Under the pretext of reviving the old ceremony, Don Jose has
locked the gates, and placed me in the custody of his guest. Stay!
There is a door leading to the corral from the passage by Concho's
room. Bueno! Don Jose shall see! [Exit R.
Enter cautiously R. OLD MORTON.
Old Morton. I was not mistaken! It was the skirt of that Jezebel
daughter that whisked past my door a moment ago, and her figure
that flitted down that corridor. So! The lover driven out of the
house at four P. M., and at twelve o'clock at night the young lady
trying the gate secretly. This may be Spanish resignation and
filial submission, but it looks very like Yankee disobedience and
forwardness. Perhaps it's well that the keys are in my pocket.
This fond confiding Papist may find the heretic American father of
some service. (Conceals himself behind pillar of corridor.)
After a pause the head of JOHN OAKHURST appears over the wall of
corridor: he climbs up to roof of corridor, and descends very
quietly and deliberately to stage.
Oakhurst (dusting his clothing with his handkerchief). I never
knew before why these Spaniards covered their adobe walls with
whitewash. (Leans against pillar in shadow.)
Re-enter JOVITA, hastily.
Jovita. All is lost; the corral door is locked; the key is
outside, and Concho is gone,--gone where? Madre di Dios! to
discover, perhaps to kill him.
Oakhurst (approaching her).
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