"Yes, senora," broke out the old man, passionately. "It is because I am
the servant of your uncle that I, and I ALONE, dare say it to you! It
is because I perjured my soul, and have perjured my soul to deny it
elsewhere, that I now dare to say it! It is because I, your servant,
knew it from one of my countrymen, who was of the gang,--because I,
Miguel, knew that your brother was not far away that night, and because
I, whom you would dismiss, have picked up this pocket-book of Randolph's
and your brother's ring which he have dropped, and I have found beneath
the body of the man you sent me to fetch."

He drew a packet from his bosom, and tossed it on the desk before her.

"And why have you not told me this before?" said Josephine,
passionately.

Miguel shrugged his shoulders.

"What good? Possibly this dog Randolph would die. Possibly he would
live--as a lunatic. Possibly would happen what has happened! The senora
is beautiful. The American has eyes. If the Dona Josephine's beauty
shall finish what the silly Don Esteban's arm have begun--what matter?"

"Stop!" cried Josephine, pressing her hands across her shuddering eyes.
Then, uncovering her white and set face, she said rapidly, "Saddle my
horse and your own at once. Then take your choice! Come with me and
repeat all that you have said in the presence of that man, or leave this
ranch forever. For if I live I shall go to him tonight, and tell the
whole story."