Roldan descended the stair as the bells rang out their peremptory
summons. Although he was tired and sleepy, he determined to remain in
the church during mass, and knelt near the altar by a pillar where he
could command a view of the nave. Almost the first to enter was
Anastacio. He carried himself proudly--like a warrior, thought Roldan--
and advancing to the altar bowed low, then knelt stiffly, his eyes
closed.

The others drifted in slowly: the women kneeling on the right, the men
on the left. Finally all the priests and brothers, except Padre Flores,
who conducted the service, entered and knelt in the aisle. Padre Flores'
garments were as rich as any worn in old Spain, and the candelabra about
him were as massive. The images of the saints were clad in white satin
embroidered with gold and silver thread. On the walls were many high-
coloured paintings of saints, softened by the flood of light from the
wax candles.

Roldan watched keenly all the faces within the line of his vision. They
were mostly sleepy. Suddenly, as his glance shifted, it encountered the
eyes of Anastacio. Those powerful crafty orbs were fixed upon him under
drawn brows.

"He suspects me," thought Roldan, and then once more demonstrated that
several of his talents were diplomatic. He glanced past the Indian
indifferently to the women, then to the priests, and from there to the
paintings and altar, his regard but that of the curious traveller.

When Roldan left the church he encountered Adan, who evidently had
entered last and knelt near the door.