before, when Ramona was riding him, walked by his side so close that he touched his shoulders, and rested his hand in his mane. If it had been anybody else than Alessandro, Baba would not have permitted it even now. But it must be all right, since Ramona was quiet; and now she had stretched out her hand and rested it on Alessandro's shoulder. Did that mean halt for a moment? Baba thought it might, and acted accordingly; turning his head round to the right, and looking back to see what came of it.
Alessandro's arms around Ramona, her head bent down to his, their lips together,—what could Baba think? As mischievously as if he had been a human being or an elf, Baba bounded to one side and tore the lovers apart. They both laughed, and cantered on,—Alessandro running; the poor Indian pony feeling the contagion, and loping as it had not done for many a day.
“Majel is my name, then,” said Ramona, “is it? It is a sweet sound, but I would like it better Majella. Call me Majella.”
“That will be good,” replied Alessandro, “for the reason that never before had any one the same name. It will not be hard for me to say Majella. I know not why your name of Ramona has always been hard to my tongue.”
“Because it was to be that you should call me Majella,” said Ramona. “Remember, I am Ramona no longer. That also was the name the Señora called me by—and dear Felipe too,” she added thoughtfully. “He would not know me by my new name. I would like to have him always call me Ramona. But for all the rest of the world I am Majella, now,—Alessandro's Majel!”
