Scene vi. —­ A pass in the Guadarrama mountains.  Early morning.  A muleteer crosses the stage, sitting sideways on his mule and lighting a paper cigar with flint and steel.

Song.

If thou art sleeping, maiden,
  Awake and open thy door,
’T is the break of day, and we must away,
  O’er meadow, and mount, and moor.

Wait not to find thy slippers,
  But come with thy naked feet;
We shall have to pass through the dewy grass,
  And waters wide and fleet.

(Disappears down the pass.  Enter a Monk.  A shepherd appears on the rocks above.)

  Monk.  Ave Maria, gratia plena.  Ola! good man!

  Shep.  Ola!

  Monk.  Is this the road to Segovia?

  Shep.  It is, your reverence.

  Monk.  How far is it?

  Shep.  I do not know.

  Monk.  What is that yonder in the valley?

  Shep.  San Ildefonso.

  Monk.  A long way to breakfast.

  Shep.  Ay, marry.

  Monk.  Are there robbers in these mountains?

  Shep.  Yes, and worse than that.

  Monk.  What?

  Shep.  Wolves.

Monk.  Santa Maria!  Come with me to San Ildefonso, and thou shalt be well rewarded.

  Shep.  What wilt thou give me?

  Monk.  An Agnus Dei and my benediction.

(They disappear.  A mounted Contrabandista passes, wrapped in his cloak, and a gun at his saddle-bow.  He goes down the pass singing.)

Song.

Worn with speed is my good steed,
And I march me hurried, worried;
Onward, caballito mio,
With the white star in thy forehead! 
Onward, for here comes the Ronda,
And I hear their rifles crack! 
Ay, jaleo!  Ay, ay, jaleo! 
Ay, jaleo!  They cross our track.

(Song dies away.  Enter Preciosa, on horseback, attended by
Victorian, Hypolito, don Carlos, and Chispa, on foot, and armed.)

Vict.  This is the highest point.  Here let us rest. 
See, Preciosa, see how all about us
Kneeling, like hooded friars, the misty mountains
Receive the benediction of the sun! 
O glorious sight!

  Prec.  Most beautiful indeed!

  Hyp.  Most wonderful!

Vict.  And in the vale below,
Where yonder steeples flash like lifted halberds,
San Ildefonso, from its noisy belfries,
Sends up a salutation to the morn,
As if an army smote their brazen shields,
And shouted victory!

  Prec.  And which way lies Segovia?

Vict.  At a great distance yonder. 
Dost thou not see it?

  Prec.  No.  I do not see it.

Vict.  The merest flaw that dents the horizon’s edge. 
There, yonder!

Hyp.  ’T is a notable old town,
Boasting an ancient Roman aqueduct,
And an Alcazar, builded by the Moors,
Wherein, you may remember, poor Gil Blas
Was fed on Pan del Rey.  O, many a time
Out of its grated windows have I looked
Hundreds of feet plumb down to the Eresma,
That, like a serpent through the valley creeping,
Glides at its foot.