It appeared to be a mere wing, or ruined fragment, of what had once been a pile of some consequence.  The walls were of great thickness; the windows narrow, and generally secured by iron bars.  The door was of planks, studded with iron spikes, and had been of great strength, though at present it was much decayed.  At one end of the mansion was a ruinous tower, in the Moorish style of architecture.  The edifice had probably been a country retreat, or castle of pleasure, during the occupation of Granada by the Moors, and rendered sufficiently strong to withstand any casual assault in those warlike times.

The old 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.”