a brown robe was extinguishing the candles. Ned watched him until he
had put out the last one, and disappeared in the rear of the church.

Then he came forth and standing in the great, gloomy nave tried to
decide what to do next. He had found a night's shelter and no more. He
had escaped from prison, but not from the City of Mexico, and his Texas
was yet a thousand miles away.

Ned found the little door by which he had entered, and passed outside,
hiding again among the trees of the Zocalo. The night was very cold and
he shivered once more, as he stood there waiting. The night was so dark
that the cathedral was almost a formless bulk. But above it, the light
in the slender lantern shone like a friendly star. While he looked the
great bell of Santa Maria de Guadalupe in the western tower began to
chime, and presently the smaller bell of Dona Maria in the eastern tower
joined. It was a mellow song they sung and they sang fresh courage into
the young fugitive's veins. He knew that he could never again see this
cathedral built upon the site of the great Aztec teocalli, destroyed by
the Spaniards more than three hundred years before, without a throb of
gratitude.

Ned's first resolve was to take measures for protection from the cold,
and he placed his silver dollars in his most convenient pocket. Then he
left the trees and moved toward the east, passing in front of the
handsome church Sagrario Metropolitano, and entering a very narrow
street that led among a maze of small buildings. The district was
lighted faintly by a few hanging lanterns, but as Ned had hoped, some of
the shops were yet open. The people who sat here and there in the low
doorways were mostly short of stature and dark and broad of face. The
Indian in them predominated over the Spaniard, and some were pure Aztec.