quickly, drew his sleeve hurriedly across his lashes, and began slowly
to creep along the wall again.
Either the obscurity of the shrubbery became greater or he was growing
preoccupied; but in steadying himself by the wall he had, without
perceiving it, put his hand upon a rude door that, yielding to his
pressure, opened noiselessly into a dark passage. Without apparent
reflection he entered, followed the passage a few steps until it turned
abruptly; turning with it, he found himself in the body of the Mission
Church of Todos Santos. A swinging-lamp, that burned perpetually before
an effigy of the Virgin Mother, threw a faint light on the single
rose-window behind the high altar; another, suspended in a low archway,
apparently lit the open door of the passage towards the refectory. By
the stronger light of the latter Hurlstone could see the barbaric red
and tarnished gold of the rafters that formed the straight roof. The
walls were striped with equally bizarre coloring, half Moorish and half
Indian. A few hangings of dyed and painted cloths with heavy fringes
were disposed on either side of the chancel, like the flaps of a wigwam;
and the aboriginal suggestion was further repeated in a quantity of
colored beads and sea-shells that decked the communion-rails. The
Stations of the Cross, along the walls, were commemorated by paintings,
evidently by a native artist--to suit the same barbaric taste; while a
larger picture of San Francisco d'Assisis, under the choir, seemed
to belong to an older and more artistic civilization. But the sombre
half-light of the two lamps mellowed and softened the harsh contrast of
these details until the whole body of the church appeared filled with a
vague harmonious shadow. The air, heavy with the odors of past incense,
seemed to be a part of that expression, as if the solemn and sympathetic
twilight became palpable in each deep, long-drawn inspiration.
Again overcome by the feeling of repose and peacefulness, Hurlstone sank
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