uture beckoned,--a future which she would embrace and conquer
for her daughter. Felipe saw the look, felt the change, and for the
first time hoped. It would be a new world, a new life; why not a new
love? She could not always be blind to his devotion; and when she saw
it, could she refuse to reward it? He would be very patient, and wait
long, he thought. Surely, since he had been patient so long without
hope, he could be still more patient now that hope had dawned! But
patience is not hope's province in breasts of lovers. From the day when
Felipe first thought to himself, "She will yet be mine," it grew harder,
and not easier, for him to refrain from pouring out his love in words.
Her tender sisterliness, which had been such balm and comfort to him,
grew at times intolerable; and again and again her gentle spirit
was deeply disquieted with the fear that she had displeased him, so
strangely did he conduct himself.

He had resolved that nothing should tempt him to disclose to her his
passion and its dreams, until they had reached their new home. But there
came a moment which mastered him, and he spoke.

It was in Monterey. They were to sail on the morrow; and had been on
board the ship to complete the last arrangements. They were rowed back
to shore in a little boat. A full moon shone. Ramona sat bareheaded in
the end of the boat, and the silver radiance from the water seemed to
float up around her, and invest her as with a myriad halos. Felipe gazed
at her till his senses swam; and when, on stepping from the boat, she
put her hand in his, and said, as she had said hundreds of times before,
"Dear Felipe, how good you are!" he clasped her hands wildly, and cried,
"Ramona, my love! Oh, can you not love me?"

The moonlight was bright as day. They were alone on the shore. Ramona
gazed at him for one second, in surprise. Only for a second; then she
knew all. "Felipe! My brother!" she cried, and stretched out her hands
as if in warning.

"No! I am not your brother!" he cried. "I will not be your brother! I
would rather die!"

"Felipe!" cried Ramona again. This time her voice recalled him to
himself. It was a voice of terror and of pain.

"Forgive me, my sweet one!" he exclaimed. "I will never say it again.
But I have loved you so long--so long!"

Ramona's head had fallen forward on her breast, her eyes fixed on the
shining sands; the waves rose and fell, rose and fell, at her feet
gently as sighs. A great revelation had