As if to make the scene complete, a group of Andalusians struck up a dance, in one of the vistas of the garden, to the guitars of two wandering musicians.  The Spanish music is wild and plaintive, yet the people dance to it with spirit and enthusiasm.  The picturesque figures of the dancers; the girls with their hair in silken nets that hung in knots and tassels down their backs, their mantillas floating round their graceful forms, their slender feet peeping from under their basquinas, their arms tossed up in the air to play the castanets, had a beautiful effect on this airy height, with the rich evening landscape spreading out below them.

When the dance was ended, two of the parties approached Antonio and Inez; one of them began a soft and tender Moorish ballad, accompanied by the other on the lute.  It alluded to the story of the garden, the wrongs of the fair queen of Granada, and the misfortunes of the Abencerrages.  It was one of those old ballads that abound in this part of Spain, and live, like echoes, about the ruins of Moorish greatness.  The heart of Inez was at that moment open to every tender impression; the tears rose into her eyes, as she listened to the tale.  The singer approached nearer to her; she was striking in her appearance;—­young, beautiful, with a mixture of wildness and melancholy in her fine black eyes.  She fixed them mournfully and expressively on Inez, and, suddenly varying her manner, sang another ballad, which treated of impending danger and treachery.  All this might have passed for a mere accidental caprice of the singer, had there not been something in her look, manner, and gesticulation that made it pointed and startling.

Inez was about to ask the meaning of this evidently personal application of the song, when she was interrupted by Antonio, who gently drew her from the place.  Whilst she had been lost in attention to the music, he had remarked a group of men, in the shadows of the trees, whispering together.  They were enveloped in the broad hats and great cloaks so much worn by the Spanish, and, while they were regarding himself and Inez attentively, seemed anxious to avoid observation.  Not knowing what might be their character or intention, he hastened to quit a place where the gathering shadows of evening might expose them to intrusion and insult.  On their way down the hill, as they passed through the wood of elms, mingled with poplars and oleanders, that skirts the road leading from the Alhambra, he again saw these men apparently following at a distance; and he afterwards caught sight of them among the trees on the banks of the Darro.  He said nothing on the subject to Inez, nor her father, for he would not awaken unnecessary alarm; but he felt at a loss how to ascertain or to avert any machinations that might be devising against the helpless inhabitants of the tower.