第11章 SCENE 3(1)

--The same. Stage darkened. Fog passing beyond wall outside, and occasionally obscuring moonlit landscape beyond.

Enter JOVITA softly, from corridor L. Her face is partly hidden by Spanish mantilla.

Jovita. All quiet at last; and, thanks to much aguardiente, my warlike admirer snores peacefully above. Yet I could swear I heard the old Puritan's door creak as I descended! Pshaw! What matters!

(Goes to gateway, and tries gate.) Locked! Carramba! I see it now. 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). No.

Jovita. Juan! (Embracing him.) But how did you get here? This is madness!

Oakhurst. As you did not come to the mission, I came to the rancho. I found the gate locked--by the way, is not that a novelty here?--I climbed the wall. But you, Miss Castro, you are trembling!

Your little hands are cold!

Jovita (glancing around). Nothing, nothing! But you are running a terrible risk. At any moment we may be discovered.

Oakhurst. I understand you: it would be bad for the discoverer.

Never fear, I will be patient.

Jovita. But I feared that you might meet Concho.

Oakhurst. Concho--Concho--(meditatively). Let me see,--tall, dark, long in the arm, weighs about one hundred and eighty, and active.

Jovita. Yes; tell me! You have met him?

Oakhurst. Possibly, possibly. Was he a friend of yours?

Jovita. No!

Oakhurst. That's better. Are his pursuits here sedentary, or active?

Jovita. He is my father's major-domo.

Oakhurst. I see: a sinecure. (Aside.) Well, if he has to lay up for a week or two, the rancho won't suffer.

Jovita. Well?

Oakhurst. Well!

Jovita (passionately). There, having scaled the wall, at the risk of being discovered--this is all you have to say! (Turning away.)

Oakhurst (quietly). Perhaps, Jovita (taking her hand with grave earnestness), to a clandestine intimacy like ours there is but one end. It is not merely elopement, not merely marriage, it is exposure! Sooner or later you and I must face the eyes we now shun. What matters if tonight or later?

Jovita (quickly). I am ready. It was you who--Oakhurst. It was I who first demanded secrecy, but it was I who told you when we last met that I would tell you why to-night.

Jovita. I am ready; but hear me, Juan, nothing can change my faith in you!

Oakhurst (sadly). You know not what you say. Listen, my child. I am a gambler. Not the man who lavishes his fortune at the gaming-table for excitement's sake; not the fanatic who stakes his own earnings--perhaps the confided earnings of others--on a single coup. No, he is the man who loses,--whom the world deplores, pities, and forgives. I am the man who wins--whom the world hates and despises.

Jovita. I do not understand you, Juan.

Oakhurst. So much the better, perhaps. But you must hear me. I make a profession--an occupation more exacting, more wearying, more laborious, than that of your meanest herdsman--of that which others make a dissipation of the senses. And yet, Jovita, there is not the meanest vaquero in this ranch, who, playing against me, winning or losing, is not held to be my superior. I have no friends--only confederates. Even the woman who dares to pity me must do it in secret.

Jovita. But you will abandon this dreadful trade. As the son of the rich Don Jose, no one dare scorn you. My father will relent.

I am his heiress.

Oakhurst. No more, Jovita, no more. If I were the man who could purchase the world's respect through a woman's weakness for him, I should not be here to-night. I am not here to sue your father's daughter with hopes of forgiveness, promises of reformation.

Reformation, in a man like me, means cowardice or self-interest.

(OLD MORTON, becoming excited, leans slowly out from the shadow of the pillar) listening intently.) I am here to take, by force if necessary, a gambler's wife,--the woman who will share my fortunes, my disgrace, my losses; who is willing to leave her old life of indulgence, of luxury, of respectability, for mine. You are frightened, little dove: compose yourself (soothing her tenderly and sadly); you are frightened at the cruel hawk who has chosen you for a mate.

Old Morton (aside). God in heaven! This is like HIM! like me!--like me, before the blessed Lord lifted me into regeneration. If it should be! (Leans forward anxiously from pillar.)

Oakhurst (aside). Still silent! Poor dove, I can hear her foolish heart flutter against mine. Another moment decides our fate.