unhappier, 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 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 Alessandro's face a gaze which had, in its long interval of freedom from observation, been slowly gathering up into it all the passion of the 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. '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 Alessandro'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 frequent 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 haven't got to confess for a year, maybe; and much can happen in that time.' Much, indeed!

VIII

FELIPE gained but slowly. The relapse was indeed, as Father 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 Alessandro 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 Alessandro 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: 'I will speak with you again about this, Alessandro; I am going to sleep now. Sing.' The Senora, seeing Felipe's enjoyment of Alessandro'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-contained, mysterious, in human nature. The more she observed Alessandro, the more she trusted and approved him. Luckily for Juan Can, he did not know how matters were working in his mistress's mind. If he had, he would have been in a fever of apprehension, and would have got at swords' points with Alessandro immediately. On the contrary, all unaware of 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 experience, 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, 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 before. 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 Alessandro 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 permanently in her employ. The possibility of an Indian's being so born and placed that he would hesitate about becoming permanently a servant even to 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?' '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
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