“By degrees his attention was attracted to a neighbor equally solitary with himself.  This was a tall soldier, of a stern aspect and grizzled beard, who seemed posted as a sentry at the opposite pomegranate.  His face was bronzed by time; he was arrayed in ancient Spanish armor, with buckler and lance, and stood immovable as a statue.  What surprised the student was, that though thus strangely equipped, he was totally unnoticed by the passing throng, albeit that many almost brushed against him.

“‘This is a city of old time peculiarities,’ thought the student, ’and doubtless this is one of them with which the inhabitants are too familiar to be surprised.’  His own curiosity, however, was awakened, and being of a social disposition, he accosted the soldier.

     “’A rare old suit of armor that which you wear, comrade.  May I ask
     what corps you belong to?’

     “The soldier gasped out a reply from a pair of jaws which seemed to
     have rusted on their hinges.

     “‘The royal guard of Ferdinand and Isabella.’

     “’Santa Maria!  Why, it is three centuries since that corps was in
     service.’

     “’And for three centuries have I been mounting guard.  Now I trust
     my tour of duty draws to a close.  Dost thou desire fortune?’

     “The student held up his tattered cloak in reply.

     “’I understand thee.  If thou hast faith and courage, follow me, and
     thy fortune is made.’

“’Softly, comrade, to follow thee would require small courage in one who has nothing to lose but life and an old guitar, neither of much value; but my faith is of a different matter, and not to be put in temptation.  If it be any criminal act by which I am to mend my fortune, think not my ragged cloak will make me undertake it.’

“The soldier turned on him a look of high displeasure.  ‘My sword,’ said he, ’has never been drawn but in the cause of the faith and the throne.  I am a Cristiano viejo; trust in me and fear no evil.’

     “The student followed him wondering.  He observed that no one heeded
     their conversation, and that the soldier made his way through the
     various groups of idlers unnoticed, as if invisible.

“Crossing the bridge, the soldier led the way by a narrow and steep path past a Moorish mill and aqueduct, and up the ravine which separates the domains of the Generalife from those of the Alhambra.  The last ray of the sun shone upon the red battlements of the latter, which beetled far above; and the convent-bells were proclaiming the festival of the ensuing day.  The ravine was overshadowed by fig-trees, vines, and myrtles, and the outer towers and walls of the fortress.  It was dark and lonely, and the twilight-loving bats began to flit about.  At length the soldier halted at a remote and