Like most easy natures the positive assertion of the stranger, and withal a certain authoritative air of command, overcame what slight objections the Padre might have feebly nurtured during this remarkable interview.  The spiritual invitation was one, also, that he dared not refuse; not only that; but it tended somewhat to remove the superstitious dread with which he had begun to regard the mysterious stranger.  But, following at a respectful distance, the Padre could not help observing with a thrill of horror that the stranger’s footsteps made no impression on the sand, and his figure seemed at times to blend and incorporate itself with the fog, until the holy man was obliged to wait for its reappearance.  In one of these intervals of embarrassment he heard the ringing of the far-off Mission bell, proclaiming the hour of midnight.  Scarcely had the last stroke died away before the announcement was taken up and repeated by a multitude of bells of all sizes, and the air was filled with the sound of striking clocks and the pealing of steeple chimes.  The old man uttered a cry of alarm.  The stranger sharply demanded the cause.  “The bells! did you not hear them?” gasped Padre Vicentio.  “Tush! tush!” answered the stranger, “thy fall hath set triple bob-majors ringing in thine ears.  Come on!”

The Padre was only too glad to accept the explanation conveyed in this discourteous answer.  But he was destined for another singular experience.  When they had reached the summit of the eminence now known as Russian Hill, an exclamation again burst from the Padre.  The stranger turned to his companion with an impatient gesture; but the Padre heeded him not.  The view that burst upon his sight was such as might well have engrossed the attention of a more enthusiastic temperament.  The fog had not yet reached the hill, and the long valleys and hillsides of the embarcadero below were glittering with the light of a populous city.  “Look!” said the Padre, stretching his hand over the spreading landscape.  “Look, dost thou not see the stately squares and brilliantly lighted avenues of a mighty metropolis.  Dost thou not see, as it were, another firmament below?”

“Avast heaving, reverend man, and quit this folly,” said the strange; dragging the bewildered Padre after him.  “Behold rather the stars knocked out of thy hollow noddle by the fall thou hast had.  Prithee, get over thy visions and rhapsodies, for the time is wearing apace.”

The Padre humbly followed without another word.  Descending the hill toward the north, the stranger leading the way, in a few moments the Padre detected the wash of waves, and presently his feet struck the firmer sand of the beach.  Here the stranger paused, and the Padre perceived a boat lying in readiness hard by.  As he stepped into the stern sheets, in obedience to the command of his companion, he noticed that the rowers seemed to partake of the misty incorporeal texture of his companion, a similarity that became