dly out and died. It was the
Angelus. Father Jose listened with superstitious exaltation. The mission
of San Pablo was far away, and the sound must have been some miraculous
omen. But never before, to his enthusiastic sense, did the sweet
seriousness of this angelic symbol come with such strange significance.
With the last faint peal, his glowing fancy seemed to cool; the fog
closed in below him, and the good Father remembered he had not had his
supper. He had risen and was wrapping his serapa around him, when he
perceived for the first time that he was not alone.

Nearly opposite, and where should have been the faithless Ignacio, a
grave and decorous figure was seated. His appearance was that of an
elderly hidalgo, dressed in mourning, with mustaches of iron-gray
carefully waxed and twisted around a pair of lantern-jaws. The
monstrous hat and prodigious feather, the enormous ruff and exaggerated
trunk-hose, contrasted with a frame shrivelled and wizened, all
belonged to a century previous. Yet Father Jose was not astonished. His
adventurous life and poetic imagination, continually on the lookout
for the marvellous, gave him a certain advantage over the practical and
material minded. He instantly detected the diabolical quality of his
visitant, and was prepared. With equal coolness and courtesy he met the
cavalier's obeisance.

"I ask your pardon, Sir Priest," said the stranger, "for disturbing
your meditations. Pleasant they must have been, and right fanciful, I
imagine, when occasioned by so fair a prospect."

"Worldly, perhaps, Sir Devil,--for such I take you to be," said the Holy
Father, as the stranger bowed his black plumes to the ground; "worldly,
perhaps; for it hath pleased Heaven to retain even in our regenerated
state much that pertaineth to the flesh, yet still, I trust, not without
some speculation for the welfare of the Holy Church. In dwelling upon
yon fair expanse, mine eyes have been graciously opened with prophetic
inspiration, and the promise of the heathen as an inheritance hath
marvellously recurred to me. For there can be none lack such diligence
in the True Faith, but may see that even the conversion of these
pitiful salvages hath a meaning. As the blessed St. Ignatius discreetly
observes," continued Father Jose, clearing his throat and slightly
elevating his voice, "'the heathen is given to the warriors of Christ,
even as the pearls of rare discovery which gladden the hearts of
shipmen.' Nay,