the next morning set sail for home.

When Ortegna discovered that his wife's jewels and valuables of
all kinds were gone, he fell into a great rage, and sent a messenger
off, post-haste, with an insulting letter to the Senora Moreno,
demanding their return. For answer, he got a copy of his wife's
memoranda of instructions to her sister, giving all the said
valuables to her in trust for Ramona; also a letter from Father
Salvierderra, upon reading which he sank into a fit of despondency
that lasted a day or two, and gave his infamous associates
considerable alarm, lest they had lost their comrade. But he soon
shook off the influence, whatever it was, and settled back into his
old gait on the same old high-road to the devil. Father Salvierderra
could alarm him, but not save him.

And this was the mystery of Ramona. No wonder the Senora
Moreno never told the story. No wonder, perhaps, that she never
loved the child. It was a sad legacy, indissolubly linked with
memories which had in them nothing but bitterness, shame, and
sorrow from first to last.

How much of all this the young Ramona knew or suspected, was
locked in her own breast. Her Indian blood had as much proud
reserve in it as was ever infused into the haughtiest Gonzaga's
veins. While she was yet a little child, she had one day said to the
Senora Moreno, "Senora, why did my mother give me to the
Senora Ortegna?"

Taken unawares, the Senora replied hastily: "Your mother had
nothing whatever to do with it. It was your father."