“And if he did,” repeated the Senora, eyeing Ramona keenly, “would you disobey him?”
“Yes,” said Ramona.
“I will tell Father Salvierderra what you say,” retorted the Senora, sarcastically, “that he may spare himself the humiliation of laying any commands on you, to be thus disobeyed.”
Ramona's lip quivered, and her eyes filled with the tears which no other of the Senora's taunts had been strong enough to bring. Dearly she loved the old monk; had loved him since her earliest recollection. His displeasure would be far more dreadful to her than the Senora's. His would give her grief; the Senora's, at utmost, only terror.
Clasping her hands, she said, “Oh, Senora, have mercy! Do not say that to the Father!”
“It is my duty to tell the Father everything that happens in my family,” answered the Senora, chillingly. “He will agree with me, that if you persist in this disobedience you will deserve the severest punishment. I shall tell him all;” and she began putting the trays back in the box.
“You will not tell him as it really is, Senora,” persisted Ramona. “I will tell him myself.”
“You shall not see him! I will take care of that!” cried the Senora, so vindictively that Ramona shuddered.
“I will give you one more chance,” said the Senora, pausing in the act of folding up one of the damask gowns. “Will you obey me? Will you promise to have nothing more to do with this Indian?”
“Never, Senora,” replied Ramona; “never!”