t he crossed himself devoutly. Was not her
church giving him shelter and refuge from his enemies? He also passed
the Altar of the Kings, beneath which now lie the heads of great
Mexicans who secured the independence of their country from Spain. He
looked a little at these before he entered the chapel of his choice.

It was a small room, lighted scarcely at all by a narrow window, and it
contained a few straight wooden pews one of which had been turned about
facing the wall. He lay down in his pew, and, even in daylight, he would
have been hidden from anyone a yard away. The hard wood was soft to him.
He put his cap under his head and stretched himself out. Then, without
will, he relaxed completely. Nature could stand no more. His eyes closed
and he floated off into the far and happy region of sleep.

CHAPTER III

SANCTUARY

Ned Fulton's sleep was that of exhaustion, and it lasted long. Although
fine snow yet fell outside, and the raw wind blew it about, a pleasant
warmth pervaded the snug alcove, made by the back of the pew in which he
lay. He had been fortunate indeed to find such a place, because the body
of the church was gloomy and cold. But he did not hear the winds, and no
thought of the snow troubled him, as he slept on hour after hour.

The night passed, the light snow had ceased, no trace of it was left on
the earth, and the brilliant sunshine flooded the ancient capital with
warmth. People went about their usual pursuits. Old men and old women
sold sweets, hot coffee, and tortillas and frijoles, also hot, in the
streets. Little plaster images of the saints and the Virgin were exposed
on trays. Donkeys loaded with vegetables, that had been brought across
the lakes, bumped one another in the narrow ways. Many officers in fine
uniforms and many soldiers in uniforms not so fine could be seen.

Whatever else Mexico might be it was martial. The great Santa Anna whom
men called another Napoleon now ruled, and there was talk of war and
glory. Much of it was vague, but of one thing they were certain. Santa
Anna would soon crush the mutinous Texans in the wild north. Gringos
they were, always pushing where they were not wanted, and, however hard
their fate, they would deserve it. The vein of cruelty which, despite
great virtues, has made Spain a by-word among nations, showed in her
descendants.

But the boy, Edward Fulton, sleeping in the chapel of the great
cathedral, knew nothing of it all. Nature, too