On the morning after
Ramona's disappearance, words had been spoken by each which
neither would ever forget. In fact, the Senora believed that it was
of them she was dying, and perhaps that was not far from the truth;
the reason that forces could no longer rally in her to repel disease,
lying no doubt largely in the fact that to live seemed no longer to
her desirable.
Felipe had found the note Ramona had laid on his bed. Before it
was yet dawn he had waked, and tossing uneasily under the light
covering had heard the rustle of the paper, and knowing
instinctively that it was from Ramona, had risen instantly to make
sure of it. Before his mother opened her window, he had read it.
He felt like one bereft of his senses as he read. Gone! Gone with
Alessandro! Stolen away like a thief in the night, his dear, sweet
little sister! Ah, what a cruel shame! Scales seemed to drop from
Felipe's eyes as he lay motionless, thinking of it. A shame! a cruel
shame! And he and his mother were the ones who had brought it
on Ramona's head, and on the house of Moreno.
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