ork
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 Ramona'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. 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 disobeyed the Senora," she
said quickly.

"I would!" exclaimed Alessandro.

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

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

"The same thing. He said I must not ask; I was not old enough. When 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
Americans 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