but three left; this being Dom Pedro's number, he won
the stakes.

"In good luck to-night," he said, turning to Adams, "Try if this is a
lucky day for you." Robert Adams placed his money on the same square
which Dom Pedro had won from, and again the croupier counted the
remainder slowly, having drawn away some of the cash under the bowl,
four at a time until but two remained and Adams' stake became part of
the bank. "Lucky in love, unlucky at play" he said with a laugh, "I
shall bet no more to-night." Dom Pedro's face darkened but in silence he
continued winning at every count.

Above the table was a square hole in the ceiling opening into an upper
room where those could sit who did not wish to be seen, and were thus
able to let their bets down in a little basket and with the same draw up
their winnings. This upper room being purposely kept in half light
enabled its occupants to see those below without being seen themselves.

Dom Pedro's luck was astonishing and quite a crowd of onlookers gathered
about. Robert Adams growing weary of the play in which he took no
interest, left, saying that he would walk slowly as far as the ruined
cathedral of St. Paul and on his return step in again. As he stepped
back from the table he looked up toward the opening in the ceiling where
were two women with faces wrapped in black silk robosas, which showed
only the eyes; as the eyes seemed fixed upon him he raised his hat. The
action seemed to cause the women considerable consternation, for both
hurriedly sprang back from the rail and in doing so one let fall, upon
the table below, the basket with a bit of paper and several Mexican
dollars which rolled about the room. Everyone looked up laughing at the
accident but no one from above claimed the money. Adams left the room
glad to be in the fresh air under the clear, starlit sky.

No more lonely or picturesque ruin ever existed than the church of St.
Paul; though human habitations crowd close upon it, they are however the
houses of Chinese and make the Christian edifice seem the more solitary.
The church is of that favourite style of architecture so common in new
and old Spain, which always brings to the mind of the wanderer in
foreign lands the name of good San Xavier.

The half moon had risen high enough to illuminate the whole front as
Adams climbed the broad, massive steps to the paved space before it.
Leaning against the heavy balustrade he enjoyed the picture. The shadows
were d