But it is to its striking situation that Ronda owes its interest. Fitted rather to be the eyrie of eagles than the abode of men, it looks down from the verge of precipitous cliffs nearly three thousand feet above sea level. Midway, town and rocky hill are cleft asunder by the Tajo, an awful gorge, two hundred feet across, and twice as much in depth. Gazing down into the abyss, you realize with something of a shudder that a pebble dropped over the edge of the precipice would fall sheer and plumb, without rebound or ricochet, into the river Guadalevin, which rushes below, filling the chasm with foam and spray. The ravine is spanned by a bridge built in the eighteenth century, a wonderful construction, from which when it was near completion its architect fell headlong. Access to the river may be obtained by a flight of 365 steps called the Mina, hewn through the rock. This singular work was executed by the Moors, who thus ensured themselves a supply of water against the dangers of a siege. Numerous subterranean chambers are also ascribed to them, or rather to their Christian captives. But the most delightful spot in Ronda is the little Alameda laid out on the edge of a perpendicular cliff. Leaning on the railing you may drink in the beauty and grandeur of a prospect hardly surpassed in Europe. The fair fertile country below is shut in by an amphitheatre of mountains which soar upwards to heights of five and six thousand feet. The eye seeks in vain for an outlet from the valley, till it discerns the white, dusty high-road winding, doubling, and finally disappearing over a dip between the ranges. The river, a thousand feet below, swirls and gurgles among the rocks, glad to have escaped from the dark gorge to which it has so long been confined. [Illustration: RONDA--THE TAJO] In the evenings the air is keen at Ronda, and in summer you may often hear English spoken by officers of the garrison of Gibraltar and their families, who come here to escape the torrid heat of the Rock. With a little capital and energy the place might be developed into a flourishing health resort. But now the way lies south and seaward. Ever downwards slowly travels the train. The night gathers over the castled crags and the mysterious forests. We detect by their gleam the rivers over which we pass. But now a bright starlike light is seen to the southward. It flashes and is gone, to reappear the next instant. We are nearing the strait, and the searchlight tells us that Britannia watches here with unsleeping eyes over the fortunes of her children in two seas and two continents. CHAPTER VII THE KINGDOM OF MURCIA [Illustration: RONDA--ROMAN BRIDGES]