past five the name of the viceroy again appeared in the list of religious outcasts, and an hour later the interdict was read from the cathedral pulpit to such of the faithful as were present at matins. The chant of the choir ceased immediately, the candles upon the altar were extinguished, the massive doors closed upon the devout, who, weeping, spread throughout the city the sad tidings, crying that the land was now as one possessed by Moors, since God had gone from among them. Soon, too, the willing feet of priests were hastening to bear the decree to the other churches and convents of the town. All were closed save the convent of La Merced, which remained open during the morning, while from every belfry tolled forth the dread tidings to the awakening city.
The events of the past four days had been at work in the minds of the ignorant. The archbishop's mania for excommunicating, and the opposition of the viceroy to one whom they had been taught to regard as more than human, if somewhat less than divine, had formed the sole topic of conversation, and all day long and till late into the night excited knots of men hung about the plaza and the street corners predicting some dreadful catastrophe. They were faithful children, these poor Mexicans, of a church the tenets of which to them consisted simply in their outward manifestation, while they gratefully remembered that its ministers had ever stood, or endeavored to stand, between them and the tyranny and greed of their lay masters. Of this the partisans of the prelate failed not to remind them. If an occasional skeptic hinted at episcopal missteps, the faithful expressed themselves as only too willing to give their all for his ransom. They could not bear to see the representative of heaven driven forth like a criminal. To many it seemed an overwhelming calamity, and impressed by the popular disquietude others readily drifted into the current of excitement which at any moment might develop into a storm.
