IT came. And when it came, it fell out worse for Ramona than Margarita's most malicious hopes had pictured; but Margarita had no hand in it. It was the Senora herself.
Since Felipe had so far gained as to be able to be dressed, sit in his chair on the veranda, and walk about the house and garden a little, the Senora, at ease in her mind about him, had resumed her old habit of long, lonely walks on the place. It had been well said by her servants, that there was not a blade of grass on the estate that the Senora had not seen. She knew every inch of her land. She had a special purpose in walking over it now. She was carefully examining to see whether she could afford to sell to the Ortegas a piece of pasture-land which they greatly desired to buy, as it joined a pasturage tract of theirs. This bit of land lay farther from the house than the Senora realized, and it had taken more time than she thought it would, to go over it; and it was already sunset on this eventful day, when, hurrying home, she turned off from the highway into the same shortcut path in which Father Salvierderra had met Ramona in the spring. There was no difficulty now in getting through the mustard tangle. It was parched and dry, and had been trampled by cattle. The Senora walked rapidly, but it was dusky twilight when she reached the willows; so dusky that she saw nothing -- and she stepped so lightly on the smooth brown path that she made no sound -- until suddenly, face to face with a man and a woman standing locked in each other's arms, she halted, stepped back a pace, gave a cry of surprise, and, in the same second, recognized the faces of the two, who, stricken dumb, stood apart, each gazing into her face with terror.
Strangely enough, it was Ramona who spoke first. Terror for herself had stricken her dumb; terror for Alessandro gave her a voice.
"Senora," she began, "Silence! Shameful creature!" cried the Senora. "Do not dare to speak! Go to your room!"
Ramona did not move.
"As for you," the Senora continued, turning to Alessandro, "you,"
-- she was about to say, "You are discharged from my service from this hour," but recollecting herself in time, said,-- "you will answer to Senor Felipe. Out of my sight!" And the Senora Moreno actually, for once in her life beside herself with rage, stamped her foot on the ground. "Out of my sight!" she repeated.
Alessandro did not stir, except to turn towards Ramona with an inquiring look. He would run no risk of doing what she did not wish. He had no idea what she would think it best to do in this terrible dilemma.
"Go, Alessandro," said Ramona, calmly, still looking the Senora full in the eye. Alessandro obeyed; before the words had left her lips, he had walked away.
Ramona's composure, and Alessandro's waiting for further orders than her own before stirring from the spot, were too much for Senora Moreno. A wrath, such as she had not felt since she was young, took possession of her. As Ramona opened her lips again, saying, "Senora," the Senora did a shameful deed; she struck the girl on the mouth, a cruel blow.
"Speak not to me!" she cried again; and seizing her by the arm, she pushed rather than dragged her up the garden-walk.
"Senora, you hurt my arm," said Ramona, still in the same calm voice. "You need not hold me. I will go with you. I am not afraid."
Was this Ramona? The Senora, already ashamed, let go the arm, and stared in the girl's face. Even in the twilight she could see upon it an expression of transcendent peace, and a resolve of which no one would have thought it capable. "What does this mean?" thought the Senora, still weak, and trembling all over, from rage. "The hussy, the hypocrite!" and she seized the arm again.
This time Ramona did not remonstrate, but submitted to being led like a prisoner, pushed into her own room, the door slammed violently and locked on the outside.
All of which Margarita saw. She had known for an hour that Ramona and Alessandro were at the willows, and she had been consumed with impatience at the Senora's prolonged absence.
More than once she had gone to Felipe, and asked with assumed interest if he were not hungry, and if he and the Senorita would not have their supper.
"No, no, not till the Senora returns," Felipe had answered. He, too, happened this time to know where Ramona and Alessandro were.
He knew also where the Senora had gone, and that she would be late home; but he did not know that there would be any chance of her returning by way of the willows at the brook; if he had known it, he would have contrived to summon Ramona.
When Margarita saw Ramona shoved into her room by the pale and trembling Senora, saw the key turned, taken out, and dropped into the Senora's pocket, she threw her apron over her head, and ran into the back porch. Almost a remorse seized her. She remembered in a flash how often Ramona had helped her in times gone by,-- sheltered her from the Senora's displeasure. She recollected the torn altar-cloth. "Holy Virgin! what will be done to her now?" she exclaimed, under her breath. Margarita had never conceived of such an extremity as this. Disgrace, and a sharp reprimand, and a sundering of all relations with Alessandro, -- this was all Margarita had meant to draw down on Ramona's head. But the Senora looked as if she might kill her.
"She always did hate her, in her heart," reflected Margarita; "she shan't starve her to death, anyhow. I'll never stand by and see that.
But it must have been something shameful the Senora saw, to have brought her to such a pass as this;" and Margarita's jealousy again got the better of her sympathy. "Good enough for her. No more than she deserved. An honest fellow like Alessandro, that would make a good husband for any girl!" Margarita's short-lived remorse was over. She was an enemy again.
