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152 “Señora, you hurt my arm,” said Ramona, still in the same calm voice. “You need not hold me. I will go with you. I am not afraid.”

Was this Ramona? The Señora, already ashamed, let go the arm, and stared in the girl's face. Even in the twilight she could see upon it an expression of transcendent peace, and a resolve of which no one would have thought it capable. “What does this mean?” thought the Señora, still weak, and trembling all over, from rage. “The hussy, the hypocrite!” and she seized the arm again.

This time Ramona did not remonstrate, but submitted to being led like a prisoner, pushed into her own room, the door slammed violently and locked on the outside.

All of which Margarita saw. She had known for an hour that Ramona and Alessandro were at the willows, and she had been consumed with impatience at the Señora's prolonged absence. More than once she had gone to Felipe, and asked with assumed interest if he were not hungry, and if he and the Señorita would not have their supper.

“No, no, not till the Señora returns,” Felipe had answered. He, too, happened this time to know where Ramona and Alessandro were. He knew also where the Señora had gone, and that she would be late home; but he did not know that there would be any chance of her returning by way of the willows at the brook; if he had known it, he would have contrived to summon Ramona.

When Margarita saw Ramona shoved into her room by the pale and trembling Señora, saw the key turned, taken out, and dropped into the Señora's pocket, she threw her apron over her head, and ran into the back porch. Almost a remorse seized her. She remembered in a flash how often Ramona had helped her in times gone by,—sheltered her from