"My place is here," she answered,
speaking in a dry, hard tone. Sympathy was hateful to the Senora
Moreno; she wished neither to give it nor take it. "I shall not leave
him. I do not need the air."
Ramona had a cloth-of-gold rose in her hand. The veranda eaves
were now shaded with them, hanging down like a thick fringe of
golden tassels. It was the rose Felipe loved best. Stooping, she laid
it on the bed, near Felipe's head. "He will like to see it when he
wakes," she said.
The Senora seized it, and flung it far out in the room. "Take it
away! Flowers are poison when one is ill," she said coldly. "Have I
never told you that?"
"No, Senora," replied Ramona, meekly; and she glanced
involuntarily at the saucer of musk which the Senora kept on the
table close to Felipe's pillow.
"The musk is different," said the Senora, seeing the glance. "Musk
is a medicine; it revives."
Ramona knew, but she would have never dared to say, that Felipe
hated musk. Many times he had said to her how he hated the odor;
but his mother was so fond of it, that it must always be that the
veranda and the house would be full of it.
Pages:
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176