r Alessandro. Everybody had seen him a few
minutes ago, but nobody knew where he was now. Kitchens, sheepfolds,
vineyards, orchards, Juan Can's bedchamber,--Ramona searched them all
in vain. At last, standing at the foot of the veranda steps, and looking
down the garden, she thought she saw figures moving under the willows by
the washing-stones.

"Can he be there?" she said. "What can he be doing there? Who is it with
him?" And she walked down the path, calling, "Alessandro! Alessandro!"

At the first sound, Alessandro sprang from the side of his companion,
and almost before the second syllables had been said, was standing face
to face with Ramona.

"Here I am, Senorita. Does Senor Felipe want me? I have my violin here.
I thought perhaps he would like to have me play to him in the twilight."

"Yes," replied Ramona, "he wishes to hear you. I have been looking
everywhere for you." As she spoke, she was half unconsciously peering
beyond into the dusk, to see whose figure it was, slowly moving by the
brook.

Nothing escaped Alessandro's notice where Ramona was concerned. "It is
Margarita," he said instantly. "Does the Senorita want her? Shall I run
and call her?"

"No," said Ramona, again displeased, she knew not why, nor in fact knew
she was displeased; "no, I was not looking for her. What is she doing
there?"

"She is washing," replied Alessandro, innocently.

"Washing at this time of day!" thought Ramona, severely. "A mere
pretext. I shall watch Margarita. The Senora would never allow this sort
of thing." And as she walked back to the house by Alessandro's side,
she meditated whether or no she would herself speak to Margarita on the
subject in the morning.

Margarita, in the mean time, was also having her season of reflections
not the pleasantest. As she soused her aprons up and down in the water,
she said to herself, "I may as well finish them now I am here. How
provoking! I've no more than got a word with him, than she must come,
calling him away. And he flies as if he was shot on an arrow, at
the first word. I'd like to know what's come over the man, to be so
different. If I could ever get a good half-hour with him alone, I'd soon
find out. Oh, but his eyes go through me, through and through me! I
know he's an Indian, but what do I care for that. He's a million times
handsomer than Senor Felipe. And Juan Jose said the other day he'd make
enough better head shepherd than old Juan Can, if Senor Felipe'd only