Then he looked at the prisoner.

Paul, too, slept soundly, his fine face thrown into relief in the wan moonlight, every sensitive feature revealed.

Alvarez wondered again that he should find a youth of such classic countenance and cultivated mind in the deep forest.
The wandering breeze ceased, and the wilderness fell into a silence so deep and heavy that it preyed upon the nerves of the Spaniard.

Then, out of the stillness came a long, plaintive note, wailing, but musical, full of a quality that made it seem to Alvarez weird and ominous.
"Only the howl of a wolf," muttered the Spaniard, who recognized the long-drawn cry.

But it made him shiver a little, nevertheless.