“The mystery is now solved,” said I to myself, and proceeded to despatch my supper, which was now ready.

The next day’s journey brought me to a considerable town, the name of which I have forgotten.  It is the first in New Castile, in this direction.  I passed the night as usual in the manger of the stable, close beside the Caballeria; for, as I travelled upon a donkey, I deemed it incumbent upon me to be satisfied with a couch in keeping with my manner of journeying, being averse, by any squeamish and over delicate airs, to generate a suspicion amongst the people with whom I mingled that I was aught higher than what my equipage and outward appearance might lead them to believe.  Rising before daylight, I again proceeded on my way, hoping ere night to be able to reach Talavera, which I was informed was ten leagues distant.  The way lay entirely over an unbroken level, for the most part covered with olive trees.  On the left, however, at the distance of a few leagues, rose the mighty mountains which I have already mentioned.  They run eastward in a seemingly interminable range, parallel with the route which I was pursuing; their tops and sides were covered with dazzling snow, and the blasts which came sweeping from them across the wide and melancholy plains were of bitter keenness.

“What mountains are those?” I inquired of a barber-surgeon, who, mounted like myself on a grey burra, joined me about noon, and proceeded in my company for several leagues.  “They have many names, Caballero,” replied the barber; “according to the names of the neighbouring places so they are called.  Yon portion of them is styled the Serrania of Plasencia; and opposite to Madrid they are termed the Mountains of Guadarama, from a river of that name, which descends from them; they run a vast way, Caballero, and separate the two kingdoms, for on the other side is Old Castile.  They are mighty mountains, and though they generate much cold, I take pleasure in looking at them, which is not to be wondered at, seeing that I was born amongst them, though at present, for my sins, I live in a village of the plain.  Caballero, there is not another such range in Spain; they have their secrets too—­their mysteries—­ strange tales are told of those hills, and of what they contain in their deep recesses, for they are a broad chain, and you may wander days and days amongst them without coming to any termino.  Many have lost themselves on those hills, and have never again been heard of.  Strange things are told of them:  it is said that in certain places there are deep pools and lakes, in which dwell monsters, huge serpents as long as a pine tree, and horses of the flood, which sometimes come out and commit mighty damage.  One thing is certain, that yonder, far away to the west, in the heart of those hills, there is a wonderful valley, so narrow that only at midday is the face of the sun to be descried from it.  That valley lay undiscovered and unknown for thousands of years; no person dreamed