"There is no harm," muttered Margarita, sullenly. "I don't know what the Senorita means."
"You know very well, Margarita," retorted Ramona. "You know that the Senora permits nothing of the kind. Be careful, now, what you do." And with that the two separated, Ramona returning to the veranda and her embroidery, and Margarita to her neglected duty of making the good Father's bed. But each girl's heart was hot and unhappy; and Margarita's would have been still hotter and unhappier, had she heard the words which were being spoken on the veranda a little later.
After a few minutes of his blind rage at Margarita, himself, and fate generally, Alessandro, recovering his senses, had ingeniously persuaded himself that, as the Senora's; and also the Senorita's servant, for the time being, he owed it to them to explain the situation in which he had just been found. Just what he was to say he did not know; but no sooner had the thought struck him, than he set off at full speed for the house, hoping to find Ramona on the veranda, where he knew she spent all her time when not with Senor Felipe.
When Ramona saw him coming, she lowered her eyes, and was absorbed in her embroidery. She did not wish to look at him.
The footsteps stopped. She knew he was standing at the steps. She would not look up. She thought if she did not, he would go away.
She did not know either the Indian or the lover nature. After a time, finding the consciousness of the soundless presence intolerable, she looked up, and surprised on Alessandro's face a gaze which had, in its long interval of freedom from observation, been slowly gathering up into it all the passion of the man's soul, as a burning-glass draws the fire of the sun's rays. Involuntarily a low cry burst from Ramona's lips, and she sprang to her feet.
"Ah! did I frighten the Senorita? Forgive. I have been waiting here a long time to speak to her. I wished to say --"
Suddenly Alessandro discovered that he did not know what he wished to say.
As suddenly, Ramona discovered that she knew all he wished to say. But she spoke not, only looked at him searchingly.
"Senorita," he began again, "I would never be unfaithful to my duty to the Senora, and to you."
"I believe you, Alessandro," said Ramona. "It is not necessary to say more."
At these words a radiant joy spread over Alessandro's face. He had not hoped for this. He felt, rather than heard, that Ramona understood him. He felt, for the first time, a personal relation between himself and her.
"It is well," he said, in the brief phrase so frequent with his people.
"It is well." And with a reverent inclination of his head, he walked away. Margarita, still dawdling surlily over her work in Father Salvierderra's room, heard Alessandro's voice, and running to discover to whom he was speaking, caught these last, words.
Peering from behind a curtain, she saw the look with which he said them; saw also the expression on Ramona's face as she listened.
Margarita clenched her hands. The seed had blossomed. Ramona had an enemy.
"Oh, but I am glad Father Salvierderra has gone!" said the girl, bitterly. "He'd have had this out of me, spite of everything. I haven't got to confess for a year, maybe; and much can happen in that time."
Much, indeed!
