It was an odd thing, how identical were Margarita's and the Senora's view and interpretation of the situation. The Senora looking at it from above, and Margarita looking at it from below, each was sure, and they were both equally sure, that it could be nothing more nor less than a disgraceful intrigue. Mistress and maid were alike incapable either of conjecturing or of believing the truth.
As ill luck would have it,-- or was it good luck? -- Felipe also had witnessed the scene in the garden-walk. Hearing voices, he had looked out of his window, and, almost doubting the evidence of his senses, had seen his mother violently dragging Ramona by the arm,-- Ramona pale, but strangely placid; his mother with rage and fury in her white face. The sight told its own tale to Felipe.
Smiting his forehead with his hand, he groaned out: "Fool that I was, to let her be surprised; she has come on them unawares; now she will never, never forgive it!" And Felipe threw himself on his bed, to think what should be done. Presently he heard his mother's voice, still agitated, calling his name. He remained silent, sure she would soon seek him in his room. When she entered, and, seeing him on the bed, came swiftly towards him, saying, "Felipe, dear, are you ill?" he replied in a feeble voice, "No, mother, only tired a little to-night;" and as she bent over him, anxious, alarmed, he threw his arms around her neck and kissed her warmly. "Mother mia!" he said passionately, "what should I do without you?" The caress, the loving words, acted like oil on the troubled waters.
They restored the Senora as nothing else could. What mattered anything, so long as she had her adoring and adorable son! And she would not speak to him, now that he was so tired, of this disgraceful and vexing matter of Alessandro. It could wait till morning. She would send him his supper in his room, and he would not miss Ramona, perhaps.
"I will send your supper here, Felipe," she said;. "you must not overdo; you have been walking too much. Lie still." And kissing him affectionately, she went to the dining-room, where Margarita, vainly trying to look as if nothing had happened, was standing, ready to serve supper. When the Senora entered, with her countenance composed, and in her ordinary tones said, "Margarita, you can take Senor Felipe's supper into his room; he is lying down, and will not get up; he is tired," Margarita was ready to doubt if she had not been in a nightmare dream. Had she, or had she not, within the last half-hour, seen the Senora, shaking and speechless with rage, push the Senorita Ramona into her room, and lock her up there? She was so bewildered that she stood still and gazed at the Senora, with her mouth wide open.
"What are you staring at, girl?" asked the Senora, so sharply that Margarita jumped.
"Oh, nothing, nothing, Senora! And the Senorita, will she come to supper? Shall I call her?" she said.
The Senora eyed her. Had she seen? Could she have seen? The Senora Moreno was herself again. So long as Ramona was under her roof, no matter what she herself might do or say to the girl, no servant should treat her with disrespect, or know that aught was wrong.
"The Senorita is not well," she said coldly. "She is in her room. I myself will take her some supper later, if she wishes it. Do not disturb her." And the Senora returned to Felipe.
Margarita chuckled inwardly, and proceeded to clear the table she had spread with such malicious punctuality two short hours before.
In those two short hours how much had happened!
"Small appetite for supper will our Senorita have, I reckon," said the bitter Margarita, "and the Senor Alessandro also! I'm curious to see how he will carry himself."
But her curiosity was not gratified. Alessandro came not to the kitchen. The last of the herdsmen had eaten and gone; it was past nine o'clock, and no Alessandro. Slyly Margarita ran out and searched in some of the places where she knew he was in the habit of going; but Alessandro was not to be found. Once she brushed so near his hiding-place that he thought he was discovered, and was on the point of speaking, but luckily held his peace, and she passed on. Alessandro was hid behind the geranium clump at the chapel door; sitting on the ground, with his knees drawn up to his chin, watching Ramona's window. He intended to stay there all night.
He felt that he might be needed: if Ramona wanted him, she would either open her window and call, or would come out and go down through the garden-walk to the willows. In either case, he would see her from the hiding-place he had chosen. He was racked by his emotions; mad with joy one minute, sick at heart with misgiving the next. Ramona loved him. She had told him so. She had said she would go away with him and be his wife. The words had but just passed her lips, at that dreadful moment when the Senora appeared in their presence. As he lived the scene over again, he re-experienced the joy and the terror equally.
