ntrol.

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 contingency. 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 herself 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. "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 handwriting fell at her feet. As she walked,
her long skirt swept it rustling to and fro. She stooped, picked it up,
read it again, with increasing bitterness. No softness at the memory of
her sister's love for the little child; no relenting. "Unworthy!" Yes,
that was a mild word to apply to Ramon