and swaggering. And as they passed, the good Father noticed that giant
trees were prostrated as with the breath of a tornado, and the bowels
of the earth were torn and rent as with a convulsion. And Father Jose
looked in vain for holy cross or Christian symbol; there was but one
that seemed an ensign, and he crossed himself with holy horror as he
perceived it bore the effigy of a bear.

"Who are these swaggering Ishmaelites?" he asked, with something of
asperity in his tone.

The stranger was gravely silent.

"What do they here, with neither cross nor holy symbol?" he again
demanded.

"Have you the courage to see, Sir Priest?" responded the stranger,
quietly.

Father Jose felt his crucifix, as a lonely traveller might his rapier,
and assented.

"Step under the shadow of my plume," said the stranger.

Father Jose stepped beside him, and they instantly sank through the
earth.

When he opened his eyes, which had remained closed in prayerful
meditation during his rapid descent, he found himself in a vast vault,
bespangled overhead with luminous points like the starred firmament. It
was also lighted by a yellow glow that seemed to proceed from a mighty