- Anita Cabrillo: [singing] Lonely guitar, is there no one who loves us? Lonely guitar, not a soul seems to care. The stars in the sky look like teardrops, because I've been crying. And the breeze seems to sigh as I whisper my penance in prayer. Lonely guitar, now our song Is a sad song. Longing we are, for someone to adore.
- [spoken]
- Anita Cabrillo: Oh, Diego!
- Don Diego de la Vega: No, no, please. Continue. It's lovely.
- Anita Cabrillo: I was merely passing the time.
- Don Diego de la Vega: I would like to ask you something. In your father's letters, did he ever mention how far away his hacienda was from the pueblo? In which direction it was?
- Anita Cabrillo: There were so many things he wrote about, and yet I realize now how little he ever really told me, either about himself or the way he lived. Mostly, I think I just read between the lines.
- Don Diego de la Vega: Well, do you think it's possible that he could be a soldier? A tradesman? Maybe even a vaquero?
- Anita Cabrillo: Oh, no. He'd be of the upper class.
- Don Diego de la Vega: The reason I ask is that there have been no dons or caballeros arriving here in the past dozen years who could possibly be your father, but, of course, the other people...
- Anita Cabrillo: Oh, no, that would be hard to believe.
- Don Diego de la Vega: But you'd still want to find him, huh?
- Anita Cabrillo: He's my father, isn't he? Whatever he does in California, does that change the kind of man he really is?
- Don Diego de la Vega: Then if he's alive, we will find him. Will you excuse me?
- Anita Cabrillo: [singing] Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh. Well, some sunny day there may come our way one who will love us. Then my lonely guitar, you and I will be lonely no more.