"Do you hear anything, padre? Anything like a cry or a—"
"No, nothing! my boy. And as I was saying, there was my poor fighting cock lying in the corner, worse maltreated than he had ever been in any garito, and when I awoke—"
"That was certainly a gun. You are not rising to leave, padre; why, your cigarillo is not even half finished. I expect you to stay the night. No, no! I will take no denial. Guillermina, prepare the western room for the Padre Martinez."
"You know my weaknesses, muchacho mio. Very well, then, I will." But Silencio was down the steps and some feet away in the darkness, straining his ear for the sound which he knew must come. He took out his watch, and by the light of the veranda lantern noted the time. "Early yet," he muttered under his breath.
"Pardon, my son, you spoke to—"
"I was but saying that the moon is very late to—hark!"
"You are restless, Gil."
"It is this muggy weather. There! you certainly heard something?"
"Nothing, Gil; nothing but the nightingale yonder."