“Oh, no.” cried Alessandro; “if the Señora will excuse me, I could not lie on a bed. A raw-hide like Señor Felipe's, and my blanket, are all I want. I could not lie on any bed.”
“To be sure,” thought the Señora; “what was I thinking of! How the boy makes one forget he is an Indian! But the floor is harder than the ground, Alessandro,” she said kindly.
“No, Señora,” he said, “it is all one; and to-night I will not sleep. I will watch Señor Felipe, in case there should be a wind, or he should wake and need something.”
“I will watch him myself till midnight,” said the Señora. “I should feel easier to see how he sleeps at first.”
It was the balmiest of summer nights, and as still as if no living thing were on the earth. There was a full moon, which shone on the garden, and on the white front of the little chapel among the trees. Ramona, from her window, saw Alessandro pacing up and down the walk. She had seen him spread down the raw-hide by Felipe's bed, and had seen the Señora take her place in one of the big carved chairs. She wondered if they were both going to watch; she wondered why the Señora would never let her sit up and watch with Felipe.
“I am not of any use to anybody,” she thought sadly. She dared not go out and ask any questions about the arrangements for the night. At supper the Señora had spoken to her only in the same cold and distant manner which always made her dumb and afraid. She had not once seen Felipe alone during the day. Margarita, who, in the former times,—ah, how far away those former times looked now!—had been a greater comfort to Ramona than she realized,—Margarita now was sulky and silent, never came into Ramona's presence if she could help it, and looked at
