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 between 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, confusion, 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? Perhaps 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 carefully 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, eyeing Ramona with a steady look, entered the room. This joyous composure 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 farthest 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 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 resentment, 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 permit it.' Ramona looked anxiously at her. 'I have never disobeyed you, Senora,' she said, 'but this is different from all other things; you are not 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 Alessandro. 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 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 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 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 walking 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 anything,' 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 movement. '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 tried to reason with herself; surely no ill
