t they will not follow us. They will wish never to hear
of me again. I mean, the Senora will wish never to hear of me. Felipe
will be sorry. Felipe is very good, Alessandro."

They were all ready now,--Ramona on Baba, the two packed nets swinging
from her saddle, one on either side. Alessandro, walking, led his tired
pony. It was a sad sort of procession for one going to be wed, but
Ramona's heart was full of joy.

"I don't know why it is, Alessandro," she said; "I should think I
would be afraid, but I have not the least fear,--not the least; not of
anything that can come, Alessandro," she reiterated with emphasis. "Is
it not strange?"

"Yes, Senorita," he replied solemnly, laying his hand on hers as he
walked close at her side. "It is strange. I am afraid,--afraid for you,
my Senorita! But it is done, and we will not go back; and perhaps the
saints will help you, and will let me take care of you. They must love
you, Senorita; but they do not love me, nor my people."

"Are you never going to call me by my name?" asked Ramona. "I hate your
calling me Senorita. That was what the Senora always called me when she
was displeased."

"I will never speak the word again!" cried Alessandro. "The saints
forbid I should speak to you in the words of that woman!"

"Can't you say Ramona?" she asked.

Alessandro hesitated. He could not have told why it seemed to him
difficult to say Ramona.

"What was that other name, you said you always thought of me by?" she
continued. "The Indian name,--the name of the dove?"

"Majel," he said. "It is by that name I have oftenest thought of you
since the night I watched all night for you, after you had kissed me,
and two wood-doves were calling and answering each other in the dark;
and I said to myself, that is what my love is like, the wood-dove: the
wood-dove's voice is low like hers, and sweeter than any other sound in
the earth; and the wood-dove is true to one mate always--" He stopped.

"As I to you, Alessandro," said Ramona, leaning from her horse, and
resting her hand on Alessandro's shoulder.

Baba stopped. He was used to knowing by the most trivial signs what his
mistress wanted; he did not understand this new situation; no one had
ever 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, si