monk standing in the window, tears running down his cheeks. “God be praised,” he said, “the Señor Felipe will get well. A sweat has broken out on his skin; he still sleeps, but when he wakes he will be in his right mind. The strength of the fever is broken. But, Alessandro, we know not how to spare you. Can you not let the men go without you, and remain here? The Señora would like to have you remain in Juan Can's place till he is about. She will give you the same wages he had. Would it not be a good thing for you, Alessandro? You cannot be sure of earning so much as that for the next three months, can you?”
While the Father was speaking, a tumult had been going on in Alessandro's breast. He did not know by name any of the impulses which were warring there, tearing him in twain, as it were, by their pulling in opposite directions; one saying “Stay!” and the other saying “Go!” He would not have known what any one meant, who had said to him, “It is danger to stay; it is safety to fly.” All the same, he felt as if he could do neither.
“There is another shearing yet, Father,” he began, “at the Ortega's ranch. I had promised to go to them as soon as I had finished here, and they have been wroth enough with us for the delay already. It will not do to break the promise, Father.”
Father Salvierderra's face fell. “No, my son, certainly not,” he said; “but could no one else take your place with the band?”
Hearing these words, Ramona came to the window, and leaning out, whispered, “Are you talking about Alessandro's staying? Let me come and talk to him. He must not go.” And running swiftly through the hall, across the veranda, and down the steps, she stood by Alessandro's side in a moment. Looking up in his face pleadingly, she said: “We can't let you go, Ales-
