Father,” he said doggedly. “It is now twenty-one days ago. I was not so at first. There is nothing to be done.”
Ramona held tight to Alessandro's hand. She was afraid of this fierce, black-bearded priest, who dashed back and forth, pouring out angry invectives.
“The United States Government will suffer for it!” he continued. “It is a Government of thieves and robbers! God will punish them. You will see; they will be visited with a curse,—a curse in their borders; their sons and their daughters shall be desolate! But why do I prate in these vain words? My son, tell me your names again;” and he seated himself once more at the table where the ancient marriage-record lay open.
After writing Alessandro's name, he turned to Ramona. “And the woman's?” he said.
Alessandro looked at Ramona. In the chapel he had said simply, “Majella.” What name should he give more?
Without a second's hesitation, Ramona answered, “Majella. Majella Phail is my name.”
She pronounced the word “Phail,” slowly. It was new to her. She had never seen it written; as it lingered on her lips, the Father, to whom also it was a new word, misunderstood it, took it to be in two syllables, and so wrote it.
The last step was taken in the disappearance of Ramona. How should any one, searching in after years, find any trace of Ramona Ortegna, in the woman married under the name of “Majella Fayeel”?
“No, no! Put up your money, son,” said Father Gaspara, as Alessandro began to undo the knots of the handkerchief in which his gold was tied. “Put up your money. I'll take no money from a Temecula Indian. I would the Church had money to give you. Where are you going now?”
