of value, of fashions a
quarter of a century old. They were the jewels which Angus had bought
for his bride. These alone remained of all his fortune. Even in the
lowest depths of his degradation, a certain sentiment had restrained him
from parting with them. The letter contained only these words: "I send
you all I have to leave my daughter. I meant to bring them myself this
year. I wished to kiss your hands and hers once more. But I am dying.
Farewell."

After these jewels were in her possession, Senora Ortegna rested not
till she had persuaded Senora Moreno to journey to Monterey, and had
put the box into her keeping as a sacred trust. She also won from her a
solemn promise that at her own death she would adopt the little
Ramona. This promise came hard from Senora Moreno. Except for Father
Salvierderra's influence, she had not given it. She did not wish any
dealings with such alien and mongrel blood, "If the child were pure
Indian, I would like it better," she said. "I like not these crosses. It
is the worst, and not the best of each, that remains."

But the promise once given, Senora Ortegna was content. Well she knew
that her sister would not lie, nor evade a trust. The little Ramona's
future was assured. During the last years of the unhappy woman's life
the child was her only comfort. Ortegna's conduct had become so openly
and defiantly infamous, that he even flaunted his illegitimate relations
in his wife's presence; subjecting her to gross insults, spite of her
helpless invalidism. This last outrage was too much for the Gonzaga
blood to endure; the Senora never afterward left her apartment, or spoke
to her husband. Once more she sent for her sister to come; this time, to
see her die. Every valuable she possessed, jewels, laces, brocades, and
damasks, she gave into her sister's charge, to save them from falling
into the hands of the base creature that she knew only too well would
stand in her place as soon as the funeral services had been said over
her dead body.

Stealthily, as if she had been a thief, the sorrowing Senora Moreno
conveyed her sister's wardrobe, article by article, out of the house, to
be sent to her own home. It was the wardrobe of a princess. The Ortegnas
lavished money always on the women whose hearts they broke; and never
ceased to demand of them that they should sit superbly arrayed in their
lonely wretchedness.

One hour after the funeral, with a scant and icy ceremony of farewell
to her