"That is quite true; I do, very much, Señor."
The thin little voice came from behind the giant ceiba round which the circular end of the veranda had been built.
"You here, El Rey?"
A slight, childish figure emerged slowly from behind the giant trunk and leaned against its corrugated bark.
"El Rey becomes weary staying down there in the palm hut, Señor. There is nothing to do but watch the pajara bobo, and the parrots, and listen to river, going, going, going! Always going! Has Roseta been here, Señor?"
Don Gil shook his head. He gazed sadly at the child.
"When do you think she will come, Señor?"
"I know not, little one; perhaps to-morrow."
The boy raised his hand and smoothed down his thin hair. The hand trembled like that of an old man. His cheek was sunken, his lips colourless. He lifted his large eyes to Don Gil's face.