She was gone a little time, and returned with a bottle of water and some bread. These she handed to Aurora and walked on, moving down the ravine toward the Alhambra.
It was wonderful how much strength excitement had given to that old crone; she scarcely seemed to feel the great fatigue of the night, but with a quick, scrambling walk led the way in silence, only calling back now and then for Aurora to move faster, or the day would be upon them.
They entered the enclosure of the Alhambra by La Torre del Pico, and kept within the shadows, for, though the moon was down, it leaves a transparent atmosphere behind it in Granada; and once or twice the Sibyl fancied that she heard footsteps amid the ruins.
Near La Torre del Pico stood, at that time, the grand mosque of the Alhambra, the most exquisite remnant of Moorish art in the world. An entrance to this mosque was easy, for sacred as it had been, all its rich beauty lay exposed to ruin like the rest.
Papita led the way, holding my mother by the hand. A dim light fell amid the delicate pillars innumerable as the young trees in a forest, but guided by far-off memories, the Sibyl threaded them confidently as if she had been walking through her own barranca. She paused before that portion of the mosque formerly the seat occupied by the Moorish Kings in their worship. Here, by the gleam of azulejos, richer and far more brilliant than any to be found elsewhere in Spain, and which even the darkness could not subdue, she found the Mih-rab or recess in which the Alcoran had been kept.
It was a deep vaulted recess set thick with azulejos, that burned like gems on a bed of gold. The floor was a single slab of agate; and a belt of precious stones had spanned the arch like a petrified rainbow. It was broken and partly defaced now, but the very fragments were a marvel of beauty.
Another might have looked with reverence on a spot so enriched, that it might be worthy to hold the treasure kept most sacred by a fallen nation. But to the old gipsy woman such feelings and such things were a scoff.
“Hide yourself in there,” she said, thrusting Aurora toward the niche. “You will be driven out by no Moors coming to worship; sit still if any one enters the mosque, or if steps turn this way, stand up close to one of the porphyry pillars yonder, moving so that it will be placed between you and the intruder whichever way he comes.”
“But where do you go? How long must I wait?” said Aurora, placing her foot on the glittering pavement of the Mih-rab.
“I go to find him,” was the terse answer. “Wait till he comes, or till I come. You have food: be patient, and on your life, let none of the tribe find you!”