without tidings of his " blessed child." 
 
 Soon after this came the news that the Father was 
 dead. This dealt the Senora a terrible blow. She 
 never left her bed after it. And so the year had worn 
 on ; and Felipe, mourning over his sinking and failing 
 mother, and haunted by terrible fears about the lost 
 Ramona, had been tortured indeed. 
 
 But the end drew near, now. The Senora was 
 plainly dying. The Ventura doctor had left off 
 
PLATE XX 
 
 THE INNER COURT AT GUAJOME FROM THE ROOF-TOP. 
 
 Note the quadrangle which does not in any way agree with descrip 
 tion of the Inner Court. At Guajome the court is a quadrangle with 
 verandas along the four sides. Page 26, Vol. I. 
 
RAMONA 161 
 
 coming, saying that he could do no more ; nothing 
 remained but to give her w>at ease was possible ; 
 in a day or two more all would be over. Felipe 
 hardly left her bedside. Rarely was mother so loved 
 and nursed by son. No daughter could have shown 
 more tenderness and devotion. In the close relation 
 and affection of these last days, the sense of aliena 
 tion and antagonism faded from both their hearts. 
 
 " My adorable Felipe ! " she would murmur. 
 " What a son hast thou been ! " And, " My be 
 loved mother ! How shall I give you up ? " Felipe 
 would reply, bowing his head on her hands, so 
 wasted now, so white, so weak; those hands which 
 had been cruel and strong little more than one short 
 year ago. Ah, no one could refuse to forgive the 
 Senora now ! The gentle Ramona, had she seen her, 
 had wept tears of pity. Her eyes wore at times a 
 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 with difficulty roused 
 from a long fainting ; one more such would be the 
 last, she knew, knew even better than those around 
 her. As she regained consciousness, 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 out 
 side ; " and he closed the door on them. Even then 
 the Senora hesitated. Almost was she ready to go 
 
 VOL. II. IX 
 
162 RAMONA 
 
 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, saw with the terrible, re 
 lentless clear-sightedness of death, would make him, 
 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 statue of Saint Catharine, whose face 
 seemed, she thought, to frown unforgiving upon 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 carry the secret to the grave ? to be de 
 nied this late avowal? "No! no! Felipe there is 
 a door there secret door. Look ! Open ! I must 
 tell you ! " 
 
 Hastily Felipe moved the statue. There was indeed 
 the door, as she had said. 
 
 " 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 upright in the 
 bed, her right arm outstretched, her hand pointing to 
 the door, her eyes in a glassy stare, her face con 
 vulsed. Before a cry could pass his lips, she had 
 fallen back. The Senora Moreno was dead. 
 
 At Felipe's cry, the women waiting in the hall 
 hurried in, wailing aloud as their first glance showed 
 them all was over. In the confusion, Felipe, with a 
 
RAMONA 163 
 
 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 died with that look 
 of anguished terror in her eyes? All through the 
 sad duties of the next four days Felipe was conscious 
 of the undercurrent of this premonition. The funeral 
 ceremonies were impressive. The little chapel could 
 not hold the quarter part of those who came, from 
 far and near. Everybody wished to do honor to the 
 Senora Moreno. A priest from Ventura and one 
 from San Luis Obispo were there. When all was 
 done, they bore the Senora to the little graveyard on 
 the hillside, and laid her by the side of her husband 
 and her children ; silent and still at last, the restless, 
 passionate, proud, sad heart ! When, the night after 
 the funeral, the servants saw Senor Felipe going into 
 his mother's room, they shuddered, and whispered, 
 " Oh, he must not ! He will break his heart, Senor 
 Felipe ! How he loved her ! " 
 
 Old Marda ventured to follow him, and at the 
 threshold said : " Dear Senor Felipe, 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 buried his mother again. Well 
 might the Senora have dreaded to tell to Felipe 
 the tale of the Ortegna treasure. Until he reached 
 
164 RAMONA 
 
 the bottom of the jewel-box, and found the Senora 
 Ortegna's letter to his mother, he was in entire 
 bewilderment at all he saw. After he had read this 
 letter, he sat motionless for a long time, his head 
 buried in his hands. His soul was wrung. 
 
 " And she thought that shame, and not this ! " he 
 said bitterly. 
 
 But one thing remained for Felipe now. If Ra- 
 mona lived, he would find her, and restore to her 
 this her rightful property. If she were dead, it 
 must 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 his mother now, was no resurrection. 
 
 Replacing everything as before in the safe hiding- 
 place, he sat down and wrote a letter to the Superior 
 of the Santa Barbara College, telling him of the 
 existence of these valuables, which in certain contin 
 gencies would belong to the College. Early in the 
 morning he gave this letter to Juan Canito, saying: 
 " I am going away, Juan, on a journey. If anything 
 happens to me, and I do not return, send this letter 
 by trusty messenger to 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 ; it may be long. I leave every 
 thing in your care. You will do all according to 
 
RAMONA 165 
 
 your best judgment, I know. I will say to all that 
 I have left you in charge." 
 
 " Thanks, Senor Felipe ! Thanks ! " exclaimed Juan, 
 happier than he had been for two years. "Indeed, 
 you may trust me ! From the time you were a boy 
 till now, I have had no thought except for your 
 house." 
 
 Even in heaven the Senora Moreno had felt woe 
 as if in hell, had she known the thoughts with which 
 her Felipe galloped this morning out of the gate 
 way through which, only the day before, he had 
 walked weeping behind her body borne to burial. 
 
 " And she thought this no shame to the house of 
 Moreno ! " he said. " My God ! " 
 
XXII 
 
 TP\URING the first day of Ramona's and Alessan- 
 -^ dro's sad journey they scarcely spoke. Ales- 
 sandro walked at the horses' heads, his face sunk on 
 his breast, his eyes fixed on the ground. Ramona 
 watched him in anxious fear. Even the baby's voice 
 and cooing laugh won from him no response. After 
 they were camped for the night, she said, " Dear 
 Alessandro, will you not tell me where we are 
 going?" 
 
 In spite of her gentleness, there was a shade of 
 wounded feeling in her tone. Alessandro flung him 
 self on his knees before her, and cried : " My Majella ! 
 my Majella ! it seems to me I am going mad ! I can- 
 
RAMONA 167 
 
 not tell what to do. I do not know what I think ; all 
 my thoughts seem whirling round as leaves do in 
 brooks in the time of the spring rains. Do you 
 think I can 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 live with the 
 Indians any more. You could get work there. You 
 could play at dances sometimes; there must be 
 plenty of work. I could get more sewing to do, too. 
 It would be better, I think." 
 
 He looked horror-stricken at the thought. " Go 
 live among the white people ! " he cried. " What 
 does Majella think would become of one Indian, or 
 two, alone among whites? If they will come to our 
 villages and drive us 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 Bernardino and other places," she per 
 sisted. " Why could not we do as they do? " 
 
 " Yes," he said bitterly, " at work for whites ; so 
 they are ! Majella has not seen. No man will pay 
 an Indian but half wages; even long ago, when the 
 Fathers were not all gone, and tried to help the In 
 dians, my father has told me that it was the way 
 only to pay an Indian one-half that a white man or 
 a Mexican had. It was the Mexicans, too, did that, 
 Majella. And now they pay the Indians in money 
 
168 RAMONA 
 
 sometimes, half wages; sometimes in bad flour, or 
 things he does not want; sometimes in whiskey; 
 and if he will not take it, and asks for his money, 
 they laugh, and tell him to go, then. One man in 
 San Bernardino last year, when an Indian would not 
 take a bottle of sour wine for pay for a day's work, 
 shot him in the cheek with his pistol, and told him to 
 mind how he was insolent any more ! Oh, Majella, 
 do not ask me to go work in the towns ! I should 
 kill some man, Majella, if I saw things like that." 
 
 Ramona shuddered, and was silent. Alessandro 
 continued : " If Majella would not be afraid, I know 
 a place, high up on the mountain, where no white 
 man has ever been, or ever will be. I found it when 
 I was following 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 green 
 valley. We could live there; but it would be no 
 more than to live ; it is very small, the valley. Ma 
 jella 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 there no other 
 Indian village you know?" 
 
 " There is Saboba," he said, " at foot of the San 
 Jacinto Mountain ; I had thought of that. Some of 
 my people went there from Temecula; but it is a 
 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. There was a kind, good 
 
KAMONA 169 
 
 old man who owned all that valley, Senor Ravallo ; 
 he found the village of Saboba there when he came 
 t.^ the country. It is one of the very oldest of all; 
 he was good to all Indians, and he said they should 
 never be disturbed, never. He is dead; but his 
 three sons have the estate yet, and I think they 
 would keep their father's promise to the Indians. 
 But you see, to-morrow, Majella, they may die, or 
 go back to Mexico, as Senor Valdez did, and then 
 the Americans will get it, as they did Temecula. 
 And there are already white men living in the val 
 ley. We will go that way, Majella. Majella shall 
 see. If she says stay, we will stay." 
 
 It was in the early afternoon that they entered 
 the broad valley of San Jacinto. They entered it 
 from the west. As they came in, though the sky 
 over their heads was overcast and gray, the eastern 
 and northeastern part of the valley was flooded with 
 a strange light, at once ruddy and golden. It was a 
 glorious sight. The jagged tops and spurs of San 
 Jacinto Mountain -shone like the turrets and pos 
 terns of a citadel built of rubies. The glow seemed 
 preternatural. 
 
 " Behold San Jacinto ! " cried Alessandro. 
 
 Ramona exclaimed in delight. " It is an omen ! " 
 she said. " We are going into the sunlight, out ol 
 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 ! " 
 
170 RAMONA 
 
 Indeed it did. Even as he spoke, a fierce wind 
 blew from the north, and tearing off fleeces from the 
 black cloud, sent them in scurrying masses across 
 the sky. In a moment more, snow-flakes began to 
 fall. 
 
 " Holy Virgin ! " cried Alessandro. Too well he 
 knew what it meant. He urged the horses, running 
 fast beside them. It was of no use. Too much 
 even for Baba and Benito to make any haste, with 
 the heavily loaded wagon. 
 
 " There is an old sheep-corral and a hut not over 
 a mile farther, if we could but reach it ! " groaned 
 Alessandro. " Majella, you and the child will 
 freeze." 
 
 " She is warm on my breast," said Ramona ; " but, 
 Alessandro, what ice in this wind ! It is like a 
 knife at my back ! " 
 
 Alessandro uttered another ejaculation of dismay. 
 The snow was fast thickening ; already the track was 
 covered. The wind lessened. 
 
 "Thank God, that wind no longer cuts as it did," 
 .said Ramona, her teeth chattering, clasping the baby 
 closer and closer. 
 
 " I would rather it blew than not," said Alessan 
 dro ; " it will carry the snow before it. A little more 
 of this, and we cannot see, any more than in the 
 night." 
 
 Still thicker and faster fell the snow ; the air was 
 d^nse ; it was, as Alessandro had said, worse than 
 the darkness of night, this strange opaque white- 
 
RAMONA 171 
 
 ness, thick, choking, freezing one's breath. Presently 
 the rough jolting of the wagon showed that they 
 were off the road. The horses 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 back into 
 the road, and led him along. It was terrible. Ra- 
 mona's heart sank within her. She felt her arms 
 growing numb ; how much longer could she hold 
 the baby safe ? She called to Alessandro. He did 
 not hear her ; the wind had risen again ; the snow 
 was being blown in masses ; it was like making head 
 way among whirling snow-drifts. 
 
 " We will die," thought Ramona. " Perhaps it is 
 as well ! " And that was the last she knew, till she 
 heard a shouting, and found herself being shaken 
 and beaten, and heard a strange voice saying, " Sorry 
 ter handle yer so rough, ma'am, but we Ve got ter 
 git yer out ter the fire ! " 
 
 " Fire ! " Were there such things as fire and 
 warmth? Mechanically she put the baby into the 
 unknown arms that were reaching up to her, and tried 
 to rise from her seat ; but she could not move. 
 
 " Set still ! set still ! " said the strange voice. " I '11 
 jest carry the baby ter my wife, an' come back fur 
 you. I allowed yer couldn't git up on yer feet; " 
 and the tall form disappeared. The baby, thus 
 vigorously disturbed from her warm sleep, began to 
 cry. 
 
172 RAMONA 
 
 " Thank God ! " said Alessandro, at the plunging 
 horses' heads. " The child is alive ! Majella ! " he 
 called. 
 
 " Yes, Alessandro," she answered faintly, the gusts 
 sweeping her voice like a distant echo past him. 
 
 It was a marvellous rescue. They had been nearer 
 the old sheep-corral than Alessandro had thought; 
 but except that other storm-beaten travellers 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 our troubles," 
 he saw a faint light to the left. Instantly he had 
 turned the horses' heads towards it. The ground 
 was rough and broken, and more than once he had 
 been in danger of overturning the wagon ; but he 
 had pressed on, shouting at intervals for help. At 
 last his call was answered, and another light ap 
 peared; this time a swinging one, coming slowly 
 towards him, a lantern, in the hand of a man, 
 whose first words, " Wall, stranger, I allow yer inter 
 trouble," were as intelligible to Alessandro as 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 thun 
 der ! " thought Jeff Hyer to himself. " Blamed ef I 'd 
 lived in a country all my life, ef I would n't know 
 better 'n to git caught out in such weather 's this ! " 
 And as he put the crying babe into his wife's 
 
RAMONA 173 
 
 arms, he said half impatiently, " Ef I 'd knowed 
 'twuz Mexicans, Ri, I wouldn't ev' gone out ter 
 'urn. They 're more ter hum 'n I am, 'n these yer 
 tropicks." 
 
 " Naow, Jeff, yer know yer would n't let ennythin' 
 in shape ev a human creetur go perishin' past aour 
 fire sech weather 's this," replied the woman, as she 
 took the baby, which recognized the motherly hand 
 at its first touch, and ceased crying. 
 
 " Why, yer pooty, blue-eyed little thing ! " she 
 exclaimed, as she looked into the baby's face. " I 
 declar, Jos, think o' sech a mite 's this bein' aout 'n 
 this weather. I '11 jest warm up some milk for it 
 this minnit." 
 
 " Better see t' th' mother fust, Ri," said Jeff, lead 
 ing, 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 for Ramona 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 the corner of the hut, lay a young man 
 apparently about twenty-five, whose bright eyes and 
 flushed cheeks told but too plainly the story of his 
 disease. The woman, tall, ungainly, her face gaunt, 
 her hands hardened and wrinkled, gown ragged, 
 shoes ragged, her dry and broken light hair wound 
 in a careless, straggling knot in her neck, wisps of it 
 flying over her forehead, was certainly not a pre 
 possessing figure. Yet spite of her careless, unkempt 
 
RAMONA 
 
 condition, there was a certain gentle dignity in her 
 bearing, and a kindliness in her glance, which won 
 trust and warmed hearts at once. Her pale blue 
 eyes were still keen-sighted ; and as she fixed them 
 on Ramona, she thought to herself, " This ain't no 
 common Mexican, no how." " Be ye movers?" she 
 said. 
 
 Ramona stared. In the little English she knew, 
 that word was not included. " Ah, Senora," she said 
 regretfully, "I cannot talk in the English speech; 
 only in Spanish." 
 
 "Spanish, eh? Yer mean Mexican? Jos, hyar, he 
 kin talk thet. He can't talk much, though : 't ain't 
 good fur him ; his lungs is out er kilter. Thet 's what 
 we 're bringin' him hyar fur, fur warm climate ! 
 'pears like it, don't it?" and she chuckled grimly, 
 but with a side glance of ineffable tenderness at the 
 sick man. " Ask her who they be, Jos," she added. 
 
 Jos lifted himself on his elbow, and fixing his shin 
 ing 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 are Indians." 
 
 " Injuns ! " ejaculated Jos's mother. " Lord save 
 us, Jos! Hev we reelly took in Injuns? What on 
 airth Well, well, she 's fond uv her baby 's enny 
 white woman ! I kin see thet ; an', Injun or no Injun, 
 they Ve got to stay naow. Yer could n't turn a dog 
 out 'n sech weather 's this. I bet thet baby's father 
 wuz white, then. Look at them blue eyes." 
 
RAMONA 175 
 
 Ramona listened and looked intently, but could 
 understand nothing. Almost she doubted if the 
 woman were really speaking English. She had never 
 before heard so many English sentences without 
 being able to understand one word. The Tennessee 
 drawl so altered even the commonest words, 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 it tire you to interpret 
 to me what your mother said ? " 
 
 Jos was as full of humor as his mother. " She 
 wants me to tell her what you wuz sayin', " he said. 
 " I allow, I '11 only tell her the part on 't she '11 like 
 best. My mother says you can stay here with us 
 till the storm is over," he said to Ramona. 
 
 Swifter than lightning, Ramona had seized the 
 woman's hand and carried it 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 round where we live calls me ' Aunt 
 Ri/ or ' Mis Hyer ; ' she kin call me whichever she 's 
 a mind to. She 's reel sweet-spoken/' 
 
 With some difficulty Jos explained his mother's 
 disclaimer of the title of Senora, and the choice of 
 names she offered to Ramona. 
 
 Ramona, with smiles which won both mother and 
 
176 RAMONA 
 
 son, repeated after him both names, getting neither 
 exactly right at first trial, and finally said, "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 thes wilderness to ketch sumbody sayin' thet, 
 jest what they all say ter hum? I donno 's I'm 
 enny kinder 'n ennybody else. I don't want ter see 
 ennybody put upon, nor noways sufferin', ef so be 's 
 I kin help ; but thet ain't ennythin' stronary, ez 
 I know. I donno how ennybody could feel enny 
 different." 
 
 " There 's lots doos, mammy," replied Jos, affec 
 tionately. "Yer'd find out fast enuf, ef yer went 
 raound more. There 's mighty few 's good 's you air 
 ter everybody." 
 
 Ramona was crouching in the corner by the fire, 
 her baby held close to her breast. The place which 
 at first had seemed a haven of warmth, she now saw 
 was indeed but a poor shelter against the fearful 
 storm which raged outside. It was only a hut of 
 rough boards, carelessly knocked together for a shep 
 herd's temporary home. It had been long unused, 
 and many of the boards were loose and broken. 
 Through these crevices, at every blast of the wind, 
 the fine snow swirled. On the hearth were burning 
 a few sticks of wood, dead cottonwood branches, 
 which Jeff Hyer had hastily collected before the 
 storm reached its height. A few more sticks lay by 
 the hearth. Aunt Ri glanced at them anxiously, 
 
RAMONA 177 
 
 A poor provision 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 's somethin'." 
 
 It was the way in the Hyer family to make the 
 best of things ; they had always possessed this virtue 
 to such an extent, that they suffered from it as from a 
 vice. There was hardly to be found in all Southern 
 Tennessee 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 to nothing, about it. Good-natured, affectionate, 
 humorous people ; after all, they got more comfort 
 out of life than many a family whose surface condi 
 tions were incomparably better than theirs. When 
 Jos, their oldest child and only son, broke down, 
 had hemorrhage after hemorrhage, and the doctor 
 said the only thing that could save him was to go 
 across the plains in a wagon to California, they said, 
 " What good luck 'Lizy was married 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 was worth, traded cattle for a pair of horses and a 
 covered wagon, and set off, half beggared, with their 
 sick boy on a bed in the bottom of the* wagon, as 
 cheery as if they were rich people on a pleasure-trip. 
 A pair of steers " to spell " the horses, and a cow to 
 give milk for Jos, they drove before them ; and so 
 they had come by slow stages, sometimes camping 
 VOL. n. 12 
 
178 RAMONA 
 
 for a week at a time, all the way from Tennessee 
 to the San Jacinto Valley. They were rewarded. 
 Jos was getting well. Another six months, they 
 thought, would see him cured ; and it would have 
 gone hard with any one who had tried to persuade 
 either Jefferson or Maria Hyer that they were not 
 as lucky a couple as could be found. Had they 
 not saved Joshua, their son? 
 
 Nicknames among this class of poor whites in the 
 South seem singularly like those in vogue in New 
 England. From totally opposite motives, the lazy, 
 easy-going Tennesseean and the hurry-driven Ver- 
 monter cut down all their family names to the short 
 est. To speak three syllables where one will answer, 
 seems to the Vermonter a waste of time ; to the Ten 
 nesseean, quite too much trouble. Mrs. Hyer could 
 hardly recollect ever having heard 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, to become a centre of hospitality and help, she 
 was adopted by common consent of the neighborhood, 
 in a sort of titular and universal aunt-hood, which 
 really was a much greater tribute and honor than she 
 dreamed. Not a man, woman, or child, within her 
 reach, that did not call her or know of her as " Aunt 
 Ri." 
 
 " I donno whether I 'd best make enny more fire 
 naow or not," she said reflectively ; " ef this storm 's 
 goin' to last till mornin', we '11 come short o' wood, 
 thet's clear." As she spoke, the door of the hut 
 
RAMONA 179 
 
 burst open, and her husband staggered in, followed 
 by Alessandro, both covered with snow, their arms 
 full of wood. Alessandro, luckily, knew of a little 
 clump of young cottonwood-trees in a ravine, only a 
 few rods from the house ; and the first thing he had 
 thought of, after tethering the horses in shelter be 
 tween the hut and the wagons, was to get wood. Jeff, 
 seeing him take a hatchet from the wagon, had un 
 derstood, got his own, and followed ; and now there 
 lay on the ground enough to keep them warm for 
 hours. As soon as Alessandro had thrown down his 
 load, he darted to Ramona, and kneeling down, looked 
 anxiously into the baby's face, then into hers ; then 
 he said devoutly, " The saints be praised, my Majella ! 
 It is 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 mammy 
 they '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 wuz born." 
 
 By help of Jos's interpreting, the two families soon 
 became well acquainted with each other's condition 
 and plans; and a feeling of friendliness, 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 seem hardly fair to 
 take advantage o' their not knowin' any language but 
 their own; but I jest tell you thet I Ve got a lesson 
 
180 RAMONA 
 
 'n the subjeck uv Injuns. I Ve always hed a reel 
 mean feelin' about 'em; I didn't want ter come nigh 
 'em, nor ter hev 'em come nigh me. This woman, 
 here, she 's ez sweet a creetur 's ever I see ; 'n' ez 
 bound up 'n thet baby 's yer could ask enny woman 
 to be; 'n' 's fur thet man, can't yer see, Jeff, he jest 
 worships the ground she walks on? Thet 's a fact, 
 Jeff. I donno 's ever I see a white man think so 
 much uv a woman; come, naow, Jeff, d' yer think 
 yer ever did yerself ? " 
 
 Aunt Ri was excited. The experience was, to her, 
 almost incredible. Her ideas of Indians had been 
 drawn from newspapers, and from a book or two of 
 narratives of massacres, and from an occasional sight 
 of vagabond bands or families they had encountered 
 in their journey across the plains. Here she found 
 herself sitting side by side in friendly intercourse with 
 an Indian man and Indian woman, whose appearance 
 and behavior were attractive ; towards whom she felt 
 herself singularly drawn. 
 
 " I 'm free to confess, Jos," she said, " I would n't 
 ha' bleeved it. I hain't seen nobody, black, white, or 
 gray, sence we left hum, I Ve took to like these yere 
 folks. An' they 're real dark ; 's dark 's any nigger 
 in Tennessee ; 'n' he 's pewer Injun ; her father wuz 
 white, she sez, but she don't call herself nothin' but 
 an Injun, the same 's he is. D' yer notice the way she 
 looks at him, Jos ? Don't she jest set a store by thet 
 feller? 'N' I don't blame her." 
 
 Indeed, Jos had noticed. No man was likely to see 
 
RAMONA 181 
 
 Ramona with Alessandro without perceiving the rare 
 quality of her devotion to him. And now there was 
 added to this devotion an element of indefinable 
 anxiety which made its vigilance unceasing. Ramona 
 feared for Alessandro's reason. She had hardly put 
 it into words to herself, but the terrible fear dwelt 
 with 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 a solid 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 was dreading the next day. 
 
 " Not really ! " he said. 
 
 " You will see," said Alessandro. " I have often 
 known it thus. It is like death while it lasts ; but it 
 is never long." 
 
 The Hyers were on their way to some hot springs 
 on the north side of the valley. Here they proposed 
 to camp for three months, to try the waters for Jos. 
 They had a tent, and all that was necessary for living 
 in their primitive fashion. Aunt Ri was looking for 
 ward to the rest with great anticipation ; she was 
 heartily tired of being on the move. Her husband's 
 anticipations were of a more stirring nature. He had 
 heard that there was good hunting on San Jacinto 
 Mountain. When he found that Alessandro knew 
 the region thoroughly, and had been thinking of set 
 tling there, he was rejoiced, and proposed to him to 
 become his companion and guide in hunting expe* 
 
182 RAMONA 
 
 ditions. Ramona grasped eagerly at the suggestion ; 
 companionship, she was sure, would do Alessandro 
 good, companionship, the outdoor life, and the ex 
 citement 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 pos 
 sible home ; which she had from the first desired to 
 try. She no longer had repugnance to the thought 
 of an Indian village ; she already felt a sense of kin 
 ship and shelter with any Indian people. She had 
 become, as Carmena had said, " one of them." 
 
 A few days saw the two families settled, the 
 Hyers in their tent and wagon, at the hot springs, and 
 Alessandro and Ramona, with the baby, in a little 
 adobe house in the Saboba village. The house be 
 longed to an old Indian woman who, her husband 
 having died, had gone to live with a daughter, and 
 was very glad to get a few dollars by renting her own 
 house. It was a wretched place : one small room, 
 walled with poorly made adobe bricks, thatched with 
 tule, no floor, and only one window. When Ales 
 sandro heard Ramona say cheerily, " Oh, this will do 
 very well, when it 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 the 
 earth floor ; a third was spread over the bedstead ; 
 and the horns, hung on the walls, served for hooks to 
 
RAMONA 183 
 
 hang clothes upon. The scarlet calico canopy was 
 again set up over the bed, and the woven cradle, on 
 its red manzamta frame, stood near. A small win 
 dow in the door, and one more cut in the walls, let 
 in light and air. On a shelf near one of these win 
 dows stood the little Madonna, again wreathed with 
 vines as in San Pasquale. 
 
 When Aunt Ri first saw the room, after it was 
 thus arranged, she put both arms akimbo, and stood 
 in the doorway, her mouth wide open, her eyes 
 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 had the expression of this poor 
 little mud hut of Ramona's. She could not under 
 stand it. The more she studied the place, the less 
 she understood it. On returning to the tent, she 
 said to Jos : " It beats all ever I see, the way thet 
 Injun woman's got fixed up out er nothin'. It 
 ain't no more 'n a hovel, a mud hovel, Jos, not 
 much bigger 'n this yer tent, fur all 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 doos. I 'd jest like you to see it." 
 
 And when Jos saw it, and Jeff, they were as full 
 of wonder as Aunt Ri had been. Dimly they 
 recognized the existence of a principle here which 
 had never entered into their life. They did not 
 know it by name, and it could not have been either 
 taught, transferred, or explained to the good-hearted 
 
1 84 RAMONA 
 
 wife and mother who had been so many years the 
 affectionate disorderly genius of their home. But 
 they felt its charm ; and when, one day, after the 
 return of Alessandro and Jeff from a particularly 
 successful hunt, the two families had sat down to 
 gether to a supper of Ramona's cooking, stewed 
 venison and artichokes, and frijoles with chili, 
 their wonder was still greater. 
 
 " Ask her if this is Injun style of cooking, Jos," 
 said Aunt Ri. "I never thought nothin' o' beans; 
 but these air good, V no mistake ! " 
 
 Ramona laughed. " No ; it is Mexican," she 
 said. " I learned to cook from an old Mexican 
 woman." 
 
 "Wall, I'd like the receipt on't; but I allow I 
 should n't never git the time 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. He had been lifted out of 
 himself by kindly companionship ; he saw Ramona 
 cheerful, the little one sunny; the sense of home, 
 the strongest passion Alessandro possessed, next to 
 his love for Ramona, began again to awake in him. 
 He began to talk about building a house. He had 
 found things in the village better than he feared. 
 It was but a poverty-stricken little handful, to be 
 sure ; still, they were unmolested ; the valley was 
 large ; their stock ran free ; the few white settlers, 
 one at the upper end and two or three on the south 
 
RAMONA 185 
 
 side, had manifested no disposition to crowd the 
 Indians; the Ravallo brothers were living on the 
 estate still, and there was protection in that, Ales- 
 sandro thought. And Majella was content. Majella 
 had found friends. Something, not quite hope, but 
 akin to 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, when he 
 spoke of it, Ramona said no ; they had all they 
 needed, now. Was not Alessandro comfortable? 
 She was. It would be wise to wait longer before 
 building. 
 
 Ramona knew many things that Alessandro did 
 not. While he had been away on his hunts, she had 
 had speech with many a one he never saw. She 
 had gone to the store and post-office several times, to 
 exchange baskets or lace for flour, and she had heard 
 talk there which disquieted her. She did 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 stock before winter is over." " Yes," 
 said another; " and look at those damned Indians 
 over there in Saboba, with water running all the 
 time in their village ! It 's a shame they should 
 have that spring ! " 
 
 Not for worlds would Ramona have told this to 
 Alessandro. She kept it locked in her own breast, 
 but it rankled there like a ceaseless warning and 
 prophecy. When she reached home that day she 
 went down to the spring in the centre of the village, 
 
186 RAMONA 
 
 and stood a long time looking at the bubbling water 
 It was indeed a priceless treasure ; a long irrigating 
 ditch led from it down into the bottom, where lay the 
 cultivated fields, many acres in wheat, barley, and 
 vegetables. Alessandro himself had fields there from 
 which they would harvest all they needed for the 
 horses and their cow all winter, in case pasturage 
 failed. If the whites took away this water, Saboba 
 would be ruined. However, as the spring began in 
 the very heart of the village, they could not take it 
 without destroying the village. " And the Ravallos 
 would surely never let that be done," thought Ra- 
 mona. "While they live, it will not happen." 
 
 It was a sad day for Ramona and Alessandro 
 when the kindly Hyers pulled up their tent-stakes and 
 left the valley. Their intended three months had 
 stretched into six, they had so enjoyed the climate, 
 and the waters had 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 
 nigh down to where Jeff an' me 's got to begin airnin' 
 suthin'. Ef we kin git settled '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 might n't 
 think it; 'n' I kin airn right smart at weavin' ; jest give 
 me a good carpet-loom, 'n' I won't be beholden to 
 nobody for vittles. I jest du love weavin'. I donno 
 how I Ve contented myself this hull year, or nigh 
 about a year, without a loom. Jeff, he sez to me 
 once, sez he, * Ri, do yer think yer 'd be contented 
 
PLATE XXI 
 
 THE WASHING PLACE. (GUAJOME) 
 
 Across this brook, in the shade of a dozen gnarled old willow trees, 
 were set the broad flat stone washboards on which was done all the 
 family washing. ... If they had known how picturesque they 
 looked there, kneeling on the grass, lifting the dripping linen out of 
 the water, rubbing it back and forth on the stone, . . . they would 
 have been content to stay at the washing day in and day out. 
 
 Page 29, Vol. I. 
 
 
RAMONA 187 
 
 in heaven without yer loom ? ' an' I was free to say 
 I did n't know 's I should." 
 
 "Is it hard?" cried Ramona. "Could I learn to 
 do it?" It was wonderful what progress in under 
 standing and speaking English Ramona had made 
 in these six months. She now understood nearly all 
 that was said directly to her, though she could not 
 follow general and confused conversation. 
 
 "Wall, 'tis, an' 't ain't," said Aunt Ri. "I don't 
 s'pose I 'm much of a jedge ; fur I can't remember 
 when I fust learned it. I know I set in the loom to 
 weave when my feet could n't reach the floor ; an' I 
 don't remember nothin' about fust learnin' to spool 
 'n' warp. I've tried to teach 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 hand to anythin'. 
 When we get settled in San Bernardino, if yer '11 come 
 down thar, I '11 teach yer all I know, 'n' be glad 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 plenty o' rags, but folks seems to 
 be wearin' 'em ; pooty gen'ral wear, I sh'd say. I 've 
 seen more does on folks' backs hyar, thet wan't no 
 more 'n fit for carpet-rags, than any place ever I 
 struck. They 're drefful sheftless lot, these yere 
 Mexicans ; 'n' the Injuns is wuss. Naow when I say 
 Injuns, I don't never mean yeow, yer know thet. 
 Yer ain't ever seemed to me one mite like an 
 Injun." 
 
i88 RAMONA 
 
 " Most of our people have n't had any chance,' 5 
 said Ramona. " You would n't believe if I were to 
 tell you what things have been done to them ; how 
 they are robbed, and cheated, and turned out of 
 their homes." 
 
 Then she told the story of Temecula, and of San 
 Pasquale, in Spanish, to Jos, 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' 
 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 Wash 
 ington 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 they make 'em all." 
 
 " It is all done by the American law," said Ra 
 mona, " all these things ; nobody can help himself; 
 for if anybody goes against the law he has to be 
 killed or put in prison ; that was what the sheriff told 
 Alessandro, at Temecula. He felt very sorry for the 
 Temecula people, the sheriff did ; but he had to obey 
 the law himself. Alessandro says there is n't any 
 help." 
 
RAMONA 189 
 
 Aunt Ri shook her head. She was not convinced. 
 " I sh'll make a business o' findin' out abaout this 
 thing yit," she said. " I think yer hain't got the 
 rights on 't yit. There 's cheatin' somewhere ! " 
 
 " It 's all cheating ! " said Ramona ; " but there 
 is n't any help for it, Aunt Ri. The Americans think 
 it is no shame to cheat for money." 
 
 " I 'm an Ummeriken ! " cried Aunt Ri ; " an' Jeff 
 Hyer, and Jos ! We 're Ummerikens ! 'n' we would n't 
 cheat nobody, not ef we knowed it, not out er a 
 dollar. We 're pore, an' I allus expect to be, but 
 we 're above cheatin' ; an' I tell you, naow, the 
 Ummeriken people don't want any o' this cheatin' 
 done, naow ! I 'm going to ask Jeff haow 't is. Why, 
 it 's a burnin' shame to any country ! So 't is ! I 
 think something oughter be done abaout it ! I 
 would n'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 for want of soil. She was 
 hot with shame and anger, and full of impulse to do 
 something. " I ain't nobody," she said ; " I know thet 
 well enough, I ain't nobody nor nothin'; but I 
 allow I 've got suthin' to say abaout the country I 
 live in, 'n' the way things hed oughter be ; or 't least 
 Jeff hez ; V 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 aout what all this yere 
 means she 's been tellin' us." 
 
 But sharper and closer anxieties than any con- 
 
190 
 
 RAMONA 
 
 nected with rights to lands and homes were pressing 
 upon Alessandro and Ramona. All summer the baby 
 had been slowly drooping ; so slowly that it was each 
 day possible for Ramona to deceive herself, thinking 
 that there had been since yesterday no loss, perhaps a 
 little gain ; but looking back from the autumn to the 
 spring, and now from the winter to the autumn, there 
 was no doubt that she had been steadily going down. 
 From the day of that terrible chill in the snow-storm, 
 she had never been quite well, Ramona thought. Be 
 fore that, she was strong, always strong, always beau 
 tiful and merry. Now her pinched little face was sad 
 to see, and sometimes for hours she made a feeble 
 wailing cry without any apparent cause. All the 
 simple remedies that 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's 
 symptoms. Day after day Alessandro knelt by the 
 cradle, his hands clasped, 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 
 prayer to 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 in 
 vain. At last she implored Alessandro to go to San 
 Bernardino and see a doctor. " Find Aunt Ri," she 
 said; "she will go with you, with Jos, and talk to 
 him ; she can make him understand. Tell Aunt Ri 
 she seems just as she did when they were here, only 
 weaker and thinner." 
 
RAMONA 191 
 
 Alessandro found Aunt Ri in a sort of shanty on 
 the outskirts of San Bernardino. " 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 on pleasant days. He had made a loom and 
 put up a loom-house for his mother, a floor just 
 large enough to hold the loom ; rough walls, and a 
 roof; one small square window, that was all ; but 
 if Aunt Ri had been 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 for a 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 
 despatch all through the lower walks of San Ber 
 nardino life. " I would n't hev bleeved they hed so 
 many rags besides what they 're wearin'," said Aunt 
 Ri, as sack after sack appeared at her door. Al 
 ready, too, Aunt Ri had gathered up the threads 
 of the village life ; in her friendly, impressionable 
 way she had come into relation with scores of 
 people, and knew who was who, and what was 
 what, and why, among them all, far better than 
 many an old resident of the town. 
 
 When she saw Benito galloping up to her door, 
 she sprang down from her high stool at the loom, 
 and ran bareheaded to the gate, and before Ales 
 sandro had dismounted, cried : " Ye 're jest the man 
 I wanted ; I Ve been tryin' to 'range it so 's we could 
 go down V see yer, but Jeff could n't leave the job 
 
192 RAMONA 
 
 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 did n't yer come in ther wagon 'n' fetch 'em 
 'long ? I Ve got heaps ter tell yer. I allowed yer 
 had n't got the rights o' all them things. The Guv- 
 vermunt ain't on the side o' the thieves, as yer said. 
 I knowed they could n't be ; an' they Ve jest sent 
 out a man a purpose to look after things fur yer, 
 to take keer o' the Injuns 'n' nothin' else. Thet 's 
 what he 's here fur. He come last month ; he 's a 
 reel nice man. I seen him 'n' talked with him a 
 spell, last week ; I 'm gwine to make his wife a rag 
 carpet. 'N' there 's a doctor, too, to 'tend ter yer 
 when ye 're sick, 'n' the Guvvermunt pays him ; 
 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 help 
 lessly for Jos. Jos was away. In his broken Eng 
 lish he tried to explain what Ramona had wished 
 her to do. 
 
 "Doctor! Thet's jest what I'm tellin' yer! 
 There 's one here 's paid by the Guvvermunt to 
 'tend to all Injuns thet 's sick. I '11 go 'n' show 
 yer ter his house. I kin tell him jest how the baby 
 is. P'r'aps he '11 drive down 'n' see her ! " 
 
 Ah ! if he would ! What would Majella say, should 
 she see him enter the door bringing a doctor ! 
 
 Luckily Jos returned in time to go with them to 
 the doctor's house as interpreter. Alessandro was 
 
RAMONA 193 
 
 bewildered. He could not understand this new phase 
 of affairs. Could it be true ? As they walked along, 
 he listened with trembling, half-incredulous hope to 
 Jos's interpretation of Aunt Ri's voluble narrative. 
 
 The doctor was in his office. To Aunt Ri's state 
 ment of Alessandro's errand he listened indifferently, 
 and then said, " Is he an Agency Indian?" 
 
 " 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 in Saboba. 
 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 In 
 juns?" asked Aunt Ri, wrathfully. "Thet's what 
 I heerd." 
 
 " Well, my good woman, you hear a great deal, 
 I expect, that is n't true ; " and the doctor laughed 
 coarsely but not ill-naturedly, Alessandro all the 
 time studying his face with the scrutiny of one 
 awaiting life and death ; " I am the Agency physi 
 cian, and I suppose all the Indians will sooner or 
 later come in and report themselves to the Agent; 
 you 'd better take this man over there. What does 
 he want now? " 
 VOL. ii. 13 
 
RAMONA 
 
 Aunt Ri began to explain the baby's case. Cut 
 ting her short, the doctor said, " Yes, yes, I under 
 stand. I '11 give him something that will help her; " 
 and going into an inner room, he brought out a 
 bottle of dark-colored liquid, wrote a few lines of 
 prescription, and handed it to Alessandro, 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 this office," 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. Would it make the baby well? 
 Had it indeed been given to him by that great Gov 
 ernment 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 Pasquale 
 farm for him? Alessandro's brain was in a whirl. 
 
 From the doctor's office they went to the Agent's 
 house. Here, Aunt Ri felt herself more at home. 
 
 " I 've brought ye thet Injun I wuz tellin' ye uv," 
 she said, with a wave of her hand towards Ales 
 sandro. " We Ve ben ter ther doctor's to git some 
 metcen fur his baby. She 's reel sick, I 'm afeerd." 
 
 The Agent sat down at his desk, opened a large 
 ledger, saying as he did so, " The man 's never been 
 here before, has he?" 
 
RAM ON A 195 
 
 " 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, agi 
 tatedly, to Jos. " Don't let him write, till I know 
 what he puts my name .in his book for ! " 
 
 " Wait," said Jos. " He does n'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 im 
 patience, yet trying to speak kindly, the Agent said : 
 " There 's no making these Indians understand any 
 thing. They seem to think if I have their names in 
 my book, it gives me some power over them." 
 
 "Wall, don't it?" said the direct-minded Aunt Ri. 
 " Hain't yer got any power over 'em? If yer hain't 
 got it over them, who have yer got it over? 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 this 
 Agency. It is very different from what it would be 
 if I had all my Indians 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 not have 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 
 
196 RAMONA 
 
 to do anything with them ! Let him go, then, if he 
 does n't want any help from the Government ! " 
 
 " Oh, no, no ! " cried Aunt Ri. " Yeow jest explain 
 it to Jos, an' he '11 make him understand." 
 
 Alessandro's face had darkened. All this seemed 
 to him exceedingly suspicious. Could it be possible 
 that Aunt Ri and Jos, the first whites except Mr. 
 Hartsel he had ever trusted, were deceiving him? 
 No; that was impossible. But they themselves 
 might be deceived. That they were simple and 
 ignorant, Alessandro well knew. " Let us go ! " he 
 said. " I do not wish to sign any paper." 
 
 " Naow don't be a fool, will yeow? Yeow ain't sign- 
 in' a thing ! " said Aunt Ri. " 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 
 Injuns wants help, 'n' where they air. Ain't thet 
 so? "she added, turning to the Agent. " Tell him 
 he can't hev the Agency doctor, ef he ain't on the 
 Agency books." 
 
 Not have the doctor? Give up this precious medi 
 cine which might save his baby's life ? No ! he could 
 not do that. Majella would say, let the name be 
 written, rather than that. 
 
 " Let him write the name, then," said Alessandro, 
 doggedly ; but he went out of the room feeling as if 
 he had put a chain around his neck. 
 
XXIII 
 
 ' % HE medicine did the baby no good. In fact, it 
 -* did her harm. She was too feeble for violent 
 remedies. In a week, Alessandro appeared again at 
 the Agency doctor's door. This time he had come 
 with a request which to his mind seemed not unrea 
 sonable. He had brought Baba for the doctor to ride. 
 Could the doctor then refuse to go to Saboba? Baba 
 would carry him 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 had written 
 it, for this and nothing else, to save the baby's 
 life. Having thus enrolled himself as one of the 
 Agency Indians, he had a claim on this the Agency 
 
198 RAMONA 
 
 doctor. And that his application might be all in due 
 form, he took with him the Agency interpreter. He 
 had had a misgiving, before, that Aunt Ri's kindly 
 volubility had not been well timed. Not one un 
 necessary word, was Alessandro's motto. 
 
 To say that the Agency doctor was astonished at 
 being requested to ride thirty miles to prescribe for 
 an ailing Indian baby, would be a mild statement of 
 the doctor's emotion. He could hardly keep from 
 laughing, when it was made clear to him that this 
 was what the Indian father expected. 
 
 " Good Lord ! " he said, turning to a crony who 
 chanced to be lounging in the office. " Listen to 
 that beggar, will you ? I wonder what he thinks the 
 Government pays me a year for doctoring Indians ! " 
 
 Alessandro listened so closely it attracted the doc 
 tor's attention. "Do you understand English?" he 
 asked sharply. 
 
 " A very little, Senor," replied Alessandro. 
 
 The doctor would be more careful in his speech, 
 then. But he made it most emphatically clear that 
 the thing Alessandro had asked was not only out of 
 the question, but preposterous. Alessandro pleaded. 
 For the child's sake he could do it. The horse was 
 at the door; there was no such horse in San Ber 
 nardino County; he went like the wind, and one 
 would not know he was in motion, it was so easy. 
 Would not the doctor come down and look at the 
 horse? Then he would see what it would be like to 
 ride him. 
 
RAMONA 199 
 
 " Oh, I Ve seen plenty of your Indian ponies," said 
 the doctor. " I know they can run." 
 
 Alessandro lingered. He could not give up this 
 last hope. The tears came into his eyes. " It is 
 our only child, Senor," he said. " It will take you 
 but six hours in all. My wife counts the moments 
 till you come ! If the child dies, she will die." 
 
 " No ! no ! " The doctor was weary of being im 
 portuned. " Tell the man it is impossible ! I 'd soon 
 have my hands full, if I began to go about the coun 
 try 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. Pres 
 ently he returned. " Ask him if he will come for 
 money?" he said. "I have gold at home. I will 
 pay him, what the white men pay him." 
 
 " Tell him no man of any color could pay me for 
 going sixty miles ! " said the doctor. 
 
 And Alessandro departed again, walking so slowly, 
 however, that he heard the 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 heart seemed breaking. The baby 
 had lain in a sort of stupor since noon; she was 
 plainly worse, and Ramona had been going from the 
 
200 RAMONA 
 
 door to the cradle, from the cradle to the door, for 
 an hour, looking each moment for the hoped-for aid. 
 It had not once crossed her mind that the doctor 
 would not come. She had accepted in much fuller 
 faith than Alessandro the account of the appointment 
 by the Government of these two men to look 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 was riding 
 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 Government had sent him to 
 be the doctor for Indians?" 
 
 " That was what they said," he replied. " You see 
 it is a lie, like the rest! But I offered him gold, 
 and he would not come then. The child must die, 
 Majella ! " 
 
 " She shall not die ! " cried Ramona. " We will 
 carry her to him ! " The thought struck them both 
 as an inspiration. Why had they not thought of it 
 before? "You can fasten the cradle on Baba's back, 
 and he will go so gently, she will think it is but 
 play; and I will walk by her side, or you, 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 will start." 
 
 All through the night they sat watching the little 
 
RAMONA 201 
 
 creature. If they had ever seen death, they would 
 have known that there -was no hope for the child. 
 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, she 
 smiled. " The first smile she has given for days," 
 cried Ramona. "Oh, the air 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 leaving the baby's 
 face, Ramona said, in a low tone, " Alessandro, I 
 am almost afraid to tell you what I have done. I 
 took the little Jesus out of the Madonna's arms and 
 hid it ! Did you never hear, that if you do that, 
 the Madonna will grant you anything, to get him 
 back again in her arms? Did you 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 for some days, and to tell her 
 she could not have him any more till she gave me 
 back the baby well and' strong ; but I knew I could 
 not have courage to sit and look at her all lonely 
 without him in her arms, so I did not do it. But 
 now we are to be away, I thought, that is the time ; 
 and I told hen, * When we come back with our baby 
 well, you shall have your little Jesus again, too ; 
 now, Holy Mother, you go with us, and make the 
 
202 RAMONA 
 
 doctor cure our baby ! ' Oh, I have heard, many 
 times, women tell the Senora they had done this, 
 and always they got what they wanted. Never will 
 she let the Jesus be out of her arms more than three 
 weeks before she will grant 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 had brought you sooner, but I could 
 keep the little Jesus hid from her only at night. In 
 the day I could not, because the Senora would see. 
 So she did not miss him so much; else she had 
 brought you quicker." 
 
 " But, Majella," said the logical Alessandro, " it 
 was because I could not leave 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 were really rallying; the air, the sun 
 light, the novel motion, the smiling mother by her 
 side, the big black horses she had already learned to 
 love, all roused her to an animation she had not 
 shown for days. But it 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 tone which told her all. 
 
 In a second she was at the baby's s^de, with a cry 
 which smote the dying child's consciousness. Once 
 more the eyelids lifted ; she knew her mother ; a 
 
RAM ON A 203 
 
 swift spasm shook the little frame; a convulsion as 
 of agony swept over the face, then it was at peace. 
 Majella's shrieks were heart-rending. Fiercely she 
 put Alessandro away from her, as he strove to caress 
 her. She stretched her arms up towards the sky, 
 " I have killed her ! 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 since his first cry of alarm. If 
 Ramona had looked at him, she would have forgot 
 ten her grief for her dead child. Alessandro's face 
 seemed turned to stone. 
 
 When they reached the house, Ramona, laying the 
 child on the bed, ran hastily to a corner of the room, 
 and lifting the deerskin, drew from its hiding-place 
 the little wooden Jesus. With tears streaming, she 
 laid it again in the Madonna's arms, and flinging her 
 self on her knees, sobbed out prayers for forgiveness. 
 Alessandro stood at the foot of the bed, his arms 
 folded, his eyes riveted on the child. Soon he went 
 out, still without speaking. Presently Ramona heard 
 the sound of a saw. She groaned aloud, and her 
 tears flowed faster: Alessandro was making the 
 baby's coffin. Mechanically she rose, and, moving 
 like one half paralyzed, she dressed the little one in 
 fresh white clothes for the burial ; then laying her in 
 
RAMONA 
 
 the cradle, she spread over it the beautiful lace- 
 wrought altar-cloth. As she adjusted its folds, her 
 mind was carried back to the time when she em 
 broidered it, sitting on the Senora's veranda; the 
 song of the finches, the linnets ; the voice and smile 
 of Felipe ; Alessandro sitting on the steps, drawing 
 divine music from his violin. Was that she, that 
 girl who sat there weaving the fine threads in the 
 beautiful altar-cloth? Was it a hundred years ago? 
 Was it another world? Was it Alessandro yonder, 
 driving those nails into a coffin? How the blows 
 rang, louder and louder ! The air seemed deafening 
 full of sound. With her hands pressed to her tem 
 ples, Ramona sank to the floor. A merciful uncon 
 sciousness set her free, for an interval, from her 
 anguish. 
 
 When she opened her eyes, she was lying on the 
 bed. Alessandro had lifted her and laid her there, 
 making no effort to rouse her. He thought she 
 would die too; and even that thought did not stir 
 him from his lethargy. 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. " I heard you out there," she said. 
 
 " Yes," he replied. " It is done." And he pointed 
 to a little box of rough boards by the side of the 
 cradle. 
 
 "Is Majella ready to go to the mountain now?" 
 he asked. 
 
 " Yes, Alessandro, I am ready," she said. 
 
RAMONA 205 
 
 " 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 never come into sym 
 pathetic relation with them, as she had with the 
 women of San Pasquale. Her intimacy with the 
 Hyers had been a barrier the Saboba people 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 sight of the dead baby's face, lying 
 in its tiny white coffin. Ramona had covered the 
 box with white cloth, and the lace altar-cloth thrown 
 over it fell in folds to the floor. " Why does not 
 this mother weep? Is she like the whites, who 
 have no heart? " said the Saboba mothers among 
 themselves ; and they were embarrassed before her, 
 and knew not what to say. Ramona perceived it, 
 but had no life in her to speak to them. Benumb 
 ing terrors, which were worse than her grief, were 
 crowding Ramona's heart now. She had offended 
 the Virgin; she had committed a blasphemy: in 
 one short hour the Virgin had punished her, had 
 smitten her child dead before her eyes. And now 
 Alessandro was going mad; hour by hour Ramona 
 fancied she saw changes in him. What form would 
 the Virgin's vengeance take next? Would she 
 let Alessandro become a raging madman, and finally 
 kill both himself and her? That seemed to Ramona 
 
206 RAMONA 
 
 the most probable fate in store for them. When 
 the funeral was over, and they returned to their 
 desolate home, at the sight of the empty cradle 
 Ramona 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 told her of?" he said. 
 
 " No ! " she replied earnestly. " No ! I am afraid 
 of nothing ! Only take me away ! " 
 
 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 safe there." 
 
 The same fierce restlessness which took posses 
 sion of him at San Pasquale again showed itself 
 in his every act. His mind was unceasingly at 
 work, planning the details of their move and of the 
 new life. He mentioned them one after another to 
 Ramona. They could not take both horses; feed 
 would be scanty there, and there would be no need 
 of two horses. The cow also they must give up. 
 Alessandro would kill her, and the meat, dried, 
 would last them for a long time. The wagon he 
 hoped he could sell; and he would buy a few 
 sheep; sheep and goats could live well in these 
 heights to which they were going. Safe at last ! 
 Oh, yes, very safe ; not only against whites, who, 
 because the little valley was so small and bare, 
 would not desire it, but against Indians also. For 
 
RAM ON A 207 
 
 the Indians, silly things, had a terror of the upper 
 heights of San Jacinto; they believed the Devil 
 lived there, and money would not hire one of the 
 Saboba Indians to go so high as this valley which 
 Alessandro had discovered. Fiercely he gloated 
 over each one of these features of safety in their 
 hiding-place. " The first time I saw it, Majella, 
 I believe the saints led me there, I said, it is a 
 hiding-place. And then I never thought I would 
 be in want of such, of a place to keep my Majella 
 safe ! safe ! Oh, my Majel ! " And he clasped 
 her to his breast with a terrifying passion. 
 
 For an Indian to sell a horse and wagon in the 
 San Jacinto valley was not an easy thing, unless he 
 would give them away. Alessandro had hard work 
 to give civil answers to the men who wished to buy 
 Benito and the wagon for quarter of their value. 
 He knew they would not have dared to so much as 
 name such prices to a white man. Finally Ramona, 
 who had felt unconquerable misgivings as to the 
 wisdom of thus irrevocably parting from their most 
 valuable possessions, persuaded him to take both 
 horses and wagon to San Bernardino, and offer 
 them to the Hyerc to use for the winter. 
 
 It would be just the work for Jos, to keep him in 
 the open air, if he could get teaming to do ; she 
 was sure he would be thankful for the chance. " He 
 is as fond of the horses as we are ourselves, Ales 
 sandro," she said. ''They would be well cared for; 
 and then, if we did not like living on the mountain, 
 
208 RAMONA 
 
 we could have the horses and wagon again when 
 we came down, or Jos could sell them for us in San 
 Bernardino. Nobody could see Benito and Baba 
 working together, and not want them." 
 
 " Majella is wiser than the dove ! " cried Ales- 
 sandro. " She has seen what is the best thing to 
 do. I will take them." 
 
 When he was ready to set off, he implored 
 Ramona to go with him ; but with a look of horror 
 she refused. " Never," she cried, " one step on that 
 accursed road ! I will never go on that road again 
 unless it is to be carried, as we brought her, dead." 
 
 Neither did Ramona wish to see Aunt Ri. Her 
 sympathy would be intolerable, spite of all its affec 
 tionate kindliness. " Tell her I love her," she said, 
 " but I do not want to see a human being yet ; next 
 year perhaps 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," she 
 said. " 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 thet feelin' abaout it. 
 'Pears like she'd gone klar out 'er this yer world 
 inter anuther." 
 
 The majestic bulwark of San Jacinto Mountain 
 looms in the southern horizon of the San Bernardino 
 valley. It was in full sight from the door of the 
 little shanty in which Aunt Ri's carpet-loom stood 
 
RAMON A 109 
 
 As she sat there hour after hour, sometimes seven 
 hours to the day, working the heavy treadle, and 
 slipping the shuttle back and forth, she gazed with 
 tender yearnings at the solemn, shining summit. 
 When sunset colors smote it, it glowed like fire; 
 on cloudy days, it was lost in the clouds. 
 
 " Tears like 't was next door to heaven, up there, 
 Jos," Aunt Ri would say. " 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 't ain't so light 's thet 
 when you air into 't ; 't can't be ; ther could n't 
 nobody stan' it, ef 't wuz. I allow 't must be like 
 bein' dead, Jos, don't yer think so, to be livin' thar? 
 He sed ther could n't nobody git to 'em. Nobody 
 ever seed the place but hisself. He found it a 
 huntin'. Thar's water thar, 'n' thet's abaout all 
 thar is, 's 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 very thing he had been longing 
 for; the only sort of work he was as yet strong 
 enough to do, and there was plenty of it to be had 
 in San Bernardino. But the purchase of a wagon 
 suitable for the purpose was at present out of their 
 power ; the utmost Aunt Ri had hoped to accom 
 plish was 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 one 
 suitable for light work "Tears like I'd die o 1 
 
 VOL. II. 14 
 
RAMONA 
 
 shame," said Aunt Ri, " sometimes when I ketch 
 myself er thinkin' what luck et 's ben to Jos, er 
 gettin' thet Injun's hosses an' waggin. But ef Jos 
 keeps on, atrnin' ez much ez he hez so fur, he 's 
 goin' ter pay the Injun part on 't, when he cums. 
 I allow ter Jos 't ain't no more 'n fair. Why, them 
 hosses, they '11 dew good tew days' work 'n one. I 
 never see sech hosses; 'n' they're jest like kittens; 
 they've ben drefful pets, I allow. I know she set 
 all the world, 'n' more tew, by thet nigh one. He 
 wuz hern, ever sence she wuz a child. Pore thing, 
 'pears like she hed n't hed no chance ! " 
 
 Alessandro had put off, from day to day, the kill 
 ing of the cow. It went hard with him to slaughter 
 the faithful creature, who knew him, and came to 
 wards him at the first sound of his voice. He had 
 pastured her, since the baby died, in a canon about 
 three miles northeast of the village, a lovely green 
 canon with oak-trees and a running brook. It was 
 here that he had thought of building his house if 
 they had stayed in Saboba. But Alessandro laughed 
 bitterly to himself now, as he recalled that dream. 
 Already the news had come to Saboba that a com 
 pany had been formed for the settling up of the 
 San Jacinto valley; the Ravallo brothers had sold 
 to this company a large grant of land. The white 
 ranchmen in the valley were all fencing in their 
 lands ; no more free running of stock. The Saboba 
 people were too poor to build miles of fencing ; they 
 must soon give up keeping stock; and the next 
 
RAMONA 211 
 
 thing would be that they would be driven out, like 
 the people of Temecula. It was none too soon that 
 he had persuaded Majella to flee to the mountain. 
 There, at least, they could live and die in peace, 
 a poverty-stricken life, and the loneliest of deaths; 
 but they would have each other. It was well the 
 baby had died ; she was saved all this misery. By 
 the time she had grown to be a woman, if she had 
 lived, there would be no place in all the country 
 where an Indian could find refuge. Brooding over 
 such thoughts as these, Alessandro went up into the 
 canon one morning. It must be done. Everything 
 was ready for their move ; it would take many days 
 to carry even their few possessions up the steep 
 mountain trail to their new home ; the pony which 
 had replaced Benito and Baba could not carry a 
 heavy load. While this was being done, Ramona 
 would dry the beef which would 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 began cutting it into long strips, 
 as is the Mexican fashion of drying. Alessandro 
 returned for the remainder. Early in the afternoon, 
 as Ramona went to and fro about her work, she saw 
 a group of horsemen riding from house to house, 
 in the upper part of the village ; women came run 
 ning out excitedly from each house as the horse 
 men left it; finally one of them darted swiftly up 
 the hill to Ramona. " Hide it ! hide it ! " she cried, 
 breathless ; " hide the meat ! It is Merrill's men. 
 
212 RAMONA 
 
 from the end of the valley. They have lost a steer, 
 and they say we stole it. They found the place, with 
 blood on it, where it was killed; and they say we 
 did it. Oh, hide the meat ! They took all that Fer 
 nando 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 '11 take it all away. Oh, hide some 
 of it ! " And she dragged a part of it across the 
 floor, and threw it under the bed, Ramona standing 
 by, stupefied. 
 
 Before she had spoken again, the forms of the gal 
 loping riders darkened the doorway ; the foremost of 
 them, leaping off his horse, exclaimed : " By God ! 
 here 's the rest of it. If they ain't the damnedest 
 impudent thieves! Look at this woman, cutting it 
 up ! Put that down, will you ? We '11 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 by a vile epithet. 
 
 Every drop of blood left Ramona's face. Her eyes 
 blazed, and she came forward with the knife uplifted 
 in her hand. " Out of my house, you dogs of the 
 white color ! " she said. " This meat is our own ; my 
 husband killed the creature but this morning." 
 
 Her tone and bearing surprised them. There were 
 six of the men, and they had all swarmed into the 
 little room. 
 
PLATE XX J I 
 
 THE SHEEP SHEDS. (GUAJOME) 
 
 The shearing-shed was a huge caricature of a summer-house, a 
 long narrow structure sixty feet long by twenty or thirty wide, all 
 roof and pillars. . . . 
 
 On three sides of this were the sheep pens. . . . 
 
 Page 95, Vol. L 
 
 A high four-post frame stood close to the shed; in this, swung 
 from the four corners, hung one of the great sacking bags in which 
 the fleeces were to be packed. P age ^ Vol. I. 
 
RAMONA 213 
 
 " I say, Merrill," said one of them, " hold on ; the 
 squaw says her husband only jest killed it to-day. 
 It might be theirs." 
 
 Ramona turned on him like lightning. " Are you 
 liars, you all," she cried, "that you think I lie? I 
 tell you the meat is ours ; and there is not an Indian 
 in this village would steal cattle ! " 
 
 A derisive shout of laughter from all the men 
 greeted this speech ; and at that second, the leader, 
 seeing the mark of blood where the Indian woman 
 had dragged the meat across the ground, sprang to 
 the bed, and lifting the deerskin, pointed with a sneer 
 to the beef hidden there. " Perhaps, when you know 
 Injuns 's well 's I do," he said, " you won't be for 
 believin' all they say ! What 's she got it hid under 
 the bed for, if it was their own cow?" and he 
 stooped to drag the meat out. " Give us a hand 
 here, Jake ! " 
 
 " If you touch it, I will kill you ! " cried Ramona, 
 beside herself with rage ; and she sprang between 
 the men, her uplifted knife gleaming. 
 
 " Hoity-toity ! " cried Jake, stepping back ; " that 's 
 a handsome squaw when she 's mad ! Say, boys, 
 let's leave her some of the meat. She wasn't to 
 blame; of course, she believes what her husband 
 told her." 
 
 " You go to grass for a soft-head, you Jake ! " 
 muttered Merrill, as he dragged the meat out from 
 beneath the bed. 
 
 "What is all this?" said a deep voice in the door; 
 
2I 4 
 
 RAMONA 
 
 and Ramona, turning, with a glad cry, saw Alessan- 
 dro standing there, looking o-n, with an expression 
 which, even in her own terror and indignation, gave 
 her a sense of dread, it was so icily defiant. He had 
 his hand on his gun. "What is all this?" he re 
 peated. He knew very well. 
 
 " It 's that Temecula man," said one of the men, in 
 a low tone, to Merrill. " If I 'd known 't was his 
 house, I would n't have let you come here. You 're 
 up the wrong tree, sure ! " 
 
 Merrill dropped the meat he was dragging over 
 the floor, and turned to confront Alessandro's eyes. 
 His countenance fell. Even he saw that he had 
 made a mistake. He began to speak. Alessandro 
 interrupted him. Alessandro could speak forcibly 
 in Spanish. Pointing to his pony, which stood at 
 the 'door with a package on its back, the remainder 
 of the meat rolled in the hide, he said : " There is 
 the remainder of the beef. I killed the creature this 
 morning, in the canon. I will take Seiior Merrill to 
 the place, if he wishes it. Senor Merrill's steer was 
 killed down in the willows yonder, yesterday." 
 
 "That's so!" cried the men, gathering around 
 him. "How did you know? Who did it?" 
 
 Alessandro made no reply. He was looking at 
 Ramona. She had flung her shawl over her head, 
 as the other woman had done, and the two were 
 cowering in the corner, their faces turned away. 
 Ramona dared not look on ; she felt sure Alessan 
 dro would kill some one. But this was not the type 
 
RAMONA 215 
 
 of outrage that roused Alessahdro to dangerous 
 wrath. He even felt a certain enjoyment in the dis 
 comfiture of the self-constituted posse of searchers 
 for stolen goods. To all their questions in regard to 
 the stolen steer, he maintained silence. He would 
 not open his lips. At last, angry, ashamed, with 
 a volley of coarse oaths at him for his obstinacy, 
 they rode away. Alessandro went to Ramona's side. 
 She was trembling. Her hands were like ice. 
 
 " Let us go to the mountain to-night ! " she gasped. 
 " Take me where I need never see a white face 
 again ! " 
 
 A melancholy joy gleamed in Alessandro's eyes. 
 Ramona, at last, felt as he did. 
 
 " I would not dare to leave Majella there alone, 
 while there is no house," he said ; " and I must go 
 and come many times, before all the things can be 
 carried." 
 
 " It will be less danger there than here, Alessan 
 dro," said Ramona, bursting into violent weeping as 
 she recalled the insolent leer with which the man Jake 
 had looked at her. " Oh ! I cannot stay here ! " 
 
 " It will not be many days, my Majel. I will bor 
 row Fernando's pony, to take double at once ; then 
 we can go sooner." 
 
 "Who was it stole that man's steer?" said Ra 
 mona. " Why did you not tell them? They looked 
 as if they would kill you." 
 
 " It was that Mexican that lives in the bottom, 
 Jose Castro. I myself came on him, cutting the 
 
216 RAMONA 
 
 steer up. He said it was his ; but I knew very welL 
 by the way he spoke, he was lying. But why should 
 I tell? They think only Indians will steal cattle. I 
 can tell them, the Mexicans steal more." 
 
 " I told them there was not an Indian in this village 
 would steal cattle," said Ramona, indignantly. 
 
 "That was not true, Majella," replied Alessandro, 
 sadly. " When they are very hungry, they will steal 
 a heifer or steer. They lose many themselves, and 
 they say it is not so much harm to take one when 
 they can get it. This man Merrill, they say, branded 
 twenty steers, for his own, 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 help for 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 to Alessandro; she hardly put it 
 into words in her thoughts. But she was haunted 
 by the face of the man Jake, as by a vision of evil, 
 and on one pretext and another she contrived to 
 secure the presence of some one of the Indian women 
 in her house whenever Alessandro was away. Every 
 day she saw the man riding past. Once he had gal 
 loped up to the open door, looked in, spoken in a 
 friendly way to her, and ridden on. Ramona's in 
 stinct was right. Jake was merely biding his time. 
 He had made up his mind to settle in the San Jacinto 
 
RAMONA 217 
 
 valley, at least for a few years, and he wished to have 
 an Indian woman come to live with him and keep 
 his house. Over in Santa Ysabel, his brother had 
 lived in that way with an Indian mistress for three 
 years ; and when he sold out, and left Santa Ysabel, 
 he had given the woman a hundred dollars and a 
 little house for herself and her child. And she was 
 not only satisfied, but held herself, in consequence 
 of this temporary connection with a white man, much 
 above her Indian relatives and friends. When an 
 Indian man had wished to marry her, she had replied 
 scornfully that she would never marry an Indian ; she 
 might marry another white man, but an Indian, 
 never. Nobody had held his brother in any less 
 esteem for this connection ; it was quite the way in 
 the country. And if Jake could induce this hand 
 somest squaw he had ever seen, to come and live 
 with him in a similar fashion, he would consider him 
 self a lucky man, and also think he was doing a good 
 thing for the squaw. It was all very clear and sim 
 ple in his mind ; and when, seeing Ramona walking 
 alone in the village one morning, he overtook her, 
 and walking by her side began to sound her on the 
 subject, he had small misgivings as to the result. 
 Ramona trembled as he approached her. She walked 
 faster, and would not look at him ; but he, in his 
 ignorance, misinterpreted these signs egregiously. 
 
 " Are you married to your husband?" he finally 
 said. " It is but a poor place he gives you to live 
 in. If you will come and live with me, you shall 
 
218 RAMONA 
 
 have the best house in the valley, as good as the 
 Ravallos' ; and " Jake did not finish his sentence. 
 With a cry which haunted his memory for years, 
 Ramona sprang from his side as if to run; then, 
 halting suddenly, she faced him, her eyes like jave 
 lins, her breath coming fast. " Beast ! " she said, 
 and spat towards him; then turned and fled to the 
 nearest house, where she sank on the floor and burst 
 into tears, 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 Ramona 
 said no word to Alessandro. She dared not; she 
 believed he would kill Jake. 
 
 When the furious Jake confided to his friend Mer 
 rill his repulse, and the indignity accompanying it, 
 Merrill only laughed at him, and said : " I could have 
 told you better than to try that woman. She 's mar 
 ried, fast enough. There 's plenty you can get, 
 though, if you want 'em. They 're first-rate about 
 a house, and jest 's faithful 's dogs. You can trust 
 'em with every dollar you Ve got." 
 
 From this day, Ramona never knew an instant's 
 peace or rest till she stood on the rim of the refuge 
 valley, high on San Jacinto. Then, gazing around, 
 looking up at the lofty pinnacles above, which seemed 
 to pierce the sky, looking down upon the world, it 
 seemed the whole world, so limitless it stretched away 
 at her feet, feeling that infinite unspeakable sense 
 of nearness to Heaven, remoteness from earth which 
 comes only on mountain heights, she drew in a long 
 
RAMONA 219 
 
 breath of delight, and cried : " At last ! at last, Ales- 
 sandro ! Here we are safe ! This is freedom ! This 
 is joy ! " 
 
 " Can Majella be content? " he asked. 
 
 " I can almost be glad, Alessandro ! " she cried, 
 inspired by the glorious scene. " I dreamed not it 
 was like this ! " 
 
 It was a wondrous valley. The mountain seemed 
 to have been cleft to make it. It lay near midway 
 to the top, and ran transversely on the mountain's 
 side, its western or southwestern end being many feet 
 lower than the eastern. Both the upper and lower 
 ends were closed by piles of rocks and tangled fallen 
 trees ; the rocky summit of the mountain itself made 
 the southern wall ; the northern was a spur, or ridge, 
 nearly vertical, and covered thick with pine-trees. A 
 man might roam years on the mountain and not find 
 this cleft. At the upper end gushed out a crystal 
 spring, which trickled rather than ran, in a bed of 
 marshy green, the entire length of the valley, disap 
 peared in the rocks at the lower end, and came out 
 no more; many times Alessandro had searched for 
 it lower down, but could find no trace of it. During 
 the summer, when he was hunting with Jeff, he had 
 several times climbed the wall and descended it on 
 the inner side, to see if the rivulet still ran ; and, to 
 his joy, had found it the same in July as in January. 
 Drought could not harm it, then. What salvation in 
 such a spring ! And the water was pure and sweet 
 as if it came from the skies. 
 
220 RAMONA 
 
 A short distance off was another ridge or spur of 
 the mountain, widening out into almost a plateau. 
 This was covered with acorn-bearing oaks ; and un 
 der them were flat stones worn into hollows, where 
 bygone generations of Indians had ground the nuts 
 into meal. Generations long bygone indeed, for it 
 was not in the memory of the oldest now living, that 
 Indians had ventured so high up as this on San 
 Jacinto. It was held to be certain death to climb to 
 its summit, and foolhardy in the extreme to go far 
 up its sides. 
 
 There was exhilaration in the place. It brought 
 healing to both Alessandro and Ramona. Even the 
 bitter grief for the baby's death was soothed. She did 
 not seem so far off, since they had come so much nearer 
 to 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. 
 The valley thrust itself, in inlets and coves, into the 
 very rocks of its southern wall ; lovely sheltered nooks 
 these were, where he hated to wound the soft, flower- 
 filled sward with his plough. As soon as the plant 
 ing was done, he began to fell trees for the house. 
 No mournful gray adobe this time, but walls of hewn 
 pine, with half the bark left on ; 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 of bower-like veranda, supported 
 
RAMONA 221 
 
 by young fir-tree stems, left rough. Once more Ra- 
 mona would sit under a thatch with birds'-nests in it. 
 A little corral for the sheep, and a rough shed for the 
 pony, and the home was complete : far the prettiest 
 home they had ever had. And here, in the sunny 
 veranda, when autumn came, sat Ramona, plaiting 
 out of fragrant willow twigs a cradle. The one over 
 which she had wept such bitter tears in the valley, 
 they had burned the night before they left their 
 Saboba home. It was in early autumn she sat plait 
 ing this cradle. The ground around was strewn with 
 wild grapes drying ; the bees were feasting on them 
 in such clouds that Ramona rose frequently from her 
 work to drive them away, saying, as she did so, " Good 
 bees, make our honey from something else ; we gain 
 nothing if you drain our grapes for it; we want these 
 grapes for the winter ; " and as she spoke, her imagi 
 nation sped fleetly forward to the winter. The Vir 
 gin must have forgiven her, to give her again the 
 joy of a child in her arms. Ay, a joy ! Spite of 
 poverty, spite of danger, spite of all that cruelty and 
 oppression could do, 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 same whose house they had hired 
 in Saboba, had come up to live with Ramona. She 
 was friendless now, her daughter having died, and 
 she thankfully came to be as a mother to Ramona. 
 She was ignorant and feeble ; but Ramona saw in 
 her always the picture of what her own mother 
 
222 RAMONA 
 
 might perchance be, 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's birth. Alessandro had gone to 
 the valley, to be gone two days ; but Ramona felt no 
 fear. When Alassandro returned, and she laid the 
 child in his 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 daugh 
 ter again ! " 
 
 But Alessandro did not smile. Looking scrutiniz- 
 ingly into the baby's face, he sighed, and said, " Alas, 
 Majella, her eyes are like mine, not yours ! " 
 
 " 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's breast, 
 and stood gazing sadly at her. 
 
 " Dear Alessandro," said Ramona, " it is a sin to 
 always mourn. Father Salvierderra said if we re 
 pined under our crosses, then a heavier cross would 
 be laid on us. Worse things would come." 
 
 "Yes," he said. "That is true. Worse things 
 will come." And he walked away, with his head 
 sunk deep on his breast. 
 
XXIV 
 
 ' I V HERE was no real healing for Alessandro. 
 * His hurts had gone too deep. His passion 
 ate heart, ever secretly brooding on the wrongs he 
 had borne, the hopeless outlook for his people in the 
 future, and most of all on the probable destitution 
 and suffering in store for Ramona, consumed itself as 
 by hidden fires. Speech, complaint, active antago 
 nism, might have saved him ; but all these were for 
 eign to his self-contained, reticent, repressed nature. 
 Slowly, so slowly that Ramona could not tell on what 
 hour or what day her terrible fears first changed to 
 an even more terrible certainty, his brain gave way, 
 and the thing, in dread of which he had cried out the 
 
224 RAMONA 
 
 morning they left San Pasquale, came upon him* 
 Strangely enough, and mercifully, now that it had 
 really come, he did not know it. He knew that he 
 suddenly came to his consciousness sometimes, and 
 discovered himself in strange and unexplained situa 
 tions ; had no recollection of what had happened for 
 an interval of time, longer or shorter. But he thought 
 it was only a sort of sickness ; he did not know 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 always 
 shaped by the bitterest experiences of his life. Some 
 times he fancied that the Americans were pursuing 
 him, or that they were carrying off Ramona, and he 
 was pursuing them. At such times he would run 
 with maniac swiftness for hours, till he fell exhausted 
 on the ground, and slowly regained true conscious 
 ness by exhaustion. At other times he believed he 
 owned vast flocks and herds; would enter any en 
 closure he saw, where there were sheep or cattle, 
 go about among them, speak of them to passers-by 
 as his own. Sometimes he would try to drive them 
 away; but on being remonstrated with, would be- 
 wilderedly give up the attempt. Once he suddenly 
 found himself in the road driving a small flock of 
 goats, whose he knew not, nor whence he got them. 
 Sitting down by the roadside, he buried his head in 
 his hands. "What has happened to my memory?" 
 he said. " I must be ill of a fever ! " As he sat there. 
 
RAMONA 225 
 
 the goats, of their own accord, turned and trotted 
 back into a corral near by, the owner of which stood, 
 laughing, on his door-sill; and when Alessandro 
 came up, said good-naturedly, "All right, Ales 
 sandro ! I saw you driving off my goats, but I 
 thought you 'd bring 'em back." 
 
 Everybody in the valley knew him, and knew his 
 condition. It did not interfere with his capacity as 
 a worker, for the greater part of the time. He was 
 one of the best shearers in the region, the best 
 horse-breaker; and his services were always in de 
 mand, spite of the risk there 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 loneliness in which it left her, but from 
 the anxiety she felt lest his mental disorder might 
 at any time take a more violent and dangerous 
 shape. This anxiety was all the more harrowing 
 because she must keep it locked in her own breast, 
 her wise and loving instinct telling her that nothing 
 could be more fatal to him than the knowledge of 
 his real condition. More than once he reached 
 home, -"breathless, panting, the sweat rolling off 
 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 such times 
 she would soothe him like a child; persuade him 
 to lie down and rest; and when he waked and 
 wondered why he was so tired, she would say, 
 "You were all out of breath when you came in 
 VOL. ii. 15 
 
226 RAMONA 
 
 dear. You must not climb so fast; it is foolish to 
 tire one's self so." 
 
 In these days Ramona began to think earnestly 
 of Felipe. She believed Alessandro might be cured. 
 A wise doctor could surely do something for him. 
 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's knowing what she had written? Ra 
 mona was as helpless in her freedom on this moun 
 tain eyrie as if she had been chained hand and 
 foot. 
 
 And so the winter wore away, and the spring. 
 What wheat grew in their fields in this upper air ! 
 Wild oats, too, in every nook and corner. The 
 goats frisked and fattened, and their hair grew long 
 and silky ; the sheep were already heavy again with 
 wool, and it was not yet midsummer. The spring 
 rains had been good; the stream was full, and 
 flowers grew along its edges thick as in beds. 
 
 The baby had thrived ; as placid, laughing a little 
 thing as if its mother had never known sorrow. 
 " One would think she had suckled pain," thought 
 Ramona, " so constantly have I grieved this year ; 
 but the Virgin has kept her well." 
 
 If prayers could compass it, that would surely 
 have been so; for night and day the devout, trust 
 ing, and contrite Ramona had knelt before the 
 Madonna and told her golden beads, till they 
 
RAMONA 227 
 
 were wellnigh worn smooth of all their delicate 
 chasing. 
 
 At midsummer was to be a fete in the Saboba 
 village, and the San Bernardino priest would come 
 there. This would be the time to take the baby 
 down to be christened ; this also would be the time 
 to send the letter to Felipe, enclosed in one to Aunt 
 Ri, who would send it for her from San Bernar 
 dino. Ramona felt half guilty as she sat plotting 
 what she should say and how she should send it, 
 she, who had never had in her loyal, transparent 
 breast one thought secret from Alessandro since 
 they were wedded. But it was all for his sake. 
 When he was well, he would thank her. 
 
 She wrote the letter with much study and delibera 
 tion ; her dread of its being read by the Senora was 
 so great, that it almost paralyzed her pen as she 
 wrote. More than once she destroyed pages, as be 
 ing too sacred a confidence for unloving eyes to read. 
 At last, the day before the fete, it was done, and 
 safely hidden away. The baby's white robe, finely 
 wrought in open-work, was also done, and freshly 
 washed and ironed. No baby would there be at the 
 fete so daintily wrapped as hers ; and Alessandro had 
 at last given his consent that the name should be 
 Majella. It was a reluctant consent, yielded finally 
 only to please Ramona; and, contrary to her wont, 
 she had been willing in this instance to have her 
 own wish fulfilled rather than his. Her heart was 
 set upon having the seal of baptism added to the 
 
228 RAMONA 
 
 name she so loved ; and, " If I were to die," she 
 thought, " how glad Alessandro would be, to have 
 still a Majella ! " 
 
 All her preparations were completed, and it was 
 yet not noon. She seated herself on the veranda to 
 watch for Alessandro, who had been two days away, 
 and was to have returned the previous evening, to 
 make ready for the trip to Saboba. She was dis 
 quieted at his failure to return at the appointed 
 time. As the hours crept on and he did not come, 
 her anxiety increased. The sun had gone more than 
 an hour past the mid-heavens before he came. He 
 had ridden fast; she had heard the quick strokes of 
 the horse's hoofs on the ground before she saw him. 
 " Why comes he riding like that? " she thought, and 
 ran to meet him. As he drew near, she saw to her 
 surprise that he was riding a new horse. " Why, 
 Alessandro!" she cried. "What horse is this?" 
 
 He looked at her bewilderedly, then at the horse. 
 True ; it was not his own horse ! He struck his hand 
 on his forehead, endeavoring to collect his thoughts. 
 " Where is my horse, then? " he said. 
 
 " My God ! Alessandro," cried Ramona. "Take the 
 horse back instantly. They will say you stole it." 
 
 " But I left my pony there in the corral," he said. 
 " They will know I did not mean to steal it. How 
 could I ever have made the mistake? I recollect 
 nothing, Majella. I must have had one of the 
 sicknesses." 
 
 Ramona's heart was cold with fear. Only too well 
 
RAMONA 229 
 
 she knew what summary punishment was dealt in 
 that region to horse-thieves. " Oh, let me take it 
 back, dear ! " she cried. " Let me go down with it. 
 They will believe me." 
 
 " Majella ! " he exclaimed, " think you I would 
 send you into the fold of the wolf? My wood-dove ! 
 It is in Jim Farrar's corral I left my pony. I was 
 there last night, to see about his sheep-shearing in 
 the autumn. And that is the last I know. I will 
 ride back as soon as I have rested. I am heavy 
 with sleep." 
 
 Thinking it safer to let him sleep for an hour, 
 as his brain was evidently still confused, Ramona 
 assented to this, though a sense of danger oppressed 
 her. Getting fresh hay from the corral, she with 
 her own hands rubbed the horse down. It was a 
 fine, powerful black horse ; Alessandro had evidently 
 urged him cruelly up the steep trail, for his sides 
 were steaming, his nostrils white with foam. Tears 
 stood in Ramona's eyes as she did what she could 
 for him. He recognized her good-will, and put his 
 nose to her face. " It must be because he was black 
 like Benito, that Alessandro took him," she thought. 
 " Oh, Mary Mother, help us to get the creature safe 
 back ! " she said. 
 
 When she went into the house, Alessandro was 
 asleep. Ramona glanced at the sun. It was already 
 in the western sky. By no possibility could Ales 
 sandro go to Farrar's and back before dark. She 
 was on the point of waking him, when a furious 
 
2JO 
 
 RAMONA 
 
 barking from Capitan and the other dogs roused him 
 instantly from his sleep, and springing to his feet, 
 he ran out to see what it meant. In a moment 
 more Ramona followed, only a moment, hardly a 
 moment; but when she reached the threshold, it 
 was to hear a gun-shot, to see Alessandro fall to the 
 ground, to see, in the same second, a ruffianly man 
 leap from his horse, and standing over Alessandro's 
 body, fire his pistol again, once, twice, into the fore 
 head, cheek. Then with a volley of oaths, each 
 word of which seemed to Ramona's reeling senses 
 to fill the air with a sound like thunder, he untied 
 the black horse from the post where Ramona had 
 fastened him, and leaping into his saddle again, 
 galloped away, leading the horse. As he rode away, 
 he shook his fist at Ramona, who was kneeling on 
 the ground, striving to lift Alessandro's head, and to 
 stanch the blood flowing from the ghastly wounds. 
 " That '11 teach you damned Indians to leave off 
 stealing our horses ! " he cried, and with another 
 volley of terrible oaths 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 in hers. 
 There was nothing to be done for him. The first 
 shot had been fatal, close to his heart, the mur 
 derer aimed well ; the after-shots, with the pistol, were 
 from mere wanton brutality. After a few seconds 
 Ramona rose, went into the house, brought out the 
 white altar-cloth, and laid it over the mutilated face. 
 
RAMONA 231 
 
 As she did this, she recalled words she had heard 
 Father Salvierderra quote as having been said by 
 Father Junipero, when one of the Franciscan Fathers 
 had been massacred by the Indians, at San Diego. 
 " Thank God ! " he said, " the ground is now watered 
 by the blood of a martyr ! " 
 
 " The blood of a martyr ! " The words seemed to 
 float in the air; to cleanse it from the foul blas 
 phemies the murderer had spoken. " My Ales- 
 sandro ! " she said. " Gone to be with the saints ; 
 one of the blessed martyrs ; they will listen to what 
 a martyr says." His hands were warm. She laid 
 them in her bosom, kissed them again and again. 
 Stretching herself on the ground by his side, she- 
 threw one arm over him, and whispered in his ear, 
 " My love, my Alessandro ! Oh, speak once to 
 Majella! Why do I not grieve more? My Ales 
 sandro! Is he not blest already? And soon we 
 will be with him ! The burdens were too great. 
 He could not bear them ! " Then waves of griei 
 broke over her, and she sobbed convulsively; but 
 still she shed no tears. Suddenly she sprang to her 
 feet, and looked wildly around. The sun was not 
 many hours high. Whither should she go for help? 
 The old Indian woman had gone away with the 
 sheep, and would not be back till dark. Alessandro 
 must not lie there on the ground. To whom should 
 she go? To walk to Saboba was out of the question 
 There was another Indian village nearer, the village 
 of the Cahuillas, on one of the high plateaus of San 
 
232 RAMONA 
 
 Jacinto. She had once been there. Could she find 
 that trail now? She must try. There was no human 
 help nearer. 
 
 Taking the baby in her arms, she knelt by Ales- 
 sandro, and kissing him, whispered, " Farewell, my 
 beloved. I will not be long gone. I go to bring 
 friends." As she set off, swiftly running, Capitan, 
 who had been lying by Alessandro's side, uttering 
 heart-rending howls, bounded to his feet to follow 
 her. " No, Capitan," she said ; and leading him back 
 to the body, she took his head in her hands, looked 
 into his eyes, and said, " Capitan, watch here." With 
 a whimpering cry, he licked her hands, and stretched 
 himself on the ground. He understood, and would 
 obey; but his eyes 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 bleed 
 ing, from the thorny shrubs ; her feet seemed leaden, 
 she made her way so slowly. It was dark in the 
 ravines ; as she climbed spur after spur, and still saw 
 nothing but pine forests or bleak opens, her heart 
 sank within her. The way had not seemed so long 
 before. Alessandro had been with her; it was a 
 joyous, bright day, and they had lingered wherever 
 they liked, and yet the way had seemed short. Fear 
 seized her that she was lost. If that were so, before 
 morning she would be with Alessandro ; for fierce 
 beasts roamed San Jacinto by night. But for the 
 
RAMONA 233 
 
 baby's sake, she must not die. Feverishly she pressed 
 on. At last, just as it had grown so dark she could 
 see only a few hand-breadths before her, and was 
 panting more from terror than from running, lights 
 suddenly gleamed out, only a few rods ahead. It 
 was the Cahuilla village. In a few moments she 
 was there. 
 
 It is a poverty-stricken little place, the Cahuilla 
 village, a cluster of tule and adobe huts, on a nar 
 row bit of bleak and broken ground, on San Jacinto 
 Mountain ; the people are very poor, but are proud 
 and high-spirited, veritable mountaineers in nature, 
 fierce and independent. 
 
 Alessandro had warm friends among them, and the 
 news that he had been murdered, and that his wife 
 had run all the way down the mountain, with her 
 baby in her arms, for help, went like wild-fire through 
 the place. The people gathered in an excited group 
 around the house where Ramona had taken refuge. 
 She was lying, half unconscious, on a bed. As soon 
 as she had gasped out her terrible story, she had 
 fallen forward on the floor, fainting, and the baby 
 had been snatched from her arms just in time to 
 save it. She did not seem to miss the child; had 
 not asked for it, or noticed it when it was brought 
 to the bed. A merciful oblivion seemed to be fast 
 stealing over her senses. But she had spoken words 
 enough to set the village in a blaze of excitement. 
 It ran higher and higher. Men were everywhere 
 mounting their horses, some to go up and bring 
 
234 RAMONA 
 
 Alessandro's body down ; some organizing a party to 
 go at once to Jim Farrar's house and shoot him : 
 these were the younger men, friends of Alessandro. 
 Earnestly the aged Capitan of the village implored 
 them to refrain from such violence. 
 
 "Why should ten be dead instead of one, my 
 sons? " he said. " Will you leave your wives and your 
 children like his? The whites will kill us all if you 
 lay hands on the man. Perhaps they themselves 
 will punish him." 
 
 A derisive laugh rose from the group. Never yet 
 within their experience had a white man been pun 
 ished for shooting an Indian. The Capitan knew 
 that as well as they did. Why did he command 
 them to sit still like women, and do nothing, when 
 a friend was murdered? 
 
 " Because I am old, and you are young. I have 
 seen that we fight in vain," said the wise old man. 
 " It is not sweet to me, any more than to you. It is 
 a fire in my veins; but I am old. I have seen. I 
 forbid you to go." 
 
 The women added their entreaties to his, and the 
 young men abandoned their project. But it was with 
 sullen reluctance ; and mutterings were to be heard, 
 on all sides, that the time would come yet. There 
 was more than one way of killing a man. Farrar 
 would not be long seen in the valley. Alessandro 
 should be avenged. 
 
 As Farrar rode slowly down the mountain, leading 
 his recovered horse, he revolved in his thoughts what 
 
RAMONA 235 
 
 course to pursue. A few years before, he would have 
 gone home, no more disquieted at having killed an 
 Indian than if he had killed a fox or a wolf. But 
 things were different now. This Agent, that the 
 Government had taken it into its head to send out 
 to look after the Indians, had made it hot, the other 
 day, for some fellows in San Bernardino who had 
 maltreated an Indian ; he had even gone so far as to 
 arrest several liquor-dealers for simply selling whis 
 key to Indians. If he were to take this case of Ales- 
 sandro's in hand, it might be troublesome. Farrar 
 concluded that his wisest course would be to make a 
 show of good conscience and fair-dealing by deliver 
 ing himself up at once to the nearest justice of the 
 peace, as having killed a man in self-defence. Ac 
 cordingly he rode straight to the house of a Judge 
 Wells, a few miles below Saboba, and said that he 
 wished to surrender himself as having committed 
 "justifiable homicide" on an Indian, or Mexican, he 
 did not know which, who had stolen his horse. He 
 told a plausible story. He professed not to know the 
 man, or the place; but did not explain how it was, 
 that, knowing neither, he had gone so direct to the 
 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 the horse had 
 been led up on hard sod, to mislead any one on the 
 track. I pushed on, crossed the creek, and soon 
 found the tracks again in soft ground. This part of 
 
236 RAMONA 
 
 the mountain was perfectly unknown to me, and very 
 wild. Finally I came to a ridge, from which I looked 
 down on a little ranch. As I came near the house, 
 the dogs began to bark, just as I discovered my 
 horse tied to a tree. Hearing the dogs, an Indian, 
 or Mexican, I could not tell which, came out of the 
 house, flourishing a large knife. I called out to him, 
 * Whose horse is that?' He answered in Spanish, 
 ' It is mine.' ' Where did you get it? ' I asked. ' In 
 San Jacinto,' was his reply. As he still came towards 
 me, brandishing the knife, I drew my gun, and said, 
 ' Stop, or I '11 shoot ! ' He did not stop, and I fired ; 
 still he did not stop, so I fired again ; and as he did 
 not fall, I knocked him down with the butt of my 
 gun. After he was down, I shot him twice with my 
 pistol." 
 
 The duty of a justice in such a case as this was 
 clear. Taking the prisoner into custody, he sent out 
 messengers to summon a jury of six men to hold in 
 quest on the body of said Indian, or Mexican ; and 
 early the next morning, led by Farrar, they set out 
 for the mountain. When they reached the ranch, the 
 body had been removed ; the house was locked ; no 
 signs left of the tragedy of the day before, except a 
 few blood-stains on the ground, where Alessandro 
 had fallen. Farrar seemed greatly relieved at this 
 unexpected phase of affairs. However, when he 
 found that Judge Wells, instead of attempting to re 
 turn to the valley that night, proposed to pass' the 
 night at a ranch only a few miles from the Cahuilla 
 
RAMONA 
 
 237 
 
 village, he became almost hysterical with fright. He 
 declared that the Cahuillas would surely come and 
 murder him in the night, and begged piteously that 
 the men would all stay with him to guard him. 
 
 At midnight Judge Wells was roused by the ar 
 rival of the Capitan and head men of the Cahuilla 
 village. They had heard of his arrival with his jury, 
 and they had come to lead them to their village, 
 where the body of the murdered man lay. They 
 were greatly distressed on learning that they ought 
 not to have removed the body from the spot where 
 the death had taken place, and that now no inquest 
 could be held. 
 
 Judge Wells himself, however, went back with 
 them, saw the body, and heard the full account of 
 the murder as given by Ramona on her first arrival. 
 Nothing more could now be learned from her, as 
 she was in high fever and delirium; knew no one, 
 not even her baby when they laid it on her breast. 
 She lay restlessly tossing from side to side, talking 
 incessantly, clasping her rosary in her hands, and 
 constantly mingling snatches of prayers with cries 
 for Alessandro and Felipe; the only token of con 
 sciousness she gave was to clutch the rosary wildly, 
 and sometimes hide it in her bosom, if they at 
 tempted 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 
 
238 RAMONA 
 
 might take place immediately; but after this visit 
 to the village, the judge refused his request, and 
 appointed the trial a week from that day, to give 
 time for Ramona to recover, and appear as a wit 
 ness. He impressed upon the Indians as strongly 
 as he could the importance of having her appear. 
 It was evident that Farrar's account of the affair 
 was false from first to last. Alessandro had no 
 knife. He had not had time to go many steps 
 from the door; the volley of oaths, and the two 
 shots almost simultaneously, were what Ramona 
 heard as she ran to the door. Alessandro could 
 not have spoken many words. 
 
 The day for the hearing came. Farrar had been, 
 during the interval, in a merely nominal custody; 
 having been allowed to go about his business, on 
 his own personal guarantee of appearing in time 
 for the trial. It was with a strange mixture of re 
 gret and relief that Judge Wells saw the hour of the 
 trial arrive, and not a witness on the ground except 
 Farrar himself. That Farrar was a brutal ruffian, 
 the whole country knew. This last outrage wa? 
 only one of a long series; the judge would have 
 been glad 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 as fixed 
 standards and criterions of popularity as the most 
 civilized of communities could show; and to betray 
 sympathy with Indians was more than any man's 
 political head was worth. The word " justice " had 
 
PLATE XXIII 
 
 INDIAN HOUSES AT TEMECULA. 
 
 "We must go into Temecula." ... "I would like to see it, 
 Alessandro," she said gently. 
 
 . . . "You would not. It is terrible; the houses all unroofed 
 all but my father's and Jose's. They were shingled roofs ; they will 
 be just the same ; all the rest are only walls." Page 51, Vol. II. 
 
 ... As he drew near, he saw a light in its windows. ... "A light 
 in our house ! " he exclaimed. Page 57, Vol. II. 
 
RAMONA 239 
 
 lost its meaning, if indeed it ever had any, so far 
 as they were concerned. The valley was a unit on 
 that question, however divided it might be upon 
 others. On the whole, the judge was relieved, 
 though it was not without a bitter twinge, as of one 
 accessory after the deed, and unfaithful to a friend ; 
 for he had known Alessandro well. Yet, on the 
 whole, he was relieved when he was forced to accede 
 to the motion made by Farrar's counsel, that " the 
 prisoner be discharged on ground of justifiable 
 homicide, no witnesses having appeared against 
 him." 
 
 He comforted himself by thinking what was no 
 doubt true that even if the case had been brought 
 to a jury trial, the result would have- been the same; 
 for there would never have been found a San Diego 
 County jury that would convict a white man of mur 
 der for killing an Indian, if there were no witnesses 
 to the occurrence except the Indian wife. But he 
 derived small comfort from this. Alessandro's face 
 haunted him, and also the memory of Ramona's, 
 as she lay tossing and moaning in the wretched 
 Cahuilla hovel. He knew that only her continued 
 illness, or her death, could explain her not having 
 come to the trial. The Indians would have brought 
 her in their arms all the way, if she had been alive 
 and in possession of her senses. 
 
 During the summer that she and Alessandro had 
 lived in Saboba he had seen her many times, and 
 had been impressed by her rare quality. His chil- 
 
RAMONA 
 
 dren knew her and loved her; had often been in 
 her house; his wife had bought her embroidery. 
 Alessandro also had worked for him ; and no one 
 knew better than Judge Wells that Alessandro in 
 his senses was as incapable of stealing a horse as 
 any white man in the valley. Farrar knew it ; every 
 body knew it. Everybody knew, also, about his 
 strange fits of wandering mind; and that when 
 these half-crazed fits came on him, he was wholly 
 irresponsible. Farrar knew this. The only ex 
 planation of Farrar's deed was, that on seeing his 
 horse spent and exhausted from having been forced 
 up that terrible trail, he was seized by ungovern 
 able rage, and fired on the second, without know 
 ing what he did. " But he would n't have done it, 
 if it had n'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 not shake them off. An 
 uneasy sense that he owed something to Ramona, 
 or, if Ramona were dead, to the little child she had 
 left, haunted him. There might 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 in his own house. That was 
 by no means an uncommon thing in the valley. 
 The longer he thought, the more he felt himself 
 eased in his mind by this purpose ; and he decided 
 that as soon as he could find leisure he would 
 
RAMONA 241 
 
 go to the Cahuilla village and see what could be 
 done. 
 
 But it was not destined that stranger hands should 
 bring succor to Ramona. Felipe had at last found 
 trace of her. Felipe was on the way. 
 
 VOL. n. 10 
 
XXV 
 
 T? FFECTUALLY misled by the faithful Carmena, 
 *H' Felipe had begun his search for Alessandro by 
 going direct to Monterey. He found few Indians 
 in the place, and not one had ever heard Alessan- 
 dro's name. Six miles from the town was a little 
 settlement of them, in hiding, in the bottoms of 
 the San Carlos 1 River, near the old Mission. The 
 Catholic priest advised him to search there ; some 
 times, he said, fugitives of one sort and another took 
 refuge in this settlement, lived there for a few months, 
 then disappeared as noiselessly as they had come, 
 Felipe searched there also; equally in vain. 
 
RAMONA 243 
 
 He questioned all the sailors in port; all the ship 
 pers. No one had heard of an Indian shipping on 
 board any vessel; in fact, a captain would 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 turn his 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 the hand 
 some, sad Mexican gentleman so anxious to find this 
 Indian. 
 
 Felipe wasted weeks in Monterey. Long after he 
 had ceased to hope, he lingered. He felt as if he 
 would like to stay till every ship that had sailed out 
 of Monterey in the last three years had returned. 
 Whenever he heard of one coming into harbor, he 
 hastened to the shore, and closely watched the dis 
 embarking. His melancholy countenance, with its 
 eager, searching look, became a familiar sight to 
 every one ; even the children knew 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 could look like that for anything 
 save the loss of a sweetheart. Felipe made no con 
 fidences. He simply asked, day after day, of every 
 one he met, for an Indian named Alessandro Assis. 
 
 Finally he shook himself free from the dreamy 
 spell of the place, and turned his face southward 
 
244 RAMONA 
 
 again. He went by the route which the Franciscan 
 Fathers used to take, when the only road on the 
 California coast was the one leading from Mission to 
 Mission. Felipe had heard Father Salvierderra say 
 that there were in the neighborhood of each of the 
 old Missions Indian villages, or families still living. 
 He thought it not improbable that, from Alessan- 
 dro's father's long connection with the San Luis Rey 
 Mission, Alessandro might be known to some of 
 these Indians. He would leave no stone unturned ; 
 no Indian village unsearched ; no Indian unquestioned. 
 San Juan Bautista came first; then Soledad, San 
 Antonio, San Miguel, San Luis Obispo, Santa Inez ; 
 and that brought him to Santa Barbara. He had 
 spent two months on the journey. At each of these 
 places he found Indians; miserable, half-starved 
 creatures, most of them. Felipe's heart ached, and 
 he was hot with shame, at their condition. The ruins 
 of the old Mission buildings were sad to see, but the 
 human ruins were sadder. Now Felipe understood 
 why Father Salvierderra's heart had broken, and why 
 his mother had been full of such fierce indignation 
 against the heretic usurpers and despoilers of the 
 estates which the Franciscans once held. He could 
 not understand why the Church had submitted, with--, 
 out fighting, to such indignities and robberies. At 
 every one of the Missions he heard harrowing tales 
 of the sufferings of those Fathers who had clung to 
 their congregations to the last, and died at their 
 posts. At Soledad an old Indian, weeping, showed 
 
RAMONA 245 
 
 him the grave of Father Sarria, who had died there 
 of starvation. " He gave us all he had, to the last," 
 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 the altar and was 
 dead. And when we put him in the grave, his body 
 was only bones, and no flesh ; he had gone so long 
 without food, to give it to us." 
 
 At all these Missions Felipe asked in vain for 
 Alessandro. They knew very little, these northern 
 Indians, about those in the south, they said. It was 
 seldom one from the southern tribes came northward. 
 They did not understand each other's speech. The 
 more Felipe inquired, and the longer he reflected, 
 the more he doubted Alessandro's having ever gone 
 to Monterey. At Santa Barbara he made a long 
 stay. The Brothers at the College welcomed him 
 hospitably. They had heard from Father Salvier- 
 derra the sad story of Ramona, and were distressed, 
 with Felipe, that no traces had been found of her. 
 It grieved Father Salvierderra to the last, they said ; 
 he prayed for her daily, but said he could not get 
 any certainty in his spirit of his prayers being heard. 
 Only the day before he died, he had said this to 
 Father Francis, a young Brazilian monk, to whom 
 he was greatly attached. 
 
 In Felipe's overwrought frame of mind this seemed 
 to him a terrible omen ; and he set out on his journey 
 with a still heavier heart than before. He believed 
 Ramona was dead, buried in some unknown, uncon 
 
246 RAMONA 
 
 secrated spot, never to be found ; yet he would not 
 give up the search. As he journeyed southward, he 
 began to find persons who had known of Alessandro ; 
 and still more, those who had known his father, old 
 Pablo. But no one had heard anything of Alessan- 
 dro's whereabouts since the driving out of his people 
 from Temecula; there was no knowing where any 
 of those Temecula people were now. They had scat 
 tered " like a flock of ducks," one Indian said, 
 " like a flock of ducks after they are fired into. 
 You 'd never see all those ducks in any one place 
 again. The Temecula people were here, there, and 
 everywhere, all through San Diego County. There 
 was one Temecula man at San Juan Capistrano, how 
 ever. The Senor would better see him. He no 
 doubt knew about Alessandro. He was living in a 
 room in the old Mission building. The priest had 
 given it to him for taking care of the chapel and the 
 priest's room, and a little rent besides. He was a 
 hard man, the San Juan Capistrano priest; he would 
 take the last dollar from a poor man." 
 
 It was late at night when Felipe reached San Juan 
 Capistrano; but he could not sleep till he had seen 
 this man. Here was the first clew he had gained. 
 He found the man, with his wife and children, in a 
 large corner room opening on the inner court of the 
 Mission quadrangle. The room was dark and damp 
 as a cellar; a fire smouldered in the enormous fire 
 place ; a few skins and rags were piled near the 
 hearth, and on these lay the woman, evidently ill. 
 
RAMONA 247 
 
 The sunken tile floor was icy cold to the feet; the 
 wind swept in at a dozen broken places in the cor 
 ridor side of the wall ; there was not an article 01 
 furniture. " Heavens ! " thought Felipe, as he en 
 tered, " a priest of our Church take rent for such 
 a hole as this ! " 
 
 There was no light in the place, except the little 
 which came from the fire. " I am sorry I have no 
 candle, Senor," said the man, as he came forward. 
 " My wife is sick, and we are very poor." 
 
 " No matter," said Felipe, his hand already at his 
 purse. " I only want to ask you a few questions. 
 You are from Temecula, they tell me." 
 
 "Yes, Senor," the man replied in a dogged tone, 
 no man of Temecula could yet hear the word without 
 a pang, "I was of Temecula." 
 
 " I want to find one Alessandro Assis who lived 
 there. You knew him, I suppose," said Felipe, 
 eagerly. 
 
 At this moment a brand broke in the smouldering 
 fire, and for one second a bright blaze shot up ; only 
 for a second, then all was dark again. But the swift 
 blaze had fallen on Felipe's face, and with a start 
 which he could not control, but which Felipe did not 
 see, the Indian had recognized him. " Ha, ha ! " he 
 thought to himself. " Senor Felipe Moreno, you 
 come to the wrong house asking for news of Ales 
 sandro Assis ! " 
 
 It was Antonio, Antonio, who had been at the 
 Moreno sheep-shearing; Antonio, who knew even 
 
248 RAMONA 
 
 more than Carmena had known, for he knew what 
 a marvel and miracle it seemed that the beautiful 
 Senorita from the Moreno house should have loved 
 Alessandro, and wedded him ; and he knew that on 
 the night she went away with him, Alessandro had 
 lured out of the corral a beautiful horse for her to 
 ride. Alessandro had told him all about it, Baba, 
 fiery, splendid Baba, black as night, with a white star 
 in his forehead. Saints ! but ' it was a bold thing to 
 do, to steal such a horse as that, with a star for a 
 mark; and no wonder that even now, though near 
 three years afterwards, Senor Felipe was in search oi 
 him. Of course it could be only the horse he wanted. 
 Ha ! much help might he get 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 for him." 
 
 " 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 peo 
 ple now? " 
 
RAMONA 249 
 
 " Like this, Sefior," with a bitter gesture, pointing 
 to his wife. " Most of us are beggars. A few here, 
 a few there. Some have gone to Capitan Grande, 
 some way down into Lower California." 
 
 Wearily Felipe continued his bootless questioning. 
 No suspicion that the man was deceiving him crossed 
 his mind. At last, with a sigh, he said, " I hoped to 
 have found Alessandro by your means. I am greatly 
 disappointed." 
 
 " I doubt not that, Senor Felipe Moreno," thought 
 Antonio. " I am sorry, Sefior," he said. 
 
 It smote his conscience when Felipe laid in his 
 hand a generous gold-piece, and said, " Here is a bit 
 of money for you. I am sorry to see you so poorly 
 off." 
 
 The thanks which he spoke sounded hesitating and 
 gruff, so remorseful did he feel. Senor Felipe had 
 always been kind to them. How well they had fared 
 always in his house ! It was a shame to lie to him ; 
 yet the first duty was to Alessandro. It could not be 
 avoided. And thus a second time help drifted away 
 from Ramona. 
 
 At Temecula, from Mrs. Hartsel, Felipe got the 
 first true intelligence of Alessandro's movements; 
 but at first it only confirmed his worst forebodings. 
 Alessandro had been at Mrs. Hartsel's house ; he had 
 been alone, 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 
 
250 RAMONA 
 
 telling the exact truth. After long ransacking of hei 
 memory and comparing of events, she fixed the time, 
 so nearly to the true date, that it was to Felipe's mind 
 a terrible corroboration of his fears. It was, he thought, 
 about a week after Ramona's flight from home that 
 Alessandro had appeared thus, alone, on foot, at Mrs. 
 Hartsel's. In great destitution, she said ; and she had 
 lent him money on the expectation of selling his vio 
 lin; but they 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, he 
 would have come back to pay her what he owed. 
 The honestest fellow that ever lived, was Alessandro. 
 Did not the Sefior Moreno think so? Had he not 
 found him so always? There were not many such 
 Indians as Alessandro and his father. If there had 
 been, it would have been better for their people. 
 " If they 'd all been like Alessandro, I tell you," she 
 said, " it would have taken more than any San Diego 
 sheriff to have put them out of their 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 myself have 
 lost half my estate in the same way." 
 
 " Well, at any rate they would n't have gone with 
 out fighting ! " she said. " * If Alessandro had been 
 here ! ' they all said." 
 
 Felipe asked to see the violin. " But that is not 
 Alessandro's," he exclaimed. " I have seen his." 
 
 " No ! " she said. " Did I say it was his? It was 
 
RAMONA 
 
 his father's. One of the Indians brought it in here 
 to hide it with us at the time they were driven 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 along yet. He will, though. I 
 am not a bit afraid but that we '11 get our money back 
 on it. If Alessandro was alive, he 'd have been here 
 long before this." 
 
 Finding Mrs. Hartsel thus friendly, Felipe suddenly 
 decided to tell her the whole story. Surprise and in 
 credulity almost overpowered her at first. She sat 
 buried in thought for some minutes ; then she sprang 
 to her feet, and cried: " If he's got that girl with 
 him, he 's hiding somewhere. 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 
 any questions of any of them. They will die before 
 they will tell you one thing. They are as secret as 
 the grave. And they, every one of them, worshipped 
 Alessandro. You see they thought he would be over 
 them, after Pablo, and they were all proud of him 
 because he could read and write, and knew more than 
 most of them. If I were in your place," she con 
 tinued, " I would not give it up yet. I should go to 
 San Pasquale. Now it might just be that she was 
 along with him that night he stopped here, hid some 
 where, while he came in to get the money. I know I 
 urged him to stay 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." 
 
252 RAMONA 
 
 Never in all her life had Mrs. Hartsel been so 
 puzzled and so astonished as now. But her sym 
 pathy, and her confident belief that Alessandro 
 might yet be found, gave unspeakable cheer to 
 Felipe. 
 
 " If I find them, I shall take them home with me, 
 Mrs. Hartsel," he said as 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 San Pasquale. 
 
 But before he had been in San Pasquale an hour, 
 he was plunged into a perplexity and disappointment 
 deeper than he had yet felt. He found the village in 
 disorder, the fields neglected, many houses deserted, 
 the remainder of the people preparing to move away. 
 In the house of Ysidro, Alessandro's kinsman, was 
 living a white family, the family of a man who had 
 pre-empted the greater part of the land on which 
 the village stood. Ysidro, profiting by Alessandro's 
 example, when he found that there was no help, that 
 the American had his papers from the land-office, in 
 all due form, certifying that the land was his, had 
 given the man his option of paying for the house 
 or having it burned down. The man had bought 
 the house ; and it was only the week before Felipe 
 arrived, that Ysidro had set off, with all his goods 
 and chattels, for Mesa Grande. He might possibly 
 have told the Senor more, the people said, than any 
 one now in the village could ; but even Ysidro did 
 not know where Alessandro intended to settle. He 
 
RAMONA 253 
 
 told no one. He went to the north. That was all 
 they knew. 
 
 To the north ! That north which Felipe thought 
 he had thoroughly searched. He sighed at the word. 
 The Senor could, if he liked, see the house in which 
 Alessandro had lived. There it was, on the south 
 side of the valley, just in the edge of the foot-hills ; 
 some Americans lived in it now. Such a good ranch 
 Alessandro had ; the best wheat in the valley. The 
 American had paid Alessandro something for it, 
 they did not know how much ; but Alessandro was 
 very lucky to get anything. If only they had lis 
 tened to him. He was always telling them this 
 would come. Now it was too late for most of them 
 to get anything for their farms. One man had taken 
 the whole of the village lands, and he had bought 
 Ysidro's house because it was the best ; and so they 
 would not get anything. They were utterly dis 
 heartened, 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 no place." 
 
 When, in reply to his questions in regard to Ales- 
 sandro's wife, Felipe heard her spoken of as "Majella," 
 his perplexity deepened. Finally he asked if no one 
 had ever heard the name Ramona. 
 
 " Never." 
 
 What could it mean? Could it be possible that 
 
254 RAMONA 
 
 this was another Alessandro than the one of whom 
 he was in search? Felipe bethought himself of a 
 possible marriage-record. Did they know where 
 Alessandro had married this wife of his, of whom 
 every word they spoke seemed both like and unlike 
 P^amona? 
 
 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 at his first 
 word have understood all, but a young Irish priest, 
 who had only just come to be Father Gaspara's assist 
 ant. Father Gaspara was away in the mountains, 
 at Santa Ysabel. But the young assistant would do 
 equally well, to examine the records. He was cour 
 teous and kind ; brought out the tattered old book, 
 and, looking over his shoulder, his breath coming fast 
 with excitement and fear, there Felipe read, in Father 
 Gaspara's hasty and blotted characters, the fatal entry 
 of the names, " Alessandro Assis and Majella Fa " 
 
 Heart-sick, Felipe went away. Most certainly Ra- 
 mona would never have been married under any but 
 her own name. Who, then, was this woman whom 
 Alessandro Assis had married in less than ten days 
 from the night on which Ramona had left her home? 
 Some Indian woman for whom he felt compassion, 
 or to whom he was bound by previous ties? And 
 where, in what lonely, forever hidden spot, was the 
 grave of Ramona? 
 
RAMONA 255 
 
 Now at last Felipe felt sure that she was dead. It 
 was useless searching farther. Yet, after he reached 
 home, his restless conjectures took one more turn, 
 and he sat down and wrote a letter to every priest 
 between San Diego and Monterey, asking if there 
 were on his books a record of the marriage of one 
 Alessandro Assis and Ramona Ortegna. 
 
 It was not impossible that there might be, after 
 all. another Alessandro Assis. The old Fathers, in 
 baptizing their tens of thousands of Indian converts, 
 were sore put to it to make out names enough. 
 There might have been another Assis besides old 
 Pablo, and of Alessandros there were dozens every 
 where. 
 
 This last faint hope also failed. No record any 
 where of an Alessandro Assis, except in Father 
 Gaspara's book. 
 
 As Felipe was riding out of San Pasquale, he had 
 seen an Indian man and woman walking by the side 
 of mules heavily laden. Two little children, too 
 young or too feeble to walk, were so packed in among 
 the bundles that their faces were the only part of 
 them in sight. The woman was crying bitterly. 
 " More of these exiles. God help the poor creatures ! " 
 thought Felipe ; and he pulled out his purse, and gave 
 the woman a piece of gold. She looked up in as 
 great astonishment as if the money had fallen from 
 the skies. "Thanks ! Thanks, Senor ! " she exclaimed ; 
 and the man coming up to Felipe said also, " God 
 reward you, Senior ! That is more money than I 
 
256 RAMONA 
 
 had in the world ! Does the Senor know of any 
 place where I could get work?" 
 
 Felipe longed to say, " Yes, come to my estate; 
 there you shall have work ! " 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 for its dwin 
 dled fortunes. " No, my man, I am sorry to say I 
 do not," he answered. " I live a long way from 
 here. Where were you thinking of going?" 
 
 " Somewhere in San Jacinto," said the man. " They 
 say the Americans have not 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 his thoughts. The grand mountain- 
 top bearing that name he had known well in many 
 a distant horizon. " Juan Can," he said one day, 
 "are there many Indians 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 is mostly 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 the San Luis Rey Indians came from there ; 
 and up on the mountain is a big village ; the wildest 
 
RAMONA 
 
 257 
 
 Indians in all the country live there. Oh, they are 
 fierce, Senor ! " 
 
 The next morning Felipe set out for San Jacinto. 
 Why had no one mentioned, why had he not him 
 self known, of these villages? Perhaps there were 
 yet others he had not heard of. Hope sprang in 
 Felipe's impressionable nature as easily as it died. 
 An hour, a moment, might see him both lifted up 
 and cast down. When he rode into the sleepy little 
 village street of San Bernardino, and saw, in the 
 near horizon, against the southern sky, a superb 
 mountain-peak, changing in the sunset lights from 
 turquoise to ruby, and from ruby to turquoise again, 
 he said to himself, " She is there ! I have found her ! " 
 
 The sight of the mountain affected him, as it had 
 always affected Aunt Ri, 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 came whirling round the corner, 
 and he sprang to one side, narrowly escaping being 
 knocked down. " That Tennessee fellow '11 run over 
 somebody yet, with those black devils of his, if he 
 don't look out," he muttered, as he recovered his 
 balance. 
 
 Felipe glanced at the horses, then driving his 
 
 spurs deep into his horse's sides, galloped after them. 
 
 " Baba ! by God ! " he cried aloud in his excitement; 
 
 and 'forgetful of everything, he urged his horse faster, 
 
 VOL. ii. 17 
 
258 RAMONA 
 
 shouting as he rode, " Stop that man ! Stop that 
 man with the black horses ! " 
 
 Jos, hearing his name called on all sides, reined in 
 Benito and Baba as soon as he could, and looked 
 around in bewilderment to see what had happened. 
 Before he had time to ask any questions, Felipe had 
 overtaken him, and riding straight to Baba's head, 
 had flung himself from his own horse and taken 
 Baba by the rein, crying, " Baba ! Baba ! v Baba 
 knew his voice, and began to whinny and plunge. 
 Felipe was nearly unmanned. For the second, he 
 forgot everything. A crowd was gathering around 
 them. It had never been quite clear to the San Ber 
 nardino mind that Jos's title to 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 loud voice, looking suspiciously at Jos, 
 "How did you get him?" 
 
 Jos was a wag, and Jos was never hurried. The 
 man did not live, nor could the occasion arrive, which 
 would quicken his constitutional drawl. Before even 
 beginning his answer he crossed one leg over the 
 other and took 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 
 take right smart uv time tew tell yeow haow I cum 
 by thet hoss, V by the other 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. 
 
RAMONA 259 
 
 " 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 and sub 
 stance of what he had just said, adding: "They 
 belong to an Indian over on San Jacinto ; at least, 
 the off one does ; the nigh one 's his wife's ; he 
 would n't ever call thet one anything but hers. It 
 had been hers ever sence she was a girl, they said. 
 I never saw people think so much of horses 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, " Follow along 
 with my horse, will you? I must speak to this 
 man." 
 
 Found ! Found, the saints be praised, at 
 last ! How should he tell this man fast enough ? 
 How should he thank him enough? 
 
 Laying his hand on Jos's knee, he cried : " I can't 
 explain to you ; I can't tell you. Bless you for 
 ever, forever ! It must be the saints led you 
 here ! " 
 
 " Oh, Lawd ! " thought Jos ; " another o' them 
 ' saint ' fellers ! I allow not, Senor," he said, relap 
 sing 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 with excitement ; " we cannot 
 talk here in the street. I want to hear all you can 
 
260 RAMONA 
 
 tell me about them. I have been searching for them 
 all over California." 
 
 Jos's face lighted up. This meant good fortune 
 for that gentle, sweet Ramona, he was sure. " I '11 
 take you straight there," he said ; " but first I must 
 stop at Tom's. He will be waiting for me." 
 
 The crowd dispersed, disappointed ; cheated out of 
 their anticipated scene 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 afford to slight so notable an occasion 
 as this. 
 
 As Jos turned the corner into the street where he 
 lived, he saw his mother coming at a rapid run 
 towards them, her sun-bonnet half off her head, 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 snatching her 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 sound of the wheels. Apparently she did 
 not see the stranger sitting by Jos's side. " Oh, Jos, 
 thar 's the terriblest news come ! Thet Injun Ales- 
 sandro 's got killed ; murdered ; jest murdered, I say ; 
 't ain't no less. Thar wuz an Injun come down from 
 ther mounting with a letter to the Agent." 
 
RAMONA 261 
 
 " Good God ! Alessandro killed ! " burst from 
 Felipe's lips in a heart-rending voice. 
 
 Jos looked bewilderedly from his mother to Felipe ; 
 the complication was almost beyond him. "Oh, 
 Lawd ! " he gasped. Turning to Felipe, " Thet 's 
 mammy," he said. " She wuz real fond o' both on 
 'em." Turning to his mother, " This hyar 's her 
 brother," he said. " He jest knowed me by Baba, 
 hyar on ther street. He's been huntin' 'em every- 
 whar." 
 
 Aunt Ri grasped the situation instantly. Wiping 
 her streaming eyes, she sobbed out : " Wall, I '11 
 allow, arter this, thar is sech a thing ez a Providence, 
 ez they call it. 'Pears like ther couldn't ennythin' 
 less brung 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 air we ever goin' to git ter her ? I allow she 's 
 dead ! I allow she 'd never live arter seein' him 
 shot down dead ! He tolt me thar could n't no 
 body git 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 and incoherent speech, and trans 
 lated it, Felipe groaned aloud, " Too late ! Too late ! " 
 He too felt, as Aunt Ri had, that Ramona never 
 could have survived the shock of seeing her hus- 
 
262 RAMONA 
 
 band murdered. " Too late ! Too late ! " he cried, 
 as he staggered into the house. "She has surely 
 died of the sight." 
 
 " I allow she did n't die, nuther," said Jos ; " not 
 ser long ez she hed thet young un to look arter ! " 
 
 " Yer air right, Jos ! " said Aunt Ri. " I allow yer 
 air right. Thar could n'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 's 
 some comfort." 
 
 Felipe sat with his face buried in his hands. 
 Suddenly looking up, he said, "How far is it?" 
 
 " Thirty miles 'n' more inter the valley, where we 
 wuz," said Jos, " 'n' the Lawd knows how fur 't is 
 up on ter the mounting, where they wuz livin'. It 's 
 like goin' up the wall uv a house, goin' up San 
 Jacinto Mounting, daddy sez. He wuz thar huntin' 
 all summer with Alessandro." 
 
 How strange, how incredible it seemed, to hear 
 Alessandro's name thus familiarly spoken, spoken 
 by persons who had known him so recently, and who 
 were grieving, grieving as friends, to hear of his 
 terrible death ! Felipe felt as if he were in a trance. 
 Rousing himself, he said, " We must 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 him 
 self; then, dropping Tennesseean, he completed 
 in Spanish his cordial assurances that the horses 
 were at Felipe's command. 
 
RAMONA 263 
 
 " Jos ! He 's got ter take me ! " cried Aunt Ri. 
 " I allow I ain't never gwine ter set still hyar, 'n' 
 thet girl inter sech trouble; 'n' if so be ez she is 
 reely dead, thar 's the baby. He hed n't orter go 
 alone by hisself." 
 
 Felipe was thankful, indeed, for Aunt Ri's com 
 panionship, and expressed himself in phrases so 
 warm, that she was embarrassed. 
 
 " Yeow tell him, Jos," she said, " I can't never 
 git used ter bein' called Senory. Yeow tell him his 
 sister allers called me Aunt Ri, 'n' I jest wish he 
 would. I allow me 'n' him '11 git along- all right. 
 'Pears like I '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 
 these low-down, driven Yankees, ennyhow, a heap 
 more ; but I can't stand bein' Senory'd ! Yeow 
 tell him, Jos. I s'pose thar 's a word for ' aunt ' in 
 Mexican, ain't there? 'Pears like thar couldn't be 
 no langwedge 'thout sech a word ! He '11 know 
 what it means ! I 'd go off with him a heap easier 
 ef he 'd call me jest plain Aunt Ri, ez I 'm used 
 ter, or Mis Hyer, either un on 'em ; but Aunt Ri 's 
 the nateralest." 
 
 Jos had some anxiety about his mother's memory 
 of the way to San Jacinto. She laughed. 
 
 " Don't yeow be a mite oneasy," she said. " I 
 bet yeow I 'd go clean back ter the States ther way 
 we cum. I allow I Ve got every mile on 't 'n my 
 hed plain 's a turnpike. Yeow nor yer dad, neiry 
 
264 RAMONA 
 
 one on yer, could n't begin to do 't. But what we 
 air gwine ter do, fur gittin' up the mounting, thet 's 
 another thing. Thet 's more 'n I dew know. But 
 thar '11 be a way pervided, Jos, sure 's yeow 're 
 bawn. The Lawd ain't gwine to git hisself hindered 
 er holpin' Ramony this time ; I ain't a mite afeerd." 
 
 Felipe could not have found a better ally. The 
 comparative silence enforced between them by 
 reason of lack of a common vehicle for their 
 thoughts was on the whole less of a disadvantage 
 than would have at first appeared. They under 
 stood each other well enough for practical purposes, 
 and their unity in aim, and in affection for Ramona, 
 made a bond so strong, it could not have been 
 enhanced by words. 
 
 It was past sundown when they left San Ber 
 nardino, but a full moon made the 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 had spoken, " 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 were hurrying. Good forty 
 miles they had gone without flagging once, when 
 Aunt Ri, pointing to a house on the right hand of 
 the road, the only one they had seen for many 
 miles, said : " We '11 hev to sleep hyar. I donno 
 
PLATE XXIV 
 
 CHAPEL WHERE RAMONA WAS MARRIED. 
 
 In a neglected, weedy open, stood his chapel, a poverty-stricken 
 little place. Page 85, Vol. II. 
 
 " Majella, the chapel is lighted," . . . exclaimed Alessandro. 
 . . . The father frowned. His supper was waiting. . . . He pro 
 ceeded with the ceremony. ... As they came out of the chapel, 
 . . . Alessandro said, "Will you ride, dear?'* . . . Father Gaspara 
 heard the question and answer, and was still more puzzled. 
 
 " He speaks as a gentleman speaks to a lady," he mused. 
 
 Pages 88-90, Vol. II. 
 
 
RAMONA 265 
 
 the road beyant this. I allow they 're gone ter 
 bed ; but they '11 hev to git up 'n' take us in. 
 They 're used ter doin' it. They dew consid'able 
 business keepin' movers. I know 'em. They 're 
 reel friendly fur the kind o' people they air. 
 They 're druv to death. It can't be far frum their 
 time to git up, ennyhow. They 're up every mornin' 
 uv thar lives long afore daylight, a feedin' their 
 stock, an' gittin' ready fur the day's work. I used 
 ter hear 'em 'n' see 'em, when we wuz campin' here. 
 The fust I saw uv it, I thought somebody wuz sick 
 in the house, to git 'em up thet time o' night ; but 
 arterwards we found out 't wan't nothin' but thar 
 reggerlar way. When I told dad, sez I, * Dad, did 
 ever yer hear sech a thing uz gittin' up afore light 
 to feed stock?' 'n' ter feed theirselves tew. They'd 
 their own breakfast all clared away, 'n' dishes 
 washed, 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, 
 but they don't worship Him so much 's they wor 
 ship work ; not nigh so much. Believin' 'n' worship- 
 pin' 's tew things. Yeow would n't see no sech 
 doin'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 reel nice 
 folks, fur all this I Ve ben tellin' yer ! Lawd ! I 
 don't believe he 's understood a word I Ve said, 
 naow ! " thought Aunt Ri to herself, suddenly be- 
 
266 RAMONA 
 
 coming aware of the hopeless bewilderment on 
 Felipe's face. " 'T ain't much use sayin' anything 
 more 'n plain yes 'n' no, between folks thet can't 
 understand each other's langwedge ; 'n' 's fur 's thet 
 goes, I allow thar ain't any gret use 'n the biggest 
 part o' what 's sed between folks thet doos ! " 
 
 When the Merrill family learned Felipe's purpose 
 of going up the mountain to the Cahuilla village, 
 they attempted to dissuade him from taking his 
 own horses. He would kill them both, high-spirited 
 horses like those, they said, if he took them over 
 that road. It was a cruel road. They pointed out 
 to him the line where it wound, doubling and tack 
 ing 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 gwine ter back daown naow ; 
 but I dew jest wish Jeff Hyer wuz along." 
 
 Felipe himself disliked what he saw and heard of 
 the grade. The road had been built for bringing 
 down lumber, and for six miles it was at perilous 
 angles. After this it wound along on ridges and 
 in ravines till it reached the heart of a great pine 
 forest, where stood a saw-mill. Passing this, it 
 plunged into still darker, denser woods, some fifteen 
 miles farther on, and then came out among vast 
 opens, meadows, and grassy foot-hills, still on the 
 majestic mountain's northern or eastern slopes. 
 From these, another steep road, little more than 
 
RAMONA 267 
 
 a trail, led south, 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 the 
 country could find the last part of the way without 
 a guide. Finally it was arranged that one of the 
 younger Merrills should go in this capacity, and 
 should also take two of his strongest horses, accus 
 tomed to the road. By the help of these the terrible 
 ascent was made without difficulty, though Baba at 
 first snorted, plunged, and resented the humiliation 
 of being harnessed with his head at another horse's tail. 
 
 Except for their sad errand, both Felipe and Aunt 
 Ri would have experienced a keen delight in this 
 ascent. With each fresh lift on the precipitous ter 
 races, the view off to the south and west broadened, 
 until the whole San Jacinto Valley lay unrolled at 
 their feet. The pines were grand ; standing, they 
 seemed shapely columns ; fallen, the upper curve of 
 their huge yellow disks came above a man's head, so 
 massive was their 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 stored 
 away an acorn, the woodpeckers' granaries. 
 
 " Look at thet, naow ! " exclaimed the observant 
 Aunt Ri; " an* thar's folks thet sez dumb critters 
 ain't got brains. They ain't noways dumb to each 
 other, I notice ; an' we air dumb aourselves when we 
 air ketched with furriners. I allow I 'm next door to 
 dumb myself with this hyar Mexican I 'm er travellin 1 
 with." 
 
268 RAMONA 
 
 "That's so!" replied Sam Merrill. "When we 
 fust got here, I thought I 'd ha' gone clean out o' my 
 head tryin' to make these Mexicans sense my mean- 
 in' ; my tongue was plaguy little use to me. But 
 now I can talk their lingo fust-rate; but pa, he 
 can't talk to 'em nohow; he hain't learned the 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 she chatted volubly with young 
 Merrill, chafed him. How could she chatter ! But 
 when he thought this, it would chance that in a few 
 moments more he would see her clandestinely wiping 
 away tears, and his heart would warm to her again. 
 
 They slept at a miserable cabin in one of the clear 
 ings, and at early dawn pushed on, reaching the 
 Cahuilla village before noon. As their carnage came 
 in sight, a great running to and fro of people was to 
 be seen. Such an event as the arrival of a comfort 
 able carriage drawn by four horses had never before 
 taken place in the village. The agitation into which 
 the people had been thrown by the murder of Ales- 
 sandro had by no means subsided ; they were all on 
 the alert, suspicious of each new occurrence. The 
 news had only just reached the village that Farrar 
 had been set at liberty, and would not be punished 
 for his crime, and the flames of indignation and desire 
 for vengeance, which the aged Capitan had so much 
 difficulty in allaying in the outset, were bursting forth 
 again this morning. It was therefore a crowd of 
 
RAMONA 269 
 
 hostile and lowering faces which gathered around the 
 carriage as it stopped in front of tlie Capitan's house. 
 
 Aunt Ri's face was a ludicrous study of mingled 
 terror, defiance, and contempt. " Uv all ther low- 
 down, no-'count, beggarly trash ever I laid eyes on," 
 she said in a low tone to Merrill, " I allow these yere 
 air the wust ! But I allow they 'd flatten us all aout 
 in jest abaout a minnit, ef they wuz to set aout tew ! 
 Ef she ain't hyar, we air in a scrape, I allow." 
 
 " Oh, they're friendly enough," laughed Merrill. 
 " They 're all stirred up, now, about the killin' o' that 
 Injun ; that 's what makes 'em look so fierce. I don't 
 wonder ! 'T was a derned mean thing Jim Farrar did, 
 a firin' 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 good horse o' 
 mine up that trail. That 's the only law we stock 
 men Ve got out in this country. We Ve got to pro 
 tect 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 his horse, that he did n't know what he 
 did." 
 
 Aunt Ri was half paralyzed with astonishment at 
 this speech. Felipe had leaped out of the carriage, 
 and after a few words with the old Capitan, had hur 
 ried with him into his house. Felipe had evidently 
 forgotten that she was still in the carriage. His 
 going into the house looked as if Ramona were there. 
 Aunt Ri, in all her indignation and astonishment 
 
2 7 o RAMONA 
 
 was conscious of this train of thought running through 
 her mind ; but not even the near prospect of seeing 
 Ramona could bridle her tongue now, or make her 
 defer replying to the extraordinary statements she 
 had just heard. The words seemed to choke her as 
 she began. " Young man," she said, " I donno much 
 abaout yeour raisin'. I Ve heered yeour folks wuz 
 great on religion. Naow, we ain't, Jeff 'n' me ; we 
 war n't raised thet way ; but I allow ef I wuz ter hear 
 my boy, Jos, he 's jest abaout yeour age, 'n' make 
 tew, though he 's narrerer chested, ef I should hear 
 him say what yeou Ve jest said, I allow I sh'd expect 
 to see him struck by lightnin' ; 'n' I sh'd n't think 
 he hed got more 'n his deserts, I allow I sh'd n't ! " 
 
 What more Aunt Ri would have said to the as 
 tounded Merrill was never known, for at that instant 
 the old Capitan, returning to the door, beckoned to 
 her; and springing from her seat to the ground, 
 sternly rejecting Sam's offered hand, she hastily 
 entered the house. As she crossed the threshold, 
 Felipe turned an anguished face towards her, and 
 said, " Come, speak to her." He was on his knees 
 by a wretched pallet on the floor. Was that Ramona, 
 that prostrate form ; hair dishevelled, eyes glitter 
 ing, cheeks scarlet, hands playing meaninglessly, like 
 the hands of one crazed, with a rosary of gold beads ? 
 Yes, it was Ramona ; and it was like this she had lain 
 there now ten days; and the people had exhausted 
 all their simple skill for her in vain. 
 
 Aunt Ri burst into tears. " Oh, Lawd ! " she said 
 
RAMONA 271 
 
 '* Ef I had some ' old man ' hyar, I 'd bring her aout er 
 thet fever ! I dew bleeve I seed some on 't growin' 
 not more 'n er mile back." And without a second 
 look, or another word, she ran out of the door, and 
 springing into the carriage, said, speaking faster than 
 she had been heard to speak for thirty years: " Yeow 
 jest turn raound 'n' drive me back a piece, the way 
 we come. I allow I '11 git a weed thet '11 break thet 
 fever. Faster, faster ! Run yer hosses. 'T ain't 
 above er mile back, whar I seed it," she cried, leaning 
 out, eagerly scrutinizing each inch of the barren 
 ground. " Stop ! Here 't is ! " she cried. " I knowed 
 I smelt the bitter on 't somewhars along hyar ; " 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 fiercely on their way back. " This '11 
 cure her, ef ennything will," she said, as she entered 
 the room again; but her heart sank as she saw 
 Ramona's eyes roving restlessly over Felipe's face, 
 no sign of recognition in them. " She 's bad ; " she 
 said, her lips trembling ; " but, ' Never say die ! ' ez 
 allers our motto ; 't ain't never tew late fur enny 
 thing 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's nostrils ; with infinite patience she 
 forced drop after drop of it between the unconscious 
 lips ; she bathed the hands and head, her own hands 
 blistered by the heat. It was a fight with death ; but 
 love and life won. Before night Ramona was asleep. 
 
272 RAMONA 
 
 Felipe and Aunt Ri sat by her, strange but not 
 uncongenial watchers, each taking heart from the 
 other's devotion. All night long Ramona slept. As 
 Felipe watched her, he remembered his own fever, 
 and how she had knelt by his bed and prayed there. 
 He glanced around the room. In a niche in the mud 
 wall was a cheap print of the Madonna, one candle 
 just smouldering out before it. The village people 
 had drawn heavily on their poverty-stricken stores, 
 keeping candles burning for Alessandro and Ramona 
 during the past ten days. The rosary had slipped 
 from Ramona' s hold ; taking it cautiously in his 
 hand, Felipe went to the Madonna's picture, and 
 falling on his knees, began to pray as simply as if he 
 were alone. 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 a 
 sudden revulsion seized her. " I allow I ain't gwine 
 ter be the unly one out er the hull number thet don't 
 seem to hev nothin' ter pray ter ; I allow I '11 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 side slipped a rosary into her 
 hand, Aunt Ri did not repulse it, but hid it in the 
 folds of her gown till the prayers were done. It was 
 a moment and a lesson Aunt Ri never forgot. 
 
XXVI 
 
 THE Capitan's house faced the east. Just as 
 day broke, and the light streamed in at the 
 open door, Ramona's eyes unclosed. Felipe and 
 Aunt Ri were both by her side. With a look of 
 bewildered terror, she gazed at them. 
 
 " Thar, thar, naow ! Yer jest shet yer eyes V go 
 right off ter sleep agin, honey," said Aunt Ri, com 
 posedly, laying her hand on Ramona's eyelids, and 
 compelling them down. " We air hyar, Feeleepy 'n' 
 me, 'n' we air goin' ter stay. I allow yer need n't be 
 afeerd o' nothin'. Go ter sleep, honey." 
 
 The eyelids quivered beneath Aunt Ri's fingers. 
 Tears forced their way, and rolled slowly down the 
 VOL. n. 18 
 
274 RAMONA 
 
 cheeks. The lips trembled; the voice strove to 
 speak, but it was only like the ghost of a whisper, 
 the faint question that came, " Felipe ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear ! I am here, too," breathed Felipe ; 
 " go to sleep. We will not leave you ! " 
 
 And again Ramona sank away into the merciful 
 sleep which was saving her life. 
 
 " 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 '11 be wus 'n 
 the fust ; she '11 hev ter live it all over agin ! " 
 
 But Aunt Ri did not know what forces of fortitude 
 had been gathering in Ramona's soul during these 
 last bitter years. Out of her gentle constancy had 
 been woven the heroic fibre of which martyrs are 
 made ; this, and her inextinguishable faith, had made 
 her strong, as were those of old, who "had trial of 
 cruel mocking, wandered about, being destitute, 
 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 beatific smile 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 any 
 sound that he knew the words. She had not yet 
 strength enough to make an audible sound. When 
 they laid her baby on her breast, she smiled again, 
 and tried to embrace her, but was too weak. Point 
 ing to the baby's eyes, she whispered, gazing earn 
 estly at Felipe, " Alessandro." A convulsion passed 
 
RAMONA 275 
 
 over her face as she spoke the word, and the tears 
 flowed. 
 
 Felipe could not speak. He glanced helplessly at 
 Aunt Ri, who promptly responded : " Naow, honey, 
 don't yeow talk. 'T ain'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 her vocabulary answered her need 
 at that moment. " I allow ye kin go 'n a week, ef 
 nothin' don't go agin ye more 'n I see naow ; but ef 
 yer git ter talkin', thar 's no tellin' when yer '11 git 
 up. Yeow jest shet up, honey. We '11 look arter 
 everythin'." 
 
 Feebly Ramona turned her grateful, inquiring eyes 
 on Felipe. Her lips framed the words, " With you?" 
 
 " Yes, dear, home with me," said Felipe, clasping 
 her hand in his. " I have been searching for you all 
 this time." 
 
 An anxious look came into the sweet face. Felipe 
 knew what it meant. How often he had seen it in 
 the olden time. He feared to shock her by the sud 
 den mention of the Senora's death ; yet that would 
 harm her less than continued anxiety. " I am alone, 
 dear Ramona," he whispered. " There is no one now 
 but you, my sister, to take care of me. My mother 
 has been dead a year." 
 
 The eyes dilated, then filled with sympathetic tears. 
 " Dear Felipe ! " she sighed ; but her heart took 
 courage. Felipe's phrase was like one inspired ; an 
 other duty, another work, another loyalty, waiting 
 
276 RAMONA 
 
 for Ramona. 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 and duty, 
 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 on Aunt Ri's weather-beaten face 
 with something akin to a superstitious reverence. 
 They themselves were not ignorant of the value of 
 the herb by means of which she had wrought the 
 marvellous cure; but they had made repeated ex 
 periments with it upon Ramona, without success. It 
 must be that there had been some potent spell in 
 Aunt Ri's handling. They would hardly believe her 
 when, in answer to their persistent questioning, she 
 reiterated the assertion that she had used nothing 
 except the hot water and " old man," which was her 
 name for the wild wormwood ; and which, when ex 
 plained to them, impressed them greatly, as having 
 no doubt some significance in connection with the 
 results of her preparation of the leaves. 
 
 Rumors about Felipe ran swiftly throughout the 
 region. The presence in the Cahuilla village of a 
 rich Mexican gentleman who spent gold like water, 
 and kept mounted men riding day and night, after 
 everything, anything, he wanted for his sick sister, 
 was an event which in the atmosphere of that lonely 
 country loomed into colossal proportions. He had 
 travelled all over California, with four horses, in 
 search of her. He was only waiting till she was well, 
 
RAMONA 277 
 
 to take her to his home in the south; and then he 
 was going to arrest the man who had murdered her 
 husband, and have him hanged, yes, hanged ! 
 Small doubt about that; or, if the law cleared him, 
 there was still the bu.llet This rich Senor would see 
 him shot, if rope were not to be had. Jim Farrar 
 heard these tales, and quaked in his guilty soul. 
 The rope he had small fear of, for well he knew the 
 temper of San Diego County juries and judges ; but 
 the bullet, that was another thing : and these Mexi 
 cans were like Indians in their 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 on that lonely mountain-side ; how much the 
 better, nobody but he himself knew, nobody but he 
 and Ramona: and even Ramona did not know the 
 bitter whole. She knew that Alessandro had no knife, 
 and had gone forward with no hostile intent ; but she 
 knew nothing beyond that. Only the murderer himself 
 knew that the dialogue which he had reported to 
 the judge and jury, to justify his act, was an entire 
 fabrication of his own, and that, instead of it, had 
 been spoken but four words by Alessandro, and 
 those were, " Senor, I will explain ; " and that even 
 after the first shot had pierced his lungs, and the 
 blood was choking in his throat, he had still run a 
 step or two farther, with his hand uplifted deprecat- 
 ingly, 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 an Indian was 
 
278 RAMONA 
 
 no harm, he had not liked to recall the pleading an 
 guish in Alessandro's tone and in his face as he fell. 
 He had not liked to recall this, even before he heard 
 of this rich Mexican brother-in-law who had ap 
 peared on the scene ; and now, he found the memo 
 ries still more unpleasant. Fear is a wonderful goad 
 to remorse. There was another thing, too, which to 
 his great wonder had been apparently overlooked by 
 everybody ; at least, nothing had been said about it ; 
 but the bearing of it on his case, if the case were 
 brought up a second time and minutely investigated, 
 would be most unfortunate. And this was, that the 
 only clew he had to the fact of Alessandro's having 
 taken his horse, was that the poor, half-crazed fellow 
 had left his own well-known gray pony in the corral 
 in place of the horse he took. A strange thing, 
 surely, for a horse-thief to do ! Cold sweat burst 
 out on Farrar's forehead, more than once, as he 
 realized, how this, coupled with the well-known fact 
 of Alessandro's liability to attacks of insanity, might 
 be made to tell against him, if he should be brought 
 to trial for the murder. He was as cowardly as he 
 was cruel : never yet were the two traits separate in 
 human nature ; and after a few days of this torturing 
 suspense and apprehension, 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 the 
 way. He lost no time in carrying out his resolution ; 
 and it was well he did not, for it was only three days 
 after he had disappeared, that Felipe walked into 
 
RAMONA 279 
 
 Judge Wells's office, one morning, to make inquiries 
 relative to the preliminary hearing which had been 
 held there in the matter of the murder of the Indian, 
 Alessandro Assis, by James Farrar. And when the 
 judge, taking down his books, read to Felipe his 
 notes of the 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 be 
 worth a straw with any jury," Felipe sprang to his 
 feet, and cried, " She of whom you speak is my 
 foster-sister; and, by God, Senor, if I can find that 
 man, I will shoot him as I would a dog ! And I '11 
 see, then, if a San Diego County jury will hang me 
 for ridding the country of such a brute ! " and Felipe 
 would have been as good as his word. It was a wise 
 thing Farrar had done in making his escape. 
 
 When Aunt Ri heard that Farrar had fled the 
 country, she pushed up her spectacles and looked 
 reflectively at her informant. It was young Merrill. 
 " Fled ther country, hez he? " she said. ''Wall, he 
 kin flee ez many countries ez he likes, an' 't won't 
 dew him no good. I know yeow folks hyar don't 
 seem ter think killin' an Injun 's enny murder, but 
 I say 't is ; an' yeow '11 all git it brung home ter yer 
 afore yer die: ef 't ain't brung one way, 't '11 be 
 anuther ; yeow jest mind what I say, 'n' don't yeow 
 furgit it. Naow this miser'ble murderer, this Farrar, 
 thet's lighted out er hyar, he's nothin' more 'n a 
 skunk, but he's got the Lawd arter him, naow. 
 It's jest's well he's gawn ; I never did b'leeve in 
 
280 RAMONA 
 
 hangin'. I never could. It's jest tew men dead 
 'stead o' one. I don't want to see no man hung, 
 no marter what he 's done, 'n' I don't want to see 
 no man shot down, nuther, no marter what he 's 
 done ; 'n' this hyar Feeleepy, he 's thet high-strung, 
 he 'd ha' shot thet Farrar, any minnit, quicker 'n 
 lightnin', ef he'd ketched him; so it's better all 
 raound he 's lit aout. But I tell yeow, naow, he 
 hain't made much by goin' ! Thet Injun he mur 
 dered '11 foller him night 'n' day, till he dies, 'n' 
 long arter ; he '11 wish he wuz dead afore he doos 
 die, I allow he will, naow. He '11 be jest like a 
 man I knowed back in Tennessee. I wa'n't but a 
 mite then, but I never forgot it. 'T 's a great coun 
 try fur gourds, East Tennessee is, whar I wuz raised ; 
 'n' thar wuz two houses, 'n' a fence between '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' then the women took it up, ther 
 childun's mothers, yer know, 'n' they got fightin' 
 abaout it ; 'n' then 't the last the men took it up, 'n' 
 they fit; 'n' Rowell he got his butcher-knife, 'n' he 
 ground it up, 'n' he picked a querril with Claiborne, 
 'n' he cut him inter pieces. They hed him up for 't, 
 V somehow they clared him. I don't see how they 
 ever did, 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 could n't stan' it ; 'peared like he never hed no 
 peace; 'n' he come over ter our 'us, 'n' sed he, 
 ' Jake,' they allers called daddy ' Jake,' or ' Uncle 
 
RAMONA 281 
 
 Jake/ ' Jake,' sed he, ' I can't stan' it, livin' hyar.' 
 ' Why,' sez daddy, ' the law o' the country '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, but he 's a walkin' in it, by my side, 
 all day; 'n' come night, I sleep with him ter one 
 side, 'n' my wife t' other ; 'n' I can't stan' it ! ' 
 Them 's ther very words I heered him say, 'n' I 
 wuz n't ennythin' but a mite, but I did n't furgit it. 
 Wall, sir, he went West, way aout hyar to Californy, 
 'n' he could n't stay thar nuther, 'n' he come back 
 hum agin; 'n' I wuz bigger then, a gal grown, 'n' 
 daddy sez to him, I heern him, ' Wai,' sez he, 
 ' did Claiborne foller yer ? ' ' Yes,' sez he, ' he fol- 
 lered me. I '11 never git shet o' him in this world. 
 He 's allers clost to me everywhar.' Yer see, 't was 
 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 '11 be the way 't '11 be with this miser'ble 
 Farrar. He '11 live ter wish he 'd let hisself be 
 hanged er shot, 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 ; a 
 stratum, so to speak, which lay far beneath the sur 
 face. The character of the Western frontiersman is 
 often a singular accumulation of such strata, the 
 training and beliefs of his earliest days overlain by 
 
282 RAMONA 
 
 successions of unrelated and violent experiences 
 like geological deposits. Underneath the exterior 
 crust of the most hardened and ruffianly nature often 
 remains its forms not yet quite fossilized a realm 
 full of the devout customs, doctrines, religious in 
 fluences, which the boy knew, and the man remen> 
 bers. By sudden upheaval, in some great catastrophe 
 or struggle in his mature life, these all come again 
 into the light. Assembly Catechism definitions, 
 which he learned in his childhood, and has not 
 thought of since, ring in his ears, and he is thrown 
 into all manner of confusions and inconsistencies of 
 feeling and speech by this clashing of the old and 
 new man within him. It was much in this way that 
 Aunt Ri's words smote upon young Merrill. He 
 was not many years removed from the sound of a 
 preaching of the straitest New England Calvinism. 
 The wild frontier life had drawn him in and under, 
 as in 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 man that 's committed mur 
 der '11 ever have any peace in this world, nor in 
 the next, nuther, without he repents ; but ye see this 
 horse-stealin' business is different. 'T ain't murder 
 to kill a hoss-thief, any way you can fix it; every 
 body admits that. A feller that 's caught horse- 
 stealin' had ought to be shot ; and he will be, too, 
 T tell you, in this country ! " 
 
 A look of impatient despair spread over Aunt Ri's 
 
RAMONA 283 
 
 face. " I hain't no patience left with yer," she said, 
 " er talkin' abaout stealin' hosses ez ef 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 ef he '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 ter see?" 
 
 " 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 horse was 
 worth two hundred, 'n' cheap at that." 
 
 " Thet ain't nuther here nor thar in what we air 
 sayin'," persisted Aunt Ri. " I ain't a speakin' 
 on 't ez a swap er hosses. What I say is, he wa'n't 
 tryin' to cover 't up thet he 'd tuk the hoss. We air 
 sum used ter hoss-thieves in Tennessee ; but I never 
 heered o' one yit thet left his 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 allow me 'n' yeow hed n't better say any- 
 thin' much more on ther subjeck, fur I allow we air 
 bound to querril ef we dew; " and nothing that 
 Merrill said could 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 
 speech eloquent. It was the kindness and goodness 
 of the Cahuilla people. The last vestige of her 
 prejudice against Indians had melted and gone, in 
 
284 RAMONA 
 
 the presence of their simple-hearted friendliness. 
 " I '11 never hear a word said agin 'em, never, ter 
 my longest day," she said. "The way the pore 
 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 did n't know, 
 till Feeleepy 'n' me cum, thet she hed any folks 
 ennywhar, 'n' they'd ha' taken care on her till she 
 died, jest the same. The sick allers ez took care 
 on among them, they sed, 's long uz enny on 'em 
 hez got a thing left. Thet's ther way they air 
 raised; I allow white folks might take a lesson on 
 'em, in thet ; 'n' in heaps uv other things tew. Oh, 
 I 'm done talkin' agin Injuns, naow, don't yeow fur- 
 git it ! But I know, fur all thet, 't won't make any 
 difference ; 'pears like there cudd n't nobody b'leeve 
 ennythin' 'n this world 'thout seein' 't theirselves. I 
 wuz thet way tew; I allow I hain't got no call ter 
 talk; but I jest wish the hull world 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 a protector for 
 herself and her child, and deeply as they felt Felipe's 
 and Aunt Ri's good-will and gratitude towards them, 
 they were yet conscious of a loss, of a void. The 
 gulf between them and the rest of the world seemed 
 defined anew, their sense of isolation deepened, their 
 hopeless poverty emphasized. Ramona, wife of Ales- 
 
RAMONA 285 
 
 sandro, had been as their sister, one of them ; as 
 such, she would have had share in all their life had 
 to offer. But its utmost was nothing, was but hard 
 ship and 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. She embraced again and again 
 the young mother who had for so many days suckled 
 her child, even, it was said, depriving her own hardier 
 babe that 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. Un- 
 questioningly, like a little child, she resigned herself 
 into his hands. A power greater than hers was 
 ordering her way ; Felipe was its instrument. No 
 other voice spoke to guide her. The same old sim 
 plicity of acceptance which had characterized her 
 daily life in her girlhood, and kept her serene and 
 sunny then, serene under trials, sunny in her routine 
 of little duties, had kept her serene through all the 
 afflictions, and calm, if not sunny, under all the 
 burdens of her later life; and it did not desert 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 but I sh'd 
 cum ter believin' in saints tew," she said, " ef I wuz 
 ter live 'long side er thet gal. 'Pears like she wuz 
 
286 RAMONA 
 
 suthin' more 'n human. 'T beats me plum out, ther 
 way she takes her troubles. Thar 's sum would say 
 she hed n't no feelin' ; but I allow she hez more 'n 
 most folks. I kin see, 't ain't thet. I allow I did n't 
 never expect ter think 's well uv prayin' to picters, 
 'n' strings er beads, 'n' sech ; but ef 't 's thet keeps her 
 up ther way she 's kept up, I allow thar 's more in 
 it 'n it 's hed credit fur. I ain't gwine ter say enny 
 more agin it, nor agin Injuns. Tears like I'm gittin' 
 heaps er new idears inter my head, these days. I '11 
 turn Injun, mebbe, afore I git through ! " 
 
 The farewell to Aunt Ri was hardest of all. 
 Ramona clung to her as to a mother. At times 
 she felt that she would rather stay by her side than 
 go home with Felipe ; then she reproached herself 
 for the thought, as for a . treason and ingratitude. 
 Felipe saw the feeling, and did not wonder at it. 
 " Dear girl," he thought ; " it is the nearest she has 
 ever come to knowing what a mother's love is like ! " 
 And he lingered in San Bernardino week after week, 
 on the pretence that Ramona was not yet strong 
 enough to bear the journey home, when in reality 
 his sole motive for staying was his reluctance to 
 deprive her of Aunt Ri's wholesome and cheering 
 companionship. 
 
 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 dreadful morning 
 when the news of Alessandro's death reached her. 
 It was of her favorite pattern, the " hit-er-miss " 
 
RAMONA 287 
 
 pattern, as she called it: no set stripes or regular 
 alternation of colors, but ball after ball of the indis 
 criminately mixed tints, woven back and forth, on a 
 warp of a single color. The constant variety in it, 
 the unexpectedly harmonious blending 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 ' pat- 
 tren; but it's 'hit' oftener 'n 'tis ' miss.' Thar ain't 
 enny accountin' fur ther way ther breadths '11 come, 
 sometimes; 'pears like 't wuz kind er magic, when 
 they air sewed tergether ; 'n' I allow thet 's ther way 
 it 's gwine ter be with heaps er things in this life. 
 It's jest a kind er 'hit-er-miss ' pattren we air all on 
 us livin' on ; 't ain't much use tryin' ter reckon how 
 't '11 corne aout ; but the breadths doos fit heaps better 
 'n yer 'd think ; come ter sew 'em,'t ain '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't never 
 nobody fetched me rags, 'n' hed 'em all planned aout, 
 'n' jest ther 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 't done. It 
 don't never look 's they thought 't would, never ! I 
 larned thet lesson airly; 'n' I allers make 'em write 
 'taout on a paper, jest ther wedth er every stripe, 
 'n' each er ther colors, so's they kin see it's what 
 they ordered ; 'r else they 'd allers say I hed n't wove 
 Vs I wuz told ter. I got ketched thet way oncet! 
 
288 RAMONA 
 
 I allow ennybody 's a bawn fool gits ketched twice 
 runnin' ther same way. But fur me, I '11 take ther 
 'hit-er-miss' pattren, every time, sir, straight along." 
 
 When the carpet was done, Aunt Ri took the roll 
 in her own independent arms, and strode with it to 
 the Agent's house. She had been biding the time 
 when she should have this excuse for going there. 
 Her mind was burdened with questions she wished 
 to ask, information she wished to give, and she chose 
 an hour when she knew she would find the Agent 
 himself at home. 
 
 " I allow yer heered why I wuz behind time with 
 this yere carpet," she said ; " I wuz up ter San 
 Jacinto Mounting, where thet Injun wuz murdered. 
 \Ve 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 not come to see him; he had 
 expected to hear from her. 
 
 " Wall, I did hent ter her thet p'raps yer could 
 dew something, ef she wuz ter tell yer all abaout 
 it; but she allowed thar wa'n't enny use in talkin'. 
 Ther jedge, he sed her witnessin' would n't be wuth 
 nuthin' to no jury ; 'n' thet wuz what I wuz a want- 
 in' to ask yeow, ef thet wuz so." 
 
 " Yes, that is what the lawyers here told me," said 
 the Agent. " I was going to have the man arrested, 
 but they said it would be folly to bring the case to 
 trial. The woman's testimony would not be believed." 
 
RAMONA 289 
 
 "YeowVe 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 V the marshal here 
 arrestin' 'em pooty lively last month ; they sed 't was 
 yeour doin' ; yeow was a gwine ter prossacute every 
 livin' son o' hell them wuz thar words thet sold 
 whiskey ter Injuns." 
 
 " That's so ! " said the Agent. " So I am; I am 
 determined to break up this vile business of selling 
 whiskey to Indians. It is no use trying to do any 
 thing for them while they are made drunk in this 
 way ; it 's a sin and a 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. " I have 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 logical method of questioning was 
 inconvenient. 
 
 " I only mean that they are under my charge," 
 he said. " I don't mean that they belong to me in 
 any way." 
 
 " Wall, I allow not," retorted Aunt Ri, " enny more 
 VOL. n. 19 
 
290 RAMONA 
 
 'n I dew. They air airnin' their livin', sech 's 't is, ef 
 yer kin call it a livin'. I Ve ben 'mongst 'em, naow, 
 this hyar last tew weeks, 'n' I allow I Ve hed my 
 eyes opened ter some things. What 's thet docter 
 er yourn, him thet they call the Agency docter, 
 what J s he got ter do ? " 
 
 "To attend to the Indians of this Agency when 
 they are sick," replied the Agent, promptly. 
 
 " Wall, thet 's what I heern ; thet 's what yeow sed 
 afore, 'n' thet's why Alessandro, the Injun thet wuz 
 murdered, thet 's why he put his name down 'n 
 yeour books, though 't went agin him orful ter do it. 
 He wuz high-spereted, 'n' 'd allers took keer er his- 
 self ; but he 'd ben druv out er fust one place 'n' 
 then another, tell he 'd got clar down, 'n' pore ; 'n' 
 he jest begged thet docter er yourn to go to see his 
 little gal, 'n' the docter would n'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 died 
 afore they 'd come a mile with her ; 'n' 't wuz thet, 
 on top er all the rest, druv Alessandro crazy. He 
 never hed none er them wandrin* spells till arter thet. 
 Naow I allow thet wa'n't right er thet docter. I 
 would n'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 did n't bleeve yer knowed it, 
 or ye 'd hev made him go." 
 
 " No, Aunt Ri," said the Agent ; " I could not 
 have done that ; he is only required to doctor such 
 Indians as come here." 
 
RAMONA 291 
 
 "I allow, then, thar ain't any gret use en hevin 1 
 him at all," said Aunt Ri ; " 'pears like thar ain't 
 more 'n a harndful uv Injuns raound here. I expect 
 he gits well paid?" and she paused for an answer. 
 None came. The Agent did not feel himself obliged 
 to reveal to Aunt Ri what salary the Government 
 paid the San Bernardino doctor for sending hap 
 hazard prescriptions to Indians he never saw. 
 
 After a pause Aunt Ri resumed : " Ef it ain't enny 
 offence ter yeow, I allow I 'd like ter know jest what 
 't is yeow air here ter dew fur these Injuns. 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 to giv' 'em ennything, 
 food or sech? They air powerful pore, most on 
 'em." 
 
 " I have had a little fund for buying supplies for 
 them in times of special suffering," replied the 
 Agent, " a very little ; and the Department has ap 
 propriated some money for wagons and ploughs ; 
 not enough, however, to supply every village; you 
 see these Indians are in the 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 't is the Guvvermunt means ter hev 
 yeow dew fur 'em. I allow ef yeow ain't ter feed 
 'em, an' ef yer can't put folks inter jail fur robbin' 'n' 
 cheatin' 'em, not ter say killin' '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 
 
 \ 
 
292 RAMONA 
 
 not wish to seem to reflect on the Agent's usefulness, 
 and so concluded her sentence very differently from 
 her first impulse, " I 'm free ter say I should n't 
 like ter stan' in yer shoes." 
 
 " You may very well say that, Aunt Ri," laughed 
 the Agent, complacently. " It is the most trouble 
 some Agency in the whole list, and the least satis 
 factory." 
 
 "Wall, I allow it mought be the least satisfyin'," 
 rejoined the indefatigable Aunt Ri ; " but I donno 
 whar the trouble comes in, ef so be 's thar 's no 
 more kin be done than yer wuz er tellin'." And she 
 looked honestly puzzled. 
 
 " Look there, Aunt Ri ! " said he, triumphantly, 
 pointing to a pile of books and papers. " All those 
 to be gone through with, and a report to be made 
 out every month, and a voucher to be sent for every 
 lead-pencil I buy. I tell you I work harder than I 
 ever did in my life before, and for less pay." 
 
 " I allow yer hev hed easy times afore, then," 
 retorted Aunt Ri, good-naturedly satirical, " ef yeow 
 air plum tired doin' thet ! " And she took her leave, 
 not a whit clearer in her mind as to the real nature 
 and function of the Indian Agency than she was in 
 the beginning. 
 
 Through all of Ramona's journey home she seemed 
 to herself to be in a dream. Her baby in her arms ; 
 the faithful creatures, Baba and Benito, gayly trotting 
 along at a pace so swift that the carriage seemed 
 gliding ; Felipe by her side, the dear Felipe, his 
 
RAMONA 293 
 
 eyes wearing the same bright and loving look as of 
 old, w hat strange thing was it which had happened 
 to her to make it all seem unreal? Even the little 
 one in her arms, she, too, seemed unreal ! Ra- 
 mona did not know it, but her nerves were still 
 partially paralyzed. Nature sends merciful anaes 
 thetics in the shocks which almost kill us. In the 
 very sharpness. of the blow sometimes lies its own 
 first healing. It would be long before Ramona would 
 fully realize that Alessandro was dead. Her worst 
 anguish was yet to come. 
 
 Felipe did not know and could not have under 
 stood this ; and it was with a marvelling gratitude 
 that he saw Ramona, day after day, placid, always 
 ready with a smile when he spoke to her. Her grati 
 tude for each thoughtfulness of his smote him like a 
 reproach ; all the more that he knew her gentle 
 heart had never held a thought of reproach in it 
 towards him. " Grateful to me ! " he thought. " To 
 me, who might have spared her all this woe if I 
 had been strong ! " 
 
 Never would Felipe forgive himself, no, not to 
 the day of his death. His whole life should be de 
 voted to her and her child ; but what a pitiful thing 
 was that to render ! 
 
 As they drew near home, he saw Ramona often 
 try to conceal from him that she had shed tears. 
 At last he said to her : " Dearest Ramona, do not 
 fear to weep before me. I would not be any con 
 straint on you. It is better for you to let the 
 
294 RAMONA 
 
 tears come freely, my sister. They are healing to 
 wounds." 
 
 " I do not think so, Felipe," replied Ramona. 
 " Tears are only selfish and weak. They are like a 
 cry because we are hurt. It is not possible always 
 to keep them back ; but I am ashamed when I have 
 wept, and think also that I have sinned, because I 
 have given a sad sight to others. .Father Salvier- 
 derra always said that it was a duty to look happy, 
 no matter how much we might be suffering." 
 
 " That is more than human power can do ! " said 
 Felipe. 
 
 " I think not," replied Ramona. " If it were, Father 
 Salvierderra would not have commanded it. And do 
 you not recollect, Felipe, what a smile his face always 
 wore ? and his heart had been broken for many, many 
 years before 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 never saw him 
 except with a smile. When one thinks in the wil 
 derness, alone, Felipe, many things become clear. I 
 have been learning, all these years in the wilderness, 
 as if I had had a teacher. Sometimes I almost 
 thought that the spirit of Father Salvierderra was by 
 my side putting thoughts into 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's soul ; you can see that by her 
 eyes. And all these things of which I speak were 
 in his heart from his childhood. They belong to 
 
KAMONA 295 
 
 the air and the sky and the sun, and all trees know 
 them." 
 
 When Ramona spoke thus of Alessandro, Felipe 
 marvelled in silence. He himself had been afraid to 
 mention Alessandro's name ; but Ramona spoke it as 
 if he were yet by her side. Felipe could not fathom 
 this. There were 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 watch for days, were all gathered in 
 the court-yard, old Marda and Juan Can heading the 
 group ; only two absent, Margarita and Luigo. 
 They had been married some months before, and 
 were living at the Ortega's ranch, where Luigo, 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 the home-coming be but 
 a sad one after all. Vaguely they knew a little of 
 what their dear Senorita had been through since she 
 left them ; it seemed that she must be sadly altered 
 by so much sorrow, and that it would be terrible to 
 her to come back to the place so full of painful asso 
 ciations. " 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 it was when the Senora 
 was here." 
 
 " Humph ! " muttered Juan Can, more consequen* 
 
296 RAMONA 
 
 tial and overbearing than ever, for this year of abso 
 lute control of the estate. " Humph ! that 's all 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 the Senorita than under the Senora, peace to 
 her ashes ! She had her day. They can have theirs 
 now." 
 
 When these loving and excited retainers saw Ra- 
 mona pale, but with her own old smile on her face 
 coming towards them with her babe in her arms, 
 they broke into wild cheering, and there was not a 
 dry eye in the group. 
 
 Singling out old Marda by a glance, Ramona held 
 out the baby towards her, and said in her old gentle, 
 affectionate voice, " I am sure you will love my baby, 
 Marda ! " 
 
 " Senorita ! Senorita ! God bless you, Senorita ! " 
 they cried ; and closed up their ranks around the 
 baby, touching her, praising her, handing her from 
 one to another. 
 
 Ramona stood for a few seconds watching them; 
 then she said, " Give her to me, Marda. I will myself 
 carry her into the house ; " and she moved towards the 
 inner door. 
 
 " This way, dear ; this way," cried Felipe. " It is 
 Father Salvierderra's room I ordered to be prepared 
 for you, because it is so sunny for the baby ! " 
 
 " Thanks, kind Felipe ! " cried Ramona, and hei 
 
RAMONA 297 
 
 eyes said more than her words. She knew he had 
 divined the one thing she had most dreaded in return 
 ing, the crossing again the threshold of her own 
 room. It would be long now before she would enter 
 that room. Perhaps she would never enter it. How 
 tender and wise of Felipe ! 
 
 Yes ; Felipe was both tender and wise, now. How 
 long would the wisdom hold the tenderness in leash, as 
 he day after day looked upon the face of this beauti 
 ful woman, so much more beautiful now than she 
 had been before her marriage, that Felipe sometimes, 
 as he gazed at her, thought her changed even in 
 feature ? But in this very change lay a spell which 
 would for a long time surround her, and set her as 
 apart from lover's thoughts as if she were guarded by 
 a cordon of viewless spirits. There was a rapt look 
 of holy communion on her face, which made itself felt 
 by the dullest perception, and sometimes overawed 
 even where it attracted. It was the same thing which 
 Aunt Ri had felt, and formulated in her own humor 
 ous fashion. But old Marda put it better, when, one 
 day, in reply to a half-terrified, low-whispered sug 
 gestion of Juan Can, to the effect that it was " a great 
 pity the Senor Felipe hadn't married the Senorita 
 years ago, what if he were to do it yet? " she said, 
 also under her breath, " 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 imaged 
 to herself so often had come about, the presence of 
 
298 RAMONA 
 
 a little child in her house, on the veranda, in the gar 
 den, everywhere ; the sunny, joyous, blest presence. 
 But how differently had it come ! Not Felipe's child, 
 as she proudly had pictured, but the child of Ra- 
 mona : the friendless, banished Ramona returned now 
 into full honor and peace as the daughter of the 
 house, 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 little thing had 
 clung to him as only second to her mother. She 
 slept hours in his 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 
 in Felipe's heart came Ramona's child ; and on the 
 child he could lavish the fondness he felt that he 
 could never dare to show to the mother. Month by 
 month it grew clearer to Felipe that the mainsprings 
 of Ramona's life were no longer of this earth ; that 
 she walked as one in constant fellowship with one 
 unseen. Her frequent and calm mention of Alessan 
 dro did not deceive him. It did not mean a lessening 
 grief: it meant an unchanged relation. 
 
 One thing weighed heavily on Felipe's mind, the 
 concealed treasure. A sense of humiliation withheld 
 him, day after day, from speaking of it. But he could 
 have no peace until Ramona knew it. Each hour that 
 he delayed the revelation he felt himself almost as 
 guilty as he had held his mother to be. At last he 
 spoke. He had not said many words, before Ramona 
 interrupted him. " Oh, yes ! " she said. " I knew 
 
RAMONA 299 
 
 about those things ; your mother told me. When we 
 were in such trouble, I used to wish sometimes we 
 could have had a few of the jewels. But they were 
 all given to the Church. That was what the Senora 
 Ortegna said must be done with them 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 me about 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 that you 
 were dead and had left no children." 
 
 Ramona's eyes were fixed earnestly on Felipe's 
 face. " You have not read the 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 against the Senora Moreno's will." 
 
 Felipe groaned. Had his mother lied? "No, 
 dear," he said, " that was not the word. It was, if 
 you married unworthily." 
 
 Ramona reflected. " I never recollected the words," 
 she said. " I was too frightened ; but I thought that 
 was what it meant. I did not marry unworthily. Do 
 
300 RAMONA 
 
 you feel sure, Felipe, that it would be honest for me 
 to take 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 did not think I had any right 
 to them, if I married Alessandro. That was why she 
 showed them to me. I never knew of them till then. 
 I took one thing, 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 a 
 half-day's journey to find it for me ; but it had blown 
 away. I grieved sorely for it." 
 
 The next day Ramona said to Felipe : " Dear 
 Felipe, I have thought it all over about those jewels. 
 I believe it will be right for my daughter to have 
 them. Can there be some kind of a paper written 
 for me to sign, to say that if she dies they are all to 
 be given to the Church, to Father Salvierderra's 
 College, in Santa Barbara? That is where I would 
 rather have them go." 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Felipe ; " and then we will put 
 them in some safer place. I will take them to Los 
 Angeles when I go. It is wonderful no one has 
 stolen them all these years ! " 
 
 And so a second time the Ortegna jewels were 
 passed on, by a written bequest, into the keeping of 
 that mysterious, certain, uncertain thing we call the 
 
RAMONA 301 
 
 future, and delude ourselves with the fancy that we 
 can have much to do with its shaping. 
 
 Life ran smoothly in the Moreno household, 
 smoothly to the eye. Nothing could be more peace 
 ful, 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 was not an antagonistic or jar 
 ring element ; and, flitting back and forth, from ve 
 randa to veranda, garden to garden, room to room, 
 equally at home and equally welcome everywhere, 
 there went perpetually, running, frisking, laughing, 
 rejoicing, the little child that had so strangely drifted 
 into this happy shelter, the little Ramona. As un 
 conscious of aught sad or fateful in her destiny as the 
 blossoms with which it was her delight to play, she 
 sometimes seemed to her mother to have been from 
 the first in some mysterious way disconnected from it, 
 removed, set free from all that could ever by any 
 possibility link her to sorrow. 
 
 Ramona herself bore no impress of sorrow ; rather 
 her face had now an added radiance. There had 
 been a period, soon after her return, when she felt 
 that she for the first time waked to the realization of 
 her bereavement ; when every sight, sound, and place 
 seemed to cry out, mocking her with the name and 
 the memory of Alessandro. But she wrestled with this 
 absorbing grief as with a sin ; setting her will stead 
 fastly to the purposes of each day's duty, and, most 
 
302 RAMONA 
 
 of all, to the duty of joyfulness. She repeated to her 
 self Father Salvierderra's sayings, till she more than 
 knew them by heart ; and she spent long hours of 
 the night in 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 new victory dif 
 fused itself over Ramona's face : but neither did the 
 first dishearten, nor the latter encourage him. Felipe 
 was a clearer-sighted lover now than he had been in 
 his earlier youth. He knew that into the world 
 where Ramona really lived he did not so much as 
 enter ; yet her every act, word, look, was full of lov 
 ing thoughtfulness of and for him, loving happiness 
 in his companionship. And while this was so, all 
 Felipe's unrest could not make him unhappy. 
 
 There were other causes entering into this unrest 
 besides his yearning desire to win Ramona for his 
 wife. Year by year the conditions of life in Cali 
 fornia were growing more distasteful to him. The 
 methods, aims, standards of the fast incoming Ameri 
 cans were to him odious. Their boasted successes, 
 the crowding of colonies, schemes of settlement and 
 development, all were disagreeable and irritating. 
 The passion for money and reckless spending of it. 
 the great fortunes made in one hour, thrown away in 
 another, savored to Felipe's mind more of brigandage 
 and gambling than of the occupations of gentlemen. 
 He loathed them. Life under the new government 
 grew more and more intolerable to him; both his 
 
RAMONA 303 
 
 hereditary instincts and prejudices, and his tempera 
 ment, revolted. He found himself more and more 
 alone in the country. Even the Spanish tongue was 
 less and less spoken. He was beginning to yearn for 
 Mexico, for Mexico, which he had never seen, yet 
 yearned for like an exile. There he might yet live 
 among men of his own race and degree, and of con 
 genial beliefs and occupations. Whenever he thought 
 of this change, always came the quick memory of 
 Ramona. Would she be willing to go? Could it be 
 that she felt a bond to this land, in which she had 
 known nothing but suffering? 
 
 At last he asked her. To his unutterable surprise, 
 Ramona cried : " Felipe ! The saints be praised ! I 
 should never have told you. I did not think that 
 you could wish to leave this estate. But my most 
 beautiful dream for Ramona would be, that she 
 should grow up in Mexico." 
 
 And as she spoke, Felipe understood by a lightning 
 intuition, and wondered that he had not foreknown 
 it, that she would spare her daughter the burden she 
 had gladly, heroically borne herself, in the bond of 
 race. 
 
 The question was settled. With gladness of heart 
 almost more than he could have believed possible, 
 Felipe at once communicated with some rich Ameri 
 can proprietors who had desired to buy the Moreno 
 estate. Land in the valley had so greatly advanced 
 in value, that the sum he received for it was larger 
 than he had dared to hope ; was ample for the reali- 
 
304 RAMON A 
 
 zation of all his plans for the new life in Mexico. 
 From the hour that this was determined, and the 
 time for their sailing fixed, a new expression came 
 into Ramona's face. Her imagination was kindled. 
 An untried future beckoned, a future which she 
 would embrace and conquer for her daughter. Felipe 
 saw the look, felt the change, and for the first time 
 hoped. It would be a new world, a new life ; why 
 not a new love? She could not always be blind to 
 his devotion ; and when she saw it, could she refuse 
 to reward it? He would be very patient, and wait 
 long, he thought. Surely, since he had been patient 
 so long without hope, he could be still more patient 
 now that hope had dawned ! But patience is not 
 hope's province in breasts of lovers. From the day 
 when Felipe 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 spirit was deeply disquieted 
 with the fear that she had displeased him, so 
 strangely did he conduct himself. 
 
 He had resolved that nothing should tempt him 
 to disclose to her his passion and its dreams, until 
 they had reached their new home. But there came 
 a moment which mastered him, and he spoke. 
 
 It was in Monterey. They were to sail on the 
 morrow, and had been on board the ship to complete 
 the last arrangements. They were . rowed back to 
 
RAMONA 305 
 
 shore in a little boat. A full moon shone. Ramona 
 sat bareheaded in the end of the boat, and the silver 
 radiance from the water seemed to float up around 
 her, and invest her as with a myriad halos. Felipe 
 gazed at her till his senses swam ; and when, on step 
 ping from the boat, she put 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 
 ^jone on the shore. Ramona gazed at him for one 
 second, in surprise. Only for a second ; then she 
 knew all. " Felipe ! My brother ! " she cried, and 
 stretched out her hands as if in warning. 
 
 " No ! I am not your brother ! " he cried. " I will 
 not be your brother ! I would rather die ! " 
 
 " Felipe ! " cried Ramona again. This time her 
 voice recalled him to himself. 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 the shining sands ; the waves rose 
 and fell, rose and fell, at her feet gently as sighs. 
 A great revelation had come to Ramona. In this 
 supreme moment of Felipe's abandonment of all dis 
 guises, she saw his whole past life in a new light. 
 Remorse smote her. " Dear Felipe," she said, clasp- 
 VOL. n. 20 
 
306 RAMONA 
 
 ing her hands, " I have been very selfish. I did not 
 know " 
 
 " Of course you did not, love," said Felipe. " How 
 could you? But I have never loved any one else. I 
 have always loved you. Can you not learn to love 
 me? I did not mean to tell you for a long time 
 yet. But now I have spoken ; I cannot hide it any 
 more." 
 
 Ramona drew nearer to him, still with her hands 
 clasped. " I have always loved you," she said. " I 
 love no other living man ; but, Felipe," her voice 
 sank to a solemn whisper, " do you not know,, 
 Felipe, that part of me is dead, dead ? can never 
 live again? You could not want me for your wife, 
 Felipe, when part of me is dead ! " 
 
 Felipe threw his arms around her. He was beside 
 himself with joy. " You would 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 yourself dead or alive ! " 
 
 Ramona stood quietly in his arms. Ah, well for 
 Felipe that he did not know, never could know, the 
 Ramona that Alessandro had known. This gentle, 
 faithful, grateful Ramona, asking herself fervently 
 now if she would do her brother a wrong, yielding 
 up to him what seemed to her only the broken frag 
 ment of a life ; weighing his words, not in the light 
 of passion, but of calmest, most unselfish affection, 
 ah, how unlike was she to that Ramona who flung 
 herself on Alessandro's breast, crying, " Take me 
 
RAMONA 307 
 
 with you ! I would rather die than have you leave 
 me!" 
 
 Ramona had spoken truth. Part of her was dead. 
 But Ramona saw now, with infallible intuition, that 
 even as she had loved Alessandro, so Felipe loved her. 
 Could she refuse to give Felipe happiness, when he 
 had saved her, saved her child? What else now 
 remained for them, these words having been spoken? 
 " I will be your wife, dear Felipe," she said, speak 
 ing solemnly, slowly, " if you are sure it will make 
 you happy, and if you think it is right." 
 
 " Right ! " ejaculated Felipe, mad with the joy 
 unlocked for so soon. " Nothing else would be 
 right ! My Ramona, I will love you so, you will 
 forget you ever said that part of you was dead ! " 
 
 A strange look which' startled Felipe swept across 
 Ramona's face ; it might have been a moonbeam. It 
 passed. Felipe never saw it again. 
 
 General Moreno's name was still held in warm re 
 membrance in the city of Mexico, and Felipe found 
 himself at once among"- fnends. On the day after 
 their arrival he and Kamona were married in the 
 cathedral, old Marda and Juan Can, with his crutches, 
 kneeling in proud joy behind them. The story of the 
 romance of their lives, being widely rumored, greatly 
 enhanced the interest with which they were wel 
 comed. The beautiful young Senora Moreno was 
 the theme of the city ; and Felipe's bosom thrilled 
 with pride to see the gentle dignity of demeanor by 
 which she was distinguished in all assemblages. It 
 
RAMONA 
 
 was indeed a new world, a new life. Ramona might 
 well doubt her own identity. But undying memories 
 stood like sentinels in her breast. When the notes 
 of doves, calling to each other, fell on her ear, her 
 eyes sought the sky, and she heard a voice saying, 
 " Majella ! " This was the only secret her loyal, loving 
 heart had kept 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 all beautiful ; but the most beautiful 
 of them all, and, it was said, the most beloved by 
 both father and mother, was the eldest one : the one 
 who bore the mother's name, and was only step 
 daughter to the Senor, Ramona, Ramona, daugh 
 ter of Alessandro the Indian. 
 
 THE END 
 
rs