rld but him; he knows how I love him," she would regain
composure, and remind herself of the many detentions which might have
prevented his coming at the time set. Spite of all, however, she was
heavy at heart; and at breakfast her anxious eyes and absent look were
sad to see. They hurt Felipe. Too well he knew what it meant. He also
was anxious. The Senora saw it in his face, and it vexed her. The girl
might well pine, and be mortified if her lover did not appear. But why
should Felipe disquiet himself? The Senora disliked it. It was a bad
symptom. There might be trouble ahead yet. There was, indeed, trouble
ahead,--of a sort the Senora's imaginings had not pictured.

Another day passed; another night; another, and another. One week now
since Alessandro, as he leaped on his horse, had grasped Felipe's hand,
and said: "You will tell the Senorita; you will make sure that she
understands why I go; and in four days I will be back." One week, and he
had not come. The three who were watching and wondering looked covertly
into each other's faces, each longing to know what the others thought.

Ramona was wan and haggard. She had scarcely slept. The idea had taken
possession of her that Alessandro was dead. On the sixth and seventh
days she had walked each afternoon far down the river road, by which he
would be sure to come; down the meadows, and by the cross-cut, out
to the highway; at each step straining her tearful eyes into the
distance,--the cruel, blank, silent distance. She had come back
after dark, whiter and more wan than she went out. As she sat at the
supper-table, silent, making no feint of eating, only drinking glass
after glass of milk, in thirsty haste, even Margarita pitied her. But
the Senora did not. She thought the best thing which could happen, would
be that the Indian should never come back. Ramona would recover from it
in a little while; the mortification would be the worst thing, but even
that, time would heal. She wondered that the girl had not more pride
than to let her wretchedness be so plainly seen. She herself would have
died before she would go about with such a woe-begone face, for a whole
household to see and gossip about.

On the morning of the eighth day, Ramona, desperate, waylaid Felipe, as
he was going down the veranda steps. The Senora was in the garden, and
saw them; but Ramona did not care. "Felipe!" she cried, "I must, I must
speak to you! Do you think Alessandro is dead? What else coul