"No." Senora Moreno's truthfulness was of the adamantine order.
"No, I do not. I cannot. One cannot love by act of will."
"That is true," the Father would say sadly; "but affection may be
cultivated."
"Yes, if it exists," was the Senora's constant answer. "But in this
case it does not exist. I shall never love Ramona. Only at your
command, and to save my sister a sorrow, I took her. I will never
fail in my duty to her."
It was of no use. As well say to the mountain, "Be cast into the
sea," as try to turn the Senora's heart in any direction whither it did
not of itself tend. All that Father Salvierderra could do, was to love
Ramona the more himself, which he did heartily, and more and
more each year, and small marvel at it; for a gentler, sweeter
maiden never drew breath than this same Ramona, who had been
all these years, save for Felipe, lonely in the Senora Moreno's
house.
Three watchers of Ramona now. If there had been a fourth, and
that fourth herself, matters might have turned out differently. But
how should Ramona watch? How should Ramona know? Except
for her two years at school with the nuns, she had never been away
from the Senora's house.
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