to the Carmen de Mata Moros. She had a brother living not far
from there, she said, whom she expected to visit the following evening. I
offered half the money in advance as an incentive to loyalty, and it was
accepted with dignity. Then, when we were parting, I asked if one could
see into the palace _patio_ from the Alhambra, which towered above us on
the height.

"From the middle window of the Sala de Ambajadores the senor will find
himself able to see very well," she answered. "And there is still another
_patio_, into which there is a better view from the gardens of the
Generalife. Certainly the gardens are very high and far; but if the senor
has a spy-glass of some sort? And if he chooses I can try to tell the
young lady that he will be first in one place, then in the other, hoping
for a sight of her. Let us say, in the afternoon between four and six at
the Alhambra; after that, at the Generalife, till the sun is gone."

This neat plan was worth an extra twenty-five peseta note, and I gave it.
Afterwards, having no other personal affairs to distract my attention, I
wandered through the streets of Granada and into the chill cathedral
before going up to make acquaintance with the Carmen de Mata Moros.

When I had seen the villa, with its enchanting terraced garden, hanging on
the hillside high above the Vega, a wild hope blazed within me that I
might snatch Monica, persuade the English Consul to marry us, and keep her
here for the honeymoon, flaunting my happiness in Carmona's face. Of
course the idea was fantastic, but it gave me a few moments of happiness.

I lunched in the garden under the thick shade of _nisperos_ trees, and
before the time agreed upon I started to walk to the Alhambra.

Not for worlds would I have taken a guide to show the way. All my life,
since the days when my mother told me legends of treasure hidden and
Moorish warriors enchanted, the Alhambra had been a fairy dream to me.
There was no one in the world, save only Monica, whose company I would
have craved for this expedition. Other people's thoughts and impressions
of the place might be better than mine, but I did not want to hear them; I
wanted only my own.

Under the huge leaning elms, which people who trust guide-books attribute
to Wellington, I wandered until I came to a great red tower, with a
horseshoe arch for entrance. There on the keystone was the carved hand;
beyond, over the arch within, the key; and remembering the legend that