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.
"Where did you go last night?" Adan demanded loudly.
"I sat up talking to the priests and roaming about the square," replied
Roldan. Anastacio was almost at his elbow.
"Well, I had had sleep enough by twelve o'clock and I went into your
cell, and then spent the rest of the night waiting for you to come
back."
"I hope breakfast is ready. Come."
They went to the refectory, where Padre Flores embraced Roldan heartily,
but made no allusion to his watch; there were Indian servants present.
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