At the close of the reading, the Senora said sternly, "You see,
now, that my sister left to me the entire disposition of everything
belonging to you,"
"But it hasn't said who was my mother," cried Ramona. "Is that all
there is in the paper?"
The Senora looked stupefied. Was the girl feigning? Did she care
nothing that all these jewels, almost a little fortune, were to be lost
to her forever?
"Who was your mother?" she exclaimed, scornfully, "There was no
need to write that down. Your mother was an Indian. Everybody
knew that!"
At the word "Indian," Ramona gave a low cry.
The Senora misunderstood it. "Ay," she said, "a low, common
Indian. I told my sister, when she took you, the Indian blood in
your veins would show some day; and now it has come true."
Ramona's cheeks were scarlet. Her eyes flashed. "Yes, Senora
Moreno," she said, springing to her feet; "the Indian blood in my
veins shows to-day. I understand many things I never understood
before. Was it because I was an Indian that you have always hated
me?"
"You are not an Indian, and I have never hated you," interrupted
the Senora.
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