Before night of this second day since the trouble had burst like a
storm-cloud on the peaceful Moreno household, everything had so
resumed the ordinary expression and routine, that a shrewder
observer and reasoner than Margarita might well be excused for
doubting if any serious disaster could have occurred to any one.
Senor Felipe sauntered about in his usual fashion, smoking his
cigarettes, or lay on his bed in the veranda, dozing. The Senora
went her usual rounds of inspection, fed her birds, spoke to every
one in her usual tone, sat in her carved chair with her hands folded,
gazing out on the southern sky. Ramona busied herself with her
usual duties, dusted the chapel, put fresh flowers before all the
Madonnas, and then sat down at her embroidery. Ramona had
been for a long time at work on a beautiful altar-cloth for the
chapel. It was to have been a present to the Senora. It was nearly
done. As she held up the frame in which it was stretched, and
looked at the delicate tracery of the pattern, she sighed. It had been
with a mingled feeling of interest and hopelessness that she had for
months been at work on it, often saying to herself, "She won't care
much for it, beautiful as it is, just because I did it; but Father
Salvierderra will be pleased when he sees it.
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