Francisco Alvarez looked at him for some minutes, and could not tell whether he was sleeping or waking, but he thought that he slept.

His long, regular breathing and the expression of his face, as peaceful as that of a little child, indicated It.
The night grew chillier.

The great stars remained pale and cold, and the forest continued to whine, as that strange, wandering breeze slipped through the leaves.

Francisco Alvarez of the sunny plains wished that it would stop.

It got upon his nerves, and the feeling it gave him was singularly like that of an evil conscience.