BEFORE the end of their second day in the canon, the place had become to Ramona so like a friendly home, that she to leave its shelter. Nothing is stronger proof of the original intent of Nature to do more for man than the civilization in its will long permit her to do, than the quick and sure way in which she his affection, when by weariness, idle chance, or disaster, he is returned, for an , to her arms. How soon he rejects the of what he had called habits; sheds the still more miserable of superiority, makeshifts of , and chains of custom! “Whom the gods love, die young,” has been too long carelessly said. It is not true, in the sense in which men use the words. Whom the gods love, dwell with nature; if they are ever away, return to her before they are old. Then, however long they live before they die, they die young. Whom the gods love, live young—forever.  
With the insight of a lover added to the instinct of the Indian, Alessandro saw how, hour by hour, there grew in Ramona's eyes the wonted look of one at home; how she watched the shadows, and knew what they meant.
 
“If we lived here, the walls would be sun-dials for us, would they not?” she said, in a tone of pleasure. “I see that yon tall yucca has gone in shadow sooner than it did yesterday.”
 
And, “What millions of things grow here, Alessandro! I did not know there were so many. Have they all names? The taught us some names; but they were hard, and I forgot them, We might name them for ourselves, if we lived here. They would be our relations.”
 
And, “For one year I should lie and look up at the sky, my Alessandro, and do nothing else. It hardly seems as if it would be a sin to do nothing for a year, if one gazed at the sky all the while.”
 
And, “Now I know what it is I have always seen in your face, Alessandro. It is the look from the sky. One must be always serious and not unhappy, but never too glad, I think, when he lives with nothing between him and the sky, and the saints can see him every minute.”
 
And, “I cannot believe that it is but two days I have lived in the air, Alessandro. This seems to me the first home I have ever had. Is it because I am Indian, Alessandro, that it gives me such joy?”
 
It was strange how many more words Ramona than Alessandro, yet how full she felt their to be. His silence was more than silent; it was taciturn. Yet she always felt herself answered. A monosyllable of Alessandro's, , a look, told what other men took long sentences to say, and said less .
 
After long thinking over this, she exclaimed, “You speak as the trees speak, and like the rock yonder, and the flowers, without saying anything!”
 
This delighted Alessandro's very heart. “And you, Majella,” he exclaimed; “when you say that, you speak in the language of our people; you are as we are.”
 
And Ramona, in her turn, was made happy by his words,—happier than she would have been made by any other praise or fondness.
 
Alessandro found himself all his strength as if by a miracle. The gaunt look had left his face. Almost it seemed that its contour was already fuller. There is a beautiful old Gaelic legend of a Fairy who wooed a Prince, came again and again to him, and, herself invisible to all but the Prince, in the air, sang loving songs to draw him away from the crowd of his indignant nobles, who heard her voice and summoned magicians to her by all spells and at their command. Finally they succeeded in silencing her and driving her off; but as she vanished from the Prince's sight she threw him an apple,—a magic golden apple. Once having tasted of this, he refused all other food. Day after day, night after night, he ate only this golden apple; and yet, morning after morning, evening after evening, there lay the golden fruit, still whole and shining, as if he had not fed upon it; and when the Fairy came the next time, the Prince leaped into her magic boat, sailed away with her, and never was seen in his kingdom again. It was only an allegory, this legend,—a beautiful allegory, and true,—of love and lovers. The food on which Alessandro was, hour by hour, now growing strong, was as magic and invisible as Prince Connla's apple, and just as strength-giving.
 
“My Alessandro, how is it you look so well, so soon?” said Ramona, studying his with loving care. “I thought that night you would die. Now you look nearly strong as ever; your eyes shine, and your hand is not hot! It is the blessed air; it has cured you, as it cured Felipe of the fever.”
 
“If the air could keep me well, I had not been ill, Majella,” replied Alessandro. “I had been under no roof except the tule-shed, till I saw you. It is not the air;” and he looked at her with a gaze that said the rest.
 
At of the third day, when Ramona saw Alessandro leading up Baba, saddled ready for the journey, the tears filled her eyes. At noon Alessandro had said to her: “To-night, Majella, we must go. There is not grass enough for another day. We must go while the horses are strong. I dare not lead them any farther down the canon to graze, for there is a only a few miles lower. To-day I found one of the man's cows feeding near Baba.”
 
Ramona made no . The necessity was too evident; but the look on her face gave Alessandro a new . He, too, felt as if exiled afresh in leaving the spot. And now, as he led the horses slowly up, and saw Ramona sitting in a dejected attitude beside the nets in which were again carefully packed their small stores, his heart ached anew. Again the sense of his homeless and condition settled like an burden on his soul. Whither and to what was he leading his Majella?
 
But once in the saddle, Ramona recovered cheerfulness. Baba was in such gay heart, she could not be wholly sad. The horse seemed fairly rollicking with satisfaction at being once more on the move. Capitan, too, was gay. He had found the canon dull, spite of its shade and cool water. He longed for sheep. He did not understand this inactivity. The puzzled look on his face had made Ramona laugh more than once, as he would come and stand before her, wagging his tail and fixing his eyes intently on her face, as if he said in so many words, “What in the world are you about in this canon, and do not you ever intend to return home? Or if you will stay here, why not keep sheep? Do you not see that I have nothing to do?”
 
“We must ride all night, Majella,” said Alessandro, “and lose no time. It is a long way to the place where we shall stay to-morrow.”
 
“Is it a canon?” asked Ramona, hopefully.
 
“No,” he replied, “not a canon; but there are beautiful oak-trees. It is where we get our for the winter. It is on the top of a high hill.”
 
“Will it be safe there?” she asked.
 
“I think so,” he replied; “though not so safe as here. There is no such place as this in all the country.”
 
“And then where shall we go next?” she asked.
 
“That is very near Temecula,” he said. “We must go into Temecula, dear Majella. I must go to Mr. Hartsel's. He is friendly. He will give me money for my father's violin. If it were not for that, I would never go near the place again.”
 
“I would like to see it, Alessandro,” she said gently.
 
“Oh, no, no, Majella!” he cried; “you would not. It is terrible; the houses all unroofed,—all but my father's and Jose's. They were roofs; they will be just the same; all the rest are only walls. Antonio's mother threw hers down; I don't know how the old woman ever had the strength; they said she was like a fury. She said nobody should ever live in those walls again; and she took a pole, and made a great hole in one side, and then she ran Antonio's against it with all her might, till it fell in. No, Majella. It will be dreadful.”
 
“Wouldn't you like to go into the again, Alessandro?” she said timidly.
 
“The saints forbid!” he said solemnly. “I think it would make me a murderer to stand in that graveyard! If I had not you, my Majel, I should kill some white man when I came out. Oh, do not speak of it!” he added, after a moment's silence; “it takes the strength all out of my blood again, Majella. It feels as if I should die!”
 
And the word “Temecula” was not mentioned between them again until dusk the next day, when, as they were riding slowly along between low, wooded hills, they suddenly came to an opening, a green, place, with a little thread of water, at which their horses stopped, and drank thirstily; and Ramona, looking ahead, saw lights twinkling in the distance. “Lights, Alessandro, lights!” she exclaimed, pointing to them.
 
“Yes, Majella,” he replied, “it is Temecula,” and springing off his he came to her side, and putting both his hands on hers, said: “I have been thinking, for a long way back, Carita, what is to be done here. I do not know. What does Majella think will be wise? If men have been sent out to pursue us, they may be at Hartsel's. His store is the place where everybody stops, everybody goes. I dare not have you go there, Majella; yet I must go. The only way I can get any money is from Mr. Hartsel.”
 
“I must wait somewhere while you go!” said Ramona, her heart beating as she gazed ahead into the blackness of the great plain. It looked vast as the sea. “That is the only safe thing, Alessandro.”
 
“I think so too,” he said; “but, oh, I am afraid for you; and will not you be afraid?”
 
“Yes,” she replied, “I am afraid. But it is not so dangerous as the other.”
 
“If anything were to happen to me, and I could not come back to you, Majella, if you give Baba his he will take you safe home,—he and Capitan.”
 
Ramona aloud. She had not thought of this possibility. Alessandro had thought of everything. “What could happen?” she cried.
 
“I mean if the men were there, and if they took me for stealing the horse,” he said.
 
“But you would not have the horse with you,” she said. “How could they take you?”
 
“That mightn't make any difference,” replied Alessandro. “They might take me, to make me tell where the horse was.”
 
“Oh, Alessandro,” Ramona, “what shall we do!” Then in another second, her courage, she exclaimed, “Alessandro, I know what I will do. I will stay in the graveyard. No one will come there. Shall I not be safest there?”
 
“Holy ! would my Majel stay there?” exclaimed Alessandro.
 
“Why not?” she said. “It is not the dead that will harm us. They would all help us if they could. I have no fear. I will wait there while you go; and if you do not come in an hour, I will come to Mr. Hartsel's after you. If there are men of the Senora's there, they will know me; they will not dare to touch me. They will know that Felipe would punish them. I will not be afraid. And if they are ordered to take Baba, they can have him; we can walk when the pony is tired.”
 
Her confidence was . “My wood-dove has in her breast the heart of the lion,” said Alessandro, fondly. “We will do as she says. She is wise;” and he turned their horses' heads in the direction of the graveyard. It was surrounded by a low wall, with one small gate of wooden paling. As they reached it, Alessandro exclaimed, “The thieves have taken the gate!”
 
“What could they have wanted with that?” said Ramona
 
“To burn,” he said , “It was wood; but it was very little. They might have left the graves safe from wild beasts and cattle!”
 
As they entered the enclosure, a dark figure rose from one of the graves. Ramona started.
 
“Fear nothing,” whispered Alessandro. “It must be one of our people. I am glad; now you will not be alone. It is Carmena, I am sure. That was the corner where they buried Jose. I will speak to her;” and leaving Ramona at the gate, he went slowly on, saying in a low voice, in the Luiseno language, “Carmena, is that you? Have no fear. It is I, Alessandro!”
 
It was Carmena. The poor creature, nearly crazed with grief, was spending her days by her baby's grave in Pachanga, and her nights by her husband's in Temecula. She dared not come to Temecula by day, for the Americans were there, and she feared them. After a short talk with her, Alessandro returned, leading her along. Bringing her to Ramona's side, he laid her hand in Ramona's, and said: “Majella, I have told her all. She cannot speak a word of Spanish, but she is very glad, she says, that you have come with me, and she will stay close by your side till I come back.”
 
Ramona's tender heart ached with desire to comfort the girl; but all she could do was to press her hand in silence. Even in the darkness she could see the hollow, mournful eyes and the wasted cheek. Words are less needful to sorrow than to joy. Carmena felt in every fibre how Ramona was pitying her. Presently she made a gentle motion, as if to draw her from the saddle. Ramona down and looked inquiringly into her face. Again she drew her gently with one hand, and with the other to the corner from which she had come. Ramona understood. “She wants to show me her husband's grave,” she thought. “She does not like to be away from it. I will go with her.”
 
Dismounting, and taking Baba's over her arm, she bowed her head assentingly, and still keeping firm hold of Carmena's hand, followed her. The graves were thick, and irregularly placed, each marked by a small wooden cross. Carmena led with the swift step of one who knew each inch of the way by heart. More than once Ramona stumbled and nearly fell, and Baba was impatient and at the strange inequalities under his feet. When they reached the corner, Ramona saw the fresh-piled earth of the new grave. Uttering a cry, Carmena, drawing Ramona to the edge of it, pointing down with her right hand, then laid both hands on her heart, and gazed at Ramona piteously. Ramona burst into weeping, and again clasping Carmena's hand, laid it on her own breast, to show her sympathy. Carmena did not weep. She was long past that; and she felt for the moment lifted out of herself by the sweet, sudden sympathy of this stranger,—this girl like herself, yet so different, so wonderful, so beautiful, Carmena was sure she must be. Had the saints sent her from heaven to Alessandro? What did it mean? Carmena's was heaving with the things she longed to say and to ask; but all she could do was to press Ramona's hand again and again, and occasionally lay her soft cheek upon it.
 
“Now, was it not the saints that put it into my head to come to the graveyard?” thought Ramona. “What a comfort to this poor heart-broken thing to see Alessandro! And she keeps me from all fear. Holy Virgin! but I had died of terror here all alone. Not that the dead would harm me; but simply from the vast, silent plain, and the gloom.”
 
Soon Carmena made signs to Ramona that they would return to the gate. Considerate and thoughtful, she remembered that Alessandro would expect to find them there. But it was a long and weary watch they had, waiting for Alessandro to come.
 
After leaving them, and tethering his pony, he had struck off at a quick run for Hartsel's, which was perhaps an eighth of a mile from the graveyard. His own old home lay a little to the right. As he drew near, he saw a light in its windows. He stopped as if shot. “A light in our house!” he exclaimed; and he his hands. “Those cursed robbers have gone into it to live already!” His blood seemed turning to fire. Ramona would not have recognized the face of her Alessandro now. It was full of implacable . Involuntarily he felt for his knife. It was gone. His gun he had left inside the graveyard, leaning against the wall. Ah! in the graveyard! Yes, and there also was Ramona waiting for him. Thoughts of vengeance fled. The world held now but one work, one hope, one passion, for him. But he would at least see who were these in his father's house. A fierce desire to see their faces burned within him. Why should he thus torture himself? Why, indeed? But he must. He would see the new home-life already begun on the grave of his. Stealthily creeping under the window from which the light shone, he listened. He heard children's voices; a woman's voice; at the voice of a man, gruff and surly; various household sounds also. It was evidently the supper-hour. Cautiously raising himself till his eyes were on a level with the lowest in the window, he looked in.
 
A table was set in the middle of the floor, and there were sitting at it a man, woman, and two children. The youngest, little more than a baby, sat in its high chair, drumming with a spoon on the table, impatient for its supper. The room was in great confusion,—beds made on the floor, open boxes half , saddles and harness thrown down in the corners; evidently there were new-comers into the house. The window was open by an inch. It had , and would not shut down. Bitterly Alessandro how he had put off from day to day the planing of that window to make it shut tight. Now, thanks to the crack, he could hear all that was said. The woman looked weary and worn. Her face was a sensitive one, and............