Clasping her hands, she said, “Oh, Señora, have mercy! Do not say that to the Father!”
“It is my duty to tell the Father everything that happens in my family,” answered the Señora, chillingly. “He will agree with me, that if you persist in this disobedience you will deserve the severest punishment. I shall tell him all;” and she began putting the trays back in the box.
“You will not tell him as it really is, Señora,” persisted Ramona. “I will tell him myself.”
“You shall not see him! I will take care of that!” cried the Señora, so vindictively that Ramona shuddered.
“I will give you one more chance,” said the Señora, pausing in the act of folding up one of the damask gowns. “Will you obey me? Will you promise to have nothing more to do with this Indian?”
“Never, Señora,” replied Ramona; “never!”
“Then the consequences be on your own head,” cried the Señora. “Go to your room! And, hark! I forbid you to speak of all this to Señor Felipe. Do you hear?”
Ramona bowed her head. “I hear,” she said; and gliding out of the room, closed the door behind her, and instead of going to her room, sped like a hunted creature down the veranda steps, across the garden, calling in a low tone, “Felipe! Felipe! Where are you, Felipe?”
