slaty ledges of the Sierra of Guadarrama, winter
descends early. Indeed, Penalara, looking down on the Escorial, keeps
his snow-cap all the year. From the Dome of Philip the King, one may see
in mid-August the snow-swirls greying his flanks and foot-hills almost
to the limits of the convent domain.

It was now October, and along the splendid road which joins the little
village of San Ildefonso to the Escorial, a sturdy cavalcade of horses
and mules took its way--a carriers' convoy this, a muleteers' troop, not
by any means a raffle of gay cavaliers.

"Ho, the Maragatos! Out of the way--the Maragatos!" shouted any that met
them, over their shoulders. For that strange race from the flat lands of
Astorga has the right of the highway--or rather, of the high, the low,
and the middle way--wherever these exist in Spain. They are the carriers
of all of value in the peninsula--assurance agents rather--stout-built
men, curiously arrayed in leathern jerkins, belted broadly about the
middle, and wearing white linen _bragas_--a sort of cross between
"breeks" and "kilt," coming a little above the knee. Even bandits think
twice before meddling with one of these affiliated Maragatos. For the
whole bees' byke of them would hunt down the robber band. The King's
troops let them alone. The Maragatos have always had the favour of
kings, and as often as not carry the King's own goods from port to
capital far more safely than his own troopers. Only they do not hurry.
They do not often ride their horses, which carry--carry--only carry,
while their masters stride alongside, with quarter-staff, a two-foot
spring-knife, and a pair of holster-pistols all ready primed for any
emergency.

But in the midst of this particular cavalcade were two women riding upon
mules. They were dressed, so far as the eye of the passer-by could
observe, in the costume of all the Maragatas--dresses square-cut in the
bodice, with chains and half-moons of silver tinkling on neck and
forehead, while a long petticoat, padded in small diamond squares, fell
to the points of their red Cordovan shoes. These Maragatas sat sideways
on their mules and were completely silent.

It was not a warlike party to look at. Nevertheless, gay young cavaliers
of the capital on duty at La Granja, who might have sought adventure had
the ladies been protected only by guards in mail and plume, drew aside
and whispered behind their hands as the Maragatas went by.

Now these women were proba