ldn't hev known more about yer lover
than I do.

Jovita (aside). He speaks truly. He always kept in the background. Even
Don Juan never knew that I had an attendant until I told him. (Aloud.)
I made a mistake, Diego. I was hasty. What am I to do? He is waiting for
me even now.

Sandy. Well (with drunken gravity), ef ye can't go to him, I reckon it's
the squar thing for him to come to ye.

Jovita. Recollect yourself, Diego. Be a man!

Sandy. Fash jus war I say. Let him be a man, and come to ye here. Let
him ride up to this ranch like a man, and call out to yer father that
he'll take ye jist as ye are, without the land. And if the old man
allows, rather than hev ye marry that stranger, he'll give this yer
place to the church, why, let him do it, and be damned.

Jovita (recoiling, aside). So! That is their plan. Don Jose has worked
on the fears or the cupidity of this drunken ingrate.

Sandy (with drunken submission). Ye was speaking to me, miss. Ef ye'll
take my advice,--a drunken man's advice, miss,--ye'll say to that lover
of yours, ef he's afeard to come for ye here, to take ye as ye stand, he
ain't no man for ye. And, ontil he does, ye'll do as the ole man says.
Fur ef I do say it, miss,--and thar ain't no love lost between us,--he's
a good father to ye. It ain't every day that a gal kin afford to swap a
father like that, as she DOES KNOW, fur the husband that she DON'T! He's
a proud old fool, miss; but to ye, to ye, he's clar grit all through.

Jovita (passionately, aside). Tricked, fooled, like a child! and through
the means of this treacherous, drunken tool. (Stamping her foot.) Ah!
we shall see! You are wise, you are wise, Don Jose; but your daughter
is not a novice, nor a helpless creature of the Holy Church.
(Passionately.) I'll--I'll become a Protestant to-morrow!

Sandy (unheeding her passion, and becoming more earnest and
self-possessed). Ef ye hed a father, miss, ez instead o' harkinin'
to your slightest wish, and surroundin' ye with luxury, hed made your
infancy a struggle for life among strangers, and your childhood a
disgrace and a temptation; ef he had left ye with no company but want,
with no companions but guilt, with no mother but suffering; ef he had
made your home, this home, so unhappy, so vile, so terrible, so awful,
that the crowded streets and gutters of a great city was something to
fly to for relief; ef he had made his presence, his very name,--your
name, miss, allowin' it was your fa