Then he suddenly stiffened his fingers over his breviary, dropped his arms perpendicularly before him, and with a rigid step returned to the corridor and passed into the sacristy.
For a moment in the half-darkness the room seemed to be empty.

Tossed carelessly in the corner appeared some blankets topped by a few straggling black horse tails, like an unstranded riata.

A trembling agitated the mass as Father Pedro approached.

He bent over the heap and distinguished in its midst the glowing black eyes of Sanchicha, the Indian centenarian of the Mission San Carmel.

Only her eyes lived.
Helpless, boneless, and jelly-like, old age had overtaken her with a mild form of deliquescence.
"Listen, Sanchicha," said the father, gravely.