As they proceeded towards the north, the country became more rugged and mountainous, and changes in the costume of the peasantry showed that they had passed into another province: the black velvet cap of the Castilian, ever worn so as to display to advantage his noble, lofty forehead, was replaced by one of woollen material, of a brilliant red, long, and hanging down behind. The scenery every moment became more grand and sublime, and the young girls, who had spent their lives chiefly in Madrid, were full of delight and admiration. "How can people live in the city," they exclaimed, "when such a free and happy life is before them? How can they prefer brick and stone to the everlasting hills, the soft green turf, and the majestic forests? Here, you can really behold the sky, with its beautiful fleecy clouds, ever changing in shape and hue, and you can see the starry universe spread out before you; there, you can perhaps catch a glimpse of a few stars, and a small piece of a cloud, but the rest is hidden by dead walls. In the city, our time is taken up, and our hearts are frozen, by ceremonious visits, stately dinners, and the rules of etiquette; here, in the country, a real, true life could be spent, free from insincerity and busy idleness. Dear father, will you not give up your offices at court, and live henceforth at Alcantra?" Their father smiled at their enthusiasm, and felt himself almost rejuvenated, as he listened to their raptures, flowing fresh from young and ardent hearts; but told them that they had not yet seen their ancestral castle, and that perhaps their expectations might be grievously disappointed; he would wait until they had spent some time there, before he gave them his answer. As they approached the termination of their journey, the country became yet wilder, and the villages were more thinly scattered; while here and there a wooden cross appeared upon the roadside, with some simple inscription, calculated to inspire terror in proportion to its very simplicity. "Here they killed Iago," or "Here the robbers killed Senor Jose Blanco." They noticed, on their last day of travel, when they had entered into the territory of the Conde, that the roadside crosses became more frequent, and the cottages of the peasantry assumed a look of poverty they certainly did not bear in former times, when the lords of the manor resided upon their estate, and were able to see to the welfare of the people. When they entered the little inn of the village of Alcantra, about four miles from the castle, the garrulous old landlord greeted the Conde most warmly.