The moon was getting small and the tides were higher when, one evening, a messenger asked them to come to the village. They went up river in the mist, and Marston felt languid and dejected. The day had been very hot and it was not much cooler at dark. The stagnant air was hard to breathe, there was something daunting in the silence, and the splash of paddles sounded harshly loud. When they landed they found Don Felix alone in his house except for a half-breed woman and Father Sebastian. He lay in a fiber hammock and Marston saw he was very ill. His black eyes were half shut, his face was a livid color and wet with clammy sweat. The room was brightly lighted and the half-breed woman sat on the ground in a limp, huddled pose, with a black shawl hiding her shoulders and head. She did not move when the others came in, but Don Felix's glance hinted at relief, and Father Sebastian indicated two American bent-wood chairs that looked strangely out of harmony with the mud walls and floor. "If we had known you were ill, we would have brought our medicine chest," Marston said. "What is the matter?" "Who knows?" said Don Felix, dully, and Marston imagined the Castilian rejoinder meant his question admitted of no reply. "I will not live until the morning, but I have lived longer than I sometimes thought. It does not matter now the good father and my friends have come. I am no more afraid." Marston was puzzled; somehow Don Felix looked afraid. The first part of his statement was easier to understand, because Marston had learned in Africa that negroes and uncivilized half-breeds slip easily out of life and often seem to know when theirs will end. But if Don Felix was not afraid to go, what did he fear? "Is there nobody about? Where are the working boys?" Wyndham asked. "They have gone; they _know_," Don Felix replied, and Marston felt half daunted as he asked himself; What did the boys know? "But you will stay?" the other went on anxiously. "Of course," said Wyndham in a quiet voice. Father Sebastian looked up, as if to thank him, and Marston saw Harry had taken the proper line. He felt there was no use in trying to persuade Don Felix he was not very ill. It was significant that the priest had not tried. "Now we will talk a little," Don Felix said to Wyndham. "There is some business to talk about." Wyndham glanced at Father Sebastian, who made a sign of permission, and then got up and went to the door with Marston. They sat down on a bench outside and a beam of light and the dull voices of the others came through the door. Marston did not hear the woman; she had not spoken at all, but sat motionless and huddled. He had not seen her face and never knew what she was like. All was quiet in the village, and outside the feeble beam the gloom was strangely deep. Marston sympathized with Don Felix's liking for plenty of light. "What has caused his illness?" he asked.