“Ah!” said the Senora, relieved. Then, as Felipe remained silent, she asked, “And what did he say?”
“He told me all that had happened.”
“All!” said the Senora, sneeringly. “Do you suppose that he told you all?”
“He said that you had bidden him begone out of your sight,” said Felipe, “and that he supposed he must go. So I told him to go at once. I thought you would prefer not to see him again.”
“Ah!” said the Senora again, startled, gratified that Felipe had so promptly seconded her action, but sorry that Alessandro had gone. “Ah, I did not know whether you would think it best to discharge him at once or not; I told him he must answer to you. I did not know but you might devise some measures by which he could be retained on the estate.”
Felipe stared. Could he believe his ears? This did not sound like the relentless displeasure he had expected. Could Ramona have been dreaming? In his astonishment, he did not weigh his mother's words carefully; he did not carry his conjecture far enough; he did not stop to make sure that retaining Alessandro on the estate might not of necessity bode any good to Ramona; but with his usual impetuous ardor, sanguine, at the first glimpse of hope, that all was well, he exclaimed joyfully, “Ah, dear mother, if that could only be done, all would be well;” and, never noting the expression of his mother's face, nor pausing to take breath, he poured out all he thought and felt on the subject.
“That is just what I have been hoping for ever since I saw that he and Ramona were growing so fond of each other. He is a splendid fellow, and the best hand we have ever had on the place. All the men like him; he would make a capital overseer; and if we put him in charge of the whole estate, there would not be any objection to his marrying Ramona. That would give them a good living here with us.”
“Enough!” cried the Senora, in a voice which fell on Felipe's ears like a voice from some other world,—so hollow, so strange. He stopped speaking, and uttered an ejaculation of amazement. At the first words he had uttered, the Senora had fixed her eyes on the floor,—a habit of hers when she wished to listen with close attention. Lifting her eyes now, fixing them full on Felipe, she regarded him with a look which not all his filial reverence could bear without resentment. It was nearly as scornful as that with which she had regarded Ramona. Felipe colored.
“Why do you look at me like that, mother?” he exclaimed. “What have I done?”
The Senora waved her hand imperiously. “Enough!” she reiterated. “Do not say any more. I wish to think for a few moments;” and she fixed her eyes on the floor again.