He would put a
thousand difficulties in the way, some real and some imaginary. It would
save the feelings of both for him to go quietly, and, when Mr. Austin
missed him, he would know why and how he had gone.
Ned stood at the window a little while longer, listening. He heard far
away the faint rattle of a saber, probably some officer of Santa Anna
who was going to a place outside a lattice, the sharp cry of a Mexican
upbraiding his lazy mule, and the distant note of a woman singing an old
Spanish song. It was as dark as ever, with the clouds rolling over the
great valley of Tenochtitlan, which had seen so much of human passion
and woe. Ned, brave and resolute as he was, shivered. He was oppressed
by the night and the place. It seemed to him, for the moment, that the
ghosts of stern Cortez, and of the Aztecs themselves were walking out
there.
Then he did a characteristic thing. Folding his arms in front of him he
grasped his own elbows and shook himself fiercely. The effort of will
and body banished the shapes and illusions, and he went to work with
firm hands.
He tore the coverings from his bed into strips, and knotted them
together stoutly, trying each knot by tying the strip to the bar, and
pulling on it with all his strength.
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