ld man knocked at the portal. A light appeared at a small window
just above it, and a female head looked out: it might have served as a
model for one of Raphael's saints. The hair was beautifully braided,
and gathered in a silken net; and the complexion, as well as could be
judged from the light, was that soft, rich brunette, so becoming in
southern beauty.

"It is I, my child," said the old man. The face instantly disappeared,
and soon after a wicket-door in the large portal opened. Antonio, who
had ventured near to the building, caught a transient sight of a
delicate female form. A pair of fine black eyes darted a look of
surprise at seeing a stranger hovering near, and the door was
precipitately closed.

There was something in this sudden gleam of beauty that wonderfully
struck the imagination of the student. It was like a brilliant,
flashing from its dark casket. He sauntered about, regarding the
gloomy pile with increasing interest. A few simple, wild notes, from
among some rocks and trees at a little distance, attracted his
attention. He found there a group of Gitanas, a vagabond gipsy race,
which at that time abounded in Spain, and lived in hovels and caves of
the hills about the neighbourhood of Granada. Some were busy about a
fire, and others were listening to the uncouth music which one of
their companions, seated on a ledge of the rock, was making with a
split reed.

Antonio endeavoured to obtain some information of them, concerning the
old building and its inhabitants. The one who appeared to be their
spokesman was a gaunt fellow, with a subtle gait, a whispering voice,
and a sinister roll of the eye. He shrugged his shoulders on the
student's inquiries, and said that all was not right in that building.
An old man inhabited it, whom nobody knew, and whose family appeared
to be only a daughter and a female servant. He and his companions, he
added, lived up among the neighbouring hills; and as they had been
about at night, they had often seen strange lights, and heard strange
sounds from the tower. Some of the country people, who worked in the
vineyards among the hills, believed the old man to be one that dealt
in the black art, and were not over-fond of passing near the tower at
night; "but for our parts," said the Gitano, "we are not a people that
trouble ourselves much with fears of that kind."

The student endeavoured to gain more precise information, but they had
none to furnish him. They began to be