"The senor is not wont to waste so many words upon her most humble servant, no. And as for the lawyers, have I not this day been to the consulting of the most eminent, the wisest of his kind, no? But yes; and the truth is, senora--believe me, it breaks my heart so to inform you, but this barren rancho of Sobrante belongs not to the Dona Gabriella and her children, but to one Antonio Bernal, even I, myself." "To you! Belongs--to--you?" gasped the astonished woman. The manager shrugged his shoulders and tossed another Spanish proverb toward her: "What I have said, I have said." Mrs. Trent felt her strength leaving her and sank into a chair, still gazing incredulously at the other, who now lounged back in his own chair and began to leisurely pick his teeth. It was a trivial action, but one wholly disgusting to the gentlewoman's fastidious sense, and it angered her, which was a good thing, for her anger banished her momentary faintness and gave her boldness to demand: "The proof!" "It will be forthcoming, senora, at the right time. Yes. Meanwhile, I am content you shall remain, you and your little ones, until--well, say a month. By that date all things should have been arranged and the senora will have found herself another home less lonely than Sobrante. One so beautiful as the Dona Gabriella must have hosts of friends who----" Senor Bernal paused. There were footsteps approaching, and the merry voices of children, and an instant later Samson was in the room, still carrying the little lads in his arms, and with Jessica clinging affectionately to his ragged sleeve. One glance showed the faithful ranchman that something was amiss. There was fresh sorrow, even consternation, in the beloved face of Sobrante's mistress, fresh insolence in that of her chief assistant. He was not one to hesitate when his friends were in trouble, and turned to Antonio with an angry demand: "What have you been worrying your betters with now, senor?" "Keep a civil tongue in your head, rascal." "Returnin' the compliment, if you please. All the same, don't you know that a man--_a man_--doesn't go around worrying women as you worry Mrs. Trent? You, that hadn't a shirt to your back when the boss took you in and made you what you are! I'm anticipatin' a mite, and I don't know just how some of the boys'll take it, but we'd laid out this very night at moon-up--if there'd been a moon sensible enough to get up, which there isn't--to haul you and a few other matters over the coals and stir up a fresh sort of blaze. Now, I warn you, just you let matters slide, peaceable, and you--just you, yourself, keep that civil tongue you recommend, or you'll light out of here so quick ye won't see your heels for dust, dry season though it is. Hear?"