Part 18 (1/2)
Felipe's face was horror-stricken. ”Shut you in the convent!” he gasped.
”Did she say that? Ramona, dear, fly back to your room. Let me talk to her. Fly, I implore you. I can't do anything for you if she sees me talking with you now;” and he turned away, and walked swiftly down the terrace.
Ramona felt as if she were indeed alone in the world. How could she go back into that house! Slowly she walked up the garden-path again, meditating a hundred wild plans of escape. Where, where was Alessandro?
Why did he not appear for her rescue? Her heart failed her; and when she entered her room, she sank on the floor in a paroxysm of hopeless weeping. If she had known that Alessandro was already a good half-hour's journey on his way to Temecula, galloping farther and farther away from her each moment, she would have despaired indeed.
This was what Felipe, after hearing the whole story, had counselled him to do. Alessandro had given him so vivid a description of the Senora's face and tone, when she had ordered him out of her sight, that Felipe was alarmed. He had never seen his mother angry like that. He could not conceive why her wrath should have been so severe. The longer he talked with Alessandro, the more he felt that it would be wiser for him to be out of sight till the first force of her anger had been spent. ”I will say that I sent you,” said Felipe, ”so she cannot feel that you have committed any offence in going. Come back in four days, and by that time it will be all settled what you shall do.”
It went hard with Alessandro to go without seeing Ramona; but it did not need Felipe's exclamation of surprise, to convince him that it would be foolhardy to attempt it. His own judgment had told him that it would be out of the question.
”But you will tell her all, Senor Felipe? You will tell her that it is for her sake I go?” the poor fellow said piteously, gazing into Felipe's eyes as if he would read his inmost soul.
”I will, indeed, Alessandro; I will,” replied Felipe; and he held his hand out to Alessandro, as to a friend and equal. ”You may trust me to do all I can do for Ramona and for you.”
”G.o.d bless you, Senor Felipe,” answered Alessandro, gravely, a slight trembling of his voice alone showing how deeply he was moved.
”He's a n.o.ble fellow,” said Felipe to himself, as he watched Alessandro leap on his horse, which had been tethered near the corral all night,--”a n.o.ble fellow! There isn't a man among all my friends who would have been manlier or franker than he has been in this whole business. I don't in the least wonder that Ramona loves him. He's a n.o.ble fellow! But what is to be done! What is to be done!”
Felipe was sorely perplexed. No sharp crisis of disagreement had ever arisen between him and his mother, but he felt that one was coming now. He was unaware of the extent of his influence over her. He doubted whether he could move her very far. The threat of shutting Ramona up in the convent terrified him more than he liked to admit to himself. Had she power to do that? Felipe did not know. She must believe that she had, or she would not have made the threat. Felipe's whole soul revolted at the cruel injustice of the idea.
”As if it were a sin for the poor girl to love Alessandro!” he said.
”I'd help her to run away with him, if worse comes to worst. What can make my mother feel so!” And Felipe paced back and forth till the sun was high, and the sharp glare and heat reminded him that he must seek shelter; then he threw himself down under the willows. He dreaded to go into the house. His instinctive shrinking from the disagreeable, his disposition to put off till another time, held him back, hour by hour.
The longer he thought the situation over, the less he knew how to broach the subject to his mother; the more uncertain he felt whether it would be wise for him to broach it at all. Suddenly he heard his name called.
It was Margarita, who had been sent to call him to dinner. ”Good heavens! dinner already!” he cried, springing to his feet.
”Yes, Senor,” replied Margarita, eyeing him observantly. She had seen him talking with Alessandro, had seen Alessandro galloping away down the river road. She had also gathered much from the Senora's look, and Ramona's, as they pa.s.sed the dining-room door together soon after breakfast. Margarita could have given a tolerably connected account of all that had happened within the last twenty-four hours to the chief actors in this tragedy which had so suddenly begun in the Moreno household. Not supposed to know anything, she yet knew nearly all; and her every pulse was beating high with excited conjecture and wonder as to what would come next.
Dinner was a silent and constrained meal,--Ramona absent, the fiction of her illness still kept up; Felipe embarra.s.sed, and unlike himself; the Senora silent, full of angry perplexity. At her first glance in Felipe's face, she thought to herself, ”Ramona has spoken to him. When and how did she do it?” For it had been only a few moments after Ramona had left her presence, that she herself had followed, and, seeing the girl in her own room, had locked the door as before, and had spent the rest of the morning on the veranda within hands' reach of Ramona's window. How, when, and where had she contrived to communicate with Felipe? The longer the Senora studied over this, the angrier and more baffled she felt; to be outwitted was even worse to her than to be disobeyed. Under her very eyes, as it were, something evidently had happened, not only against her will, but which she could not explain. Her anger even rippled out towards Felipe, and was fed by the recollection of Ramona's unwise retort, ”Felipe would not let you!” What had Felipe done or said to make the girl so sure that he would be on her side and Alessandro's? Was it come to this, that she, the Senora Moreno, was to be defied in her own house by children and servants!
It was with a tone of severe displeasure that she said to Felipe, as she rose from the dinner-table, ”My son, I would like to have some conversation with you in my room, if you are at leisure.”
”Certainly, mother,” said Felipe, a load rolling off his mind at her having thus taken the initiative, for which he lacked courage; and walking swiftly towards her, he attempted to put his arm around her waist, as it was his affectionate habit frequently to do. She repulsed him gently, but bethinking herself, pa.s.sed her hand through his arm, and leaning on it heavily as she walked, said: ”This is the most fitting way, my son. I must lean more and more heavily on you each year now. Age is telling on me fast. Do you not find me greatly changed, Felipe, in the last year?”
”No, madre mia,” replied Felipe, ”indeed I do not. I see not that you have changed in the last ten years.” And he was honest in this. His eyes did not note the changes so clear to others, and for the best of reasons. The face he saw was one no one else ever beheld; it was kindled by emotion, transfigured by love, whenever it was turned towards him.
The Senora sighed deeply as she answered: ”That must be because you so love me, Felipe. I myself see the changes even day by day. Troubles tell on me as they did not when I was younger. Even within the last twenty-four hours I seem to myself to have aged frightfully;” and she looked keenly at Felipe as she seated herself in the arm-chair where poor Ramona had swooned a few hours before. Felipe remained standing before her, gazing, with a tender expression, upon her features, but saying nothing.
”I see that Ramona has told you all!” she continued, her voice hardening as she spoke. What a fortunate wording of her sentence!
”No, mother; it was not Ramona, it was Alessandro, who told me this morning, early,” Felipe answered hastily, hurrying on, to draw the conversation as far away from Ramona as possible. ”He came and spoke to me last night after I was in bed; but I told him to wait till morning, and then I would hear all he had to say.”
”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.”