amino Real. Like music also were the
names of the missions--San Juan Capistrano, San Luis Rey de Francia, San
Miguel, Santa Ynes--their very list is a song.

So there, by-and-by, was our continent, with the locomotive whistling
from Savannah to Boston along its eastern edge, and on the western the
scattered chimes of Spain ringing among the unpeopled mountains. Thus
grew the two sorts of civilization--not equally. We know what has
happened since. To-day the locomotive is whistling also from The Golden
Gate to San Diego; but still the old mission-road goes through the
mountains, and along it the footsteps of vanished Spain are marked with
roses, and broken cloisters, and the crucifix.

But this was 1855. Only the barkentine brought to Padre Ignacio the
signs from the world that he once had known and loved so dearly. As for
the new world making a rude noise to the northward, he trusted that it
might keep away from Santa Ysabel, and he waited for the vessel that was
overdue with its package containing his single worldly luxury.

As the little, ancient bronze bell continued swinging in the tower,
its plaintive call reached something in the Padre's memory. Softly,
absently, he began to sing. He took up the slow strain not quite
correctly, and dropped it, and took it up again, always in cadence with
the bell.

[musical score appears here]

At length he heard himself, and, glancing at the belfry, smiled a
little. "It is a pretty tune," he said, "and it always made me sorry for
poor Fra Diavolo. Auber himself confessed to me that he had made it sad
and put the hermitage bell to go with it, because he too was grieved
at having to kill his villain, and wanted him, if possible, to die in a
religious frame of mind. And Auber touched glasses with me and said--how
well I remember it!--'Is it the good Lord, or is it merely the devil,
that makes me always have a weakness for rascals?' I told him it was the
devil. I was not a priest then. I could not be so sure with my answer
now." And then Padre Ignacio repeated Auber's remark in French: "'Est-ce
le bon Dieu, oui est-ce bien le diable, qui veut tonjours que j'aime
les coquins?' I don't know! I don't know! I wonder if Auber has composed
anything lately? I wonder who is singing 'Zerlina' now?"

He cast a farewell look at the ocean, and took his steps between the
monastic herbs, the jasmines and the oleanders to the sacristy. "At
least," he said, "if we cannot carry with us into exi