in my eyes. It was emblematic of the fortunes of the place, and
befitted the progeny of a ruin.

"I put some farther questions to him, and found that his title was
legitimate. His family had lived in the fortress from generation to
generation ever since the time of the conquest. His name was Mateo
Ximenes. 'Then, perhaps,' said I, 'you may be a descendant from the
great Cardinal Ximenes?'--'Dios Sabe! God knows, Senor! It may be so.
We are the oldest family in the Alhambra,--_Christianos Viejos_, old
Christians, without any taint of Moor or Jew. I know we belong to some
great family or other, but I forget whom. My father knows all about
it: he has the coat-of-arms hanging up in his cottage, up in the
fortress.' There is not any Spaniard, however poor, but has some claim
to high pedigree. The first title of this ragged worthy, however, had
completely captivated me, so I gladly accepted the services of the
'son of the Alhambra.'

"We now found ourselves in a deep narrow ravine, filled with beautiful
groves, with a steep avenue, and various footpaths winding through it,
bordered with stone seats, and ornamented with fountains. To our left,
we beheld the towers of the Alhambra beetling above us; to our right,
on the opposite side of the ravine, we were equally dominated by
rival towers on a rocky eminence. These, we were told, were the Torres
Vermejos, or vermilion towers, so called from their ruddy hue. No one
knows their origin. They are of a date much anterior to the Alhambra:
some suppose them to have been built by the Romans; others, by some
wandering colony of Phoenicians. Ascending the steep and shady avenue,
we arrived at the foot of a huge square Moorish tower; forming a kind
of barbican, through which passed the main entrance to the fortress.
Within the barbican was another group of veteran invalids, one