"Alessandro must have vexed the Senorita," she thought, "to make
her speak like that to me." But the incident was not so easily
dismissed from Margarita's thoughts. Many times in the day it
recurred to her, still a bewilderment and a puzzle, as far from
solution as ever. It was a tiny seed, whose name she did not dream
of; but it was dropped in soil where it would grow some day, --
forcing-house soil, and a bitter seed; and when it blossomed,
Ramona would have an enemy.
All unconscious, equally of Margarita's heart and her own,
Ramona proceeded to Felipe's room. Felipe was sleeping, the
Senora sitting by his side, as she had sat for days and nights,-- her
dark face looking thinner and more drawn each day; her hair
looking even whiter, if that could be; and her voice growing
hollow from faintness and sorrow.
"Dear Senora," whispered Ramona, "do go out for a few moments
while he sleeps, and let me watch,-- just on the walk in front of the
veranda. The sun is still lying there, bright and warm. You will be
ill if you do not have air."
The Senora shook her head.
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