rned 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 Alessandro, and they would go away together; and
the Ortegna jewels,--well, that was a thing to be decided in the future;
that should be left to Father Salvierderra 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
sympathy with Ramona to take a just view of the situation. 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 mean time 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.

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-deception. In this regard, it outdoes
vanity a thousandfold. 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