CHAP. I.

During Sebastian’s absence, Abensallah had informed Tefza of the numerous calvacade, belonging to the Turkish Basha, which was proceeding nearly in the direction of the yearly caravans to Mecca, and with which if he hastened, he might fall in, and reach Syria safely, whence it would be easy to pass into Arabia: on the contrary, if he let this escape him, he must wait several months for the setting out of the annual one from Fez; and so unnecessarily protract the period either of his slave’s freedom or conversion.

This information had determined Tefza to proceed without delay in search of this private caravan, while he dispatched one of his servants to a kinsman at Riffa, with directions for the management of his affairs during his absence, and an order for him to return the slave, (with such money as the journey required) in the track of the caravan.

This arrangement was most welcome to Sebastian, who retired to rest on a heap of dried mosses, with a lightened and grateful spirit.

On the morrow they departed: tears fell from the venerable Abensallah, as he gave a parting blessing to the fugitive King: Sebastian in return kissed his hands repeatedly, with much emotion. The great age of Abensallah forbade him to believe that they should meet again, till they met in the kingdom of Heaven: but sorrow was checked by the thought, that Abensallah had long divorced every selfish care, and considered death only as an angel that was to open for him the gates of Paradise. His unblemished and benevolent life warranted such an expectation.

Many were the exhortations against rashness, which the good dervise had given Sebastian before Tefza awoke; he now whispered them afresh: the King listened submissively; his last injunctions to Abensallah were to cherish Babec, for Kara Aziek’s sake.

Babec indeed shared his regret, although he saw her joyfully nestling over her young ones in a cage of oziers, which Ismael had slung under the shade of a plane tree, near the cave;—without knowing where she was put, Tefza heard that she was given to Abensallah; and as doves in Barbary are considered the especial bird of God, he looked on such a present as a favorable omen.

The travellers came up with the caravan, formed by the Basha’s people, after a journey of two days.

With what tumult of heart did Sebastian behold the close litter of Kara Aziek! he dared not approach too near, lest the sound of her voice might reach him, and hurry him into a transport that must betray their attachment.

Slowly traversing the desart of Zala, he and his pious companion shared in the advantages of the armed guard, and passed securely on through hordes of wandering people: at night he would draw near the tent where Aziek slept; his soul had no disquiet save for her safety; and for her he sometimes feared, when the indolent soldiers lay scattered about, offering an easy conquest to the robbers of those wilds.

In one of these nights, when all the party were sunk to rest, Sebastian left the sleeping Tefza, and affecting to seek rest also, lay down before the women’s tent with Barémel at his side. As he lay, his ear caught the sound of a light tread; he drew back; some one advanced to the opening of the tent, as if to breathe fresher air; the person sighed,—ah! that soft but profound sigh, it could proceed from no other heart than Kara Aziek’s.

Trembling with joy and apprehension, he now drew near again, and applying his face close to the tent, said in a low voice, “I am with thee, Aziek!”

For a moment all was still; the next instant the drapery of the tent was drawn aside, and Kara Aziek herself appeared her face was lighted up with joy; she shrunk back, yet stretched out her arms towards him; he flew forward, he prest her to his heart, and then hastily relinquished her: she retreated quickly and dropt the curtain, while he threw himself again upon the ground.

All this was done with such rapidity and in such silence, that he doubted whether he had or had not embraced the living Aziek; but transient was the doubt; sweet and consoling recollections succeeded. The throbbing of the faithful heart that had panted against his, yet seemed to say in every beat, “I am re-united to thee again—I will never belong to another!”

Every thing appears possible to chaste and requited love: Sebastian now fondly believed that they were indeed re-united for ever; he dared presume that saints and angels, pleased with the sight of two hearts so purely attached, would plead for them in Heaven, and obtain their happiness of the Most High.

Like all other lovers he fancied that no one loved like him; like all other lovers he believed that his passion must be crowned with success. Erring Sebastian! perhaps the very reason upon which thou didst ground this presumptuous certainty, should have been the awakener of thy fears! Happiness is not for mortality; and would not happiness uniformly result from the enjoyment of a virtuous affection exactly returned?—

He now calculated the number of days in which the caravan would arrive on the confines of Egypt, they must then separate: by the most sacred promise he was bound to accompany Tefza in his progress to the tomb of Mahomet, after which he would be free; but in the meantime what would become of Kara Aziek? would the laws of Moorish mourning protect her from the coarse passion of Ibrahim? She had assured him that they would.—

Satisfied with this assurance, (satisfied because his hopes were changed into confidence,) he revolved in his mind a multitude of visionary projects for her escape from the Basha, which alternately seized and abandoned, employed all his faculties so entirely, that he did not perceive himself deserted by Barémel.—The overjoyed animal had sprung into the tent after Kara Aziek, and now re-appeared; his master instantly felt the use that might be made of him, and extending an eager hand to his collar, found what he expected, a piece of writing beneath it. As he crushed the precious vellum in his hand, he darted round a glance of apprehension; no one had observed, for all were only beginning to rouse themselves from sleep.—

It was not till he had removed to a distance, and knew himself concealed by a cluster of palm-trees, that he opened and read these brief sentences.

“We must not trust ourselves to behold each other again, while surrounded by the Basha’s people;—I know thou art near to me, and that must be sufficient—convey thy plans to me—rely on the eternity of my love—I will live and die, only thine.”—

Transported with a prospect of correspondence, yet determining to use it with prudence, Sebastian hid the letter in his breast, and hastened to rejoin his companions, who were by this time preparing to strike their tents and re-load their camels.

As they rode slowly together in the track of the caravan, the persevering Hadgé resumed his old theme; both his eloquence and his pertinacity seeming to increase as he drew nearer the native country of Mahomet. Sebastian had no longer thoughts for so futile a subject: neither arguments nor bursts of scorn interrupted Tefza, and charmed with this fancied attention, the good man believed himself on the point of saving a soul from perdition.—

At night they halted again; and then, while Tefza slept, the anxious lover briefly sketched to Kara Aziek his situation and his views: Barémel once more played the part of Babec, but it was not till the succeeding day, that Sebastian learnt the effect of his letter.—Kara Aziek determined to visit the tomb of the prophet ere she went into Syria: she announced this intention to the captain of her guard, who dared not disobey the commands of his master’s bride, when those commands were associated with a pious object.

Orders were then issued for the caravan to direct its course to the western bank of the Red Sea, instead of proceeding through Egypt. Tefza extolled the youthful devotee, and called on his slave to let so memorable an example influence his prejudices.

It was only from these new movements that Sebastian joyfully gathered the intentions of Aziek: fearful of discovery, she would not trust their mute messenger too often, but contented herself with caressing him in her tent, soothed by the mere consciousness of his belonging to Sebastian.

By slow stages the travellers had traversed the desarts of Zala and Nubia, skirted the kingdom of Sennaar, and proceeding along the western coast of the Red Sea, were preparing to cross it into Arabia: it was at this period that Aziek hazarded another letter to her lover.

She informed him, that if on their arrival at Mecca, he would assume the disguise of a female merchant of perfumes, and present himself at her door, she would incur the risk of receiving him, as then they might concert together the means of escape.

Impatient for this blissful moment, time seemed stationary to Sebastian, while the caravan proceeded along the varied land of Arabia towards the city of Mecca: at length they entered it, the different persons were dispersed, and Kara Aziek took up her abode in a habitation without the walls of the town.

Inclination would have hurried the impatient Sebastian immediately to the feet of his beloved, but he sought to enjoy that felicity unalloyed, and he could not do so while he knew himself a slave: to shake off his servitude by fulfilling the conditions upon which freedom had been promised him, was his first determination. He reminded Tefza of their compact, he recapitulated the words of Abensallah, and declaring himself eager to witness the ceremonies that were expected to work his conversion, called on the old man to lead him quickly to the mosque.

The admission of Christians into their holy city or their mosques is prohibited to the Mahometans, but this law is sometimes waved in singular cases; so that Tefza had procured a warrant from his spiritual superior, authorizing him to lodge his slave in the suburbs of Mecca, and to edify him by a view of the Mahometan worship.

It was to eyes blinded and ears deafened by intent attention to one precious object, that all the frivolous pomp of Mahometan ceremony was now directed: Sebastian endured it, but he could not bring his mind to observe and investigate its absurdities.

Tefza with grief beheld him enter the mosque, apparently look at, and listen to all that passed, yet never once did an air of abstraction quit his features, nor would he for an instant join in the slightest appearance of worship.

The third day closed; his probation was at an end.

As they returned together from evening prayers to their lodgings near the city, profound silence subsisted between them; but there was no silence in their hearts: Tefza’s intreating eyes spoke only too audibly, as they perpetually turned and fixed themselves upon the face of Sebastian.

The regards of the King were cast down; his head was inclined, his step slow; but this downcast look, this regulated pace, the burning glow that increased every moment upon his cheek, plainly developed the struggles of a man, the expression of whose gladness, decency and gratitude united to control.

Tefza could with difficulty restrain his tears; when he entered his lodgings they burst forth: he turned abruptly round, and throwing himself upon the neck of Sebastian, exclaimed in a broken voice:—

“You will leave me then, my Son?—my desolate old age—my love for thee—will nothing plead?”

Interrupted by sobs he proceeded no further. This affecting resignation, this mild remonstrance, this fidelity to the promise given at Riffa, melted Sebastian; he ran his eyes eagerly over the amiable figure of the old man: his grey hairs and gentle countenance, the supplicating look with which he regarded him, pierced him with regret.

“Alas! my father,” he cried, falling at his feet, “I leave you with a sorrow which my conduct may seem to contradict:—O may you one day know my heart! may all whom I loved, or who have served me in Africa, know the imperious destiny that has controled my actions! I am not what I appear, Tefza: that God whom we equally adore, ordained me to a far different lot from that to which you have seen me condemned; I must endeavour to regain it. I leave you only for the fulfilment of duties, and in the hope of obtaining happiness. Ah! Why has fate thrown me amongst so many excellent persons whom I can never hope to behold again!”

“And am I never to see thee again, my son!” cried Tefza; as he spoke, the blood forsook his cheeks, and he sunk down overpowered with affliction: Sebastian prest his lips upon that trembling hand in agitated silence.

The Hadgé wept audibly: “O Fabian!” he cried at last, “my sand is nearly run, might I but hope to meet thee in another existence, that hope alone”—

“Father!” interrupted the young King, with a steadier voice, “I feel that another world will re-unite us: I love you, I owe you infinite gratitude, my soul thirsts to pay its debt, but here it cannot be; our different creeds, and different fates, sever us decisively. It is for this necessity you blame me; you are good and just according to your judgment, yet you wrong me, and it is only in another existence, that learning my motives, you will cease to condemn my actions. O my father! time, suffering, and reflection, have assured me, (me, who once persecuted unto death) that all who sincerely love their God, and his creatures; all who strive conscientiously to fulfil what they believe to be his law; whether they be Jew or Gentile, whether disciples of Christ or of Mahomet, will, at the last great day, be accepted into his heavenly kingdom.”

Tefza gazed at him as he would have eyed the opening Heavens, then catching him in his arms, he cried in an ardent tone, “I will think so, my son, I will think so; it is impossible that such a soul as thine should be devoted to perdition.”

The Christian and the Mahometan wept in each others arms: that fierce and indignant Sebastian, whom the slightest shew of authority inflamed to madness, was in a single moment softened to woman’s tenderness, and wrought to regret the necessity which severed him from one whom so lately he had opposed and upbraided.

“When we have been separated one year,” said he, as he rose from the neck of the good Hadgé, “ask of Abensallah my story; he will tell it you, for I have instructed him in it. You will then pity and pardon me perhaps—at least you will own that only the strongest affections, and the most powerful duties, tear me from you.”

Sebastian hastily embraced him while speaking, and was going to break away, when Tefza put into his hands one of those beautiful shawls which the Moors call Haegs, requesting him to accept and wear it for his sake.

“Think of my paternal love when thou dost first unfold it,” he said faintly, “may the great prophet forgive thy blindness, and bless thee wherever thou goest. Alas! Fabian! thou didst make life dear to me, what will it be soon?”

Pierced, penetrated with honorable regret, Sebastian turned again to embrace him, exclaiming—“You rive my heart, Tefza, for God’s sake cease.—how it would console me to think that you and Abensallah spent your days together.”

At this suggestion the countenance of the Hadgé suddenly brightened, he grasped his young companion’s hand, saying in a more animated tone, “Would it console thee? then I promise it,—that pious man will not refuse my wish to share his peaceful abode—my wealth shall become in his hand the property of others:—together will we talk of thee my son—together will we pray for thee: then wilt thou think of us together?”

Sebastian joyfully promised to do so, and once more embracing Tefza, tore himself away.

As Tefza supposed him going to seek an immediate conveyance to Cairo, whence he might embark for some Christian port in Europe, it was prudent to avoid the chance of a future rencontre with him; Sebastian therefore repaired to the remotest suburb of the city, inhabited mostly by Jews, who being accustomed to trade with the Portuguese settlers at Ormuz, were able to understand their language.

He procured lodgings at one of their houses, and retiring to the chamber allotted him, threw himself on a mattrass, not to rest, but to revolve the scheme of his conduct.

It was his intention to attempt seeing Kara Aziek early on the morrow; for this purpose he must procure some merchandise and some disguise. At this necessity he started as from sleep; how were these to be acquired, utterly destitute as he was of the means to purchase them! never before had the exiled monarch felt the grasp of penury: while in slavery money would have been useless, and therefore it was an unfelt want; Aziek’s tender precaution had enriched him when he returned to Portugal, and since his second captivity, though that treasure had been swallowed by the ocean, its loss had been unmarked, since Sebastian could have no use for gold, except to relieve the wretchedness of others, and for that purpose the hand of Tefza was always open.

Paralized with this blow, which threatened destruction to every plan his heated fancy had been forming, he started up, and stood rooted to one spot, anxiously seeking some other resource; the gift of Tefza then came to his recollection. It was a Haeg of such transparent fineness, and so curiously flowered with gold, that it might well afford a specious excuse for traffic; he decided therefore to present it for sale at Aziek’s gate, and as the garments he wore were of silk stuff, it would not be difficult to obtain in exchange for them a Jew’s black gown.

These ideas no sooner arose in his mind than he took out the shawl, and hastened towards a window to examine it more attentively; while unfolding it he heard something fall on the ground, which lifting, he found to be a purse stuffed with gold coin: the last words of Tefza then recurred to him—“Think of my paternal love.”—

He did think of that love, he did gratefully acknowledge it. Enhanced by his late perplexity, this considerate benefaction excited no common emotion of gladness and gratitude: it was from the hand of Tefza then, that he was receiving the means of happiness; without this present every effort must have been feeble and confined, and now he might command all that money could purchase towards its attainment.

He looked at the purse with moistened eyes, for he thought of the generous old man’s cheerless age and pitiable character. Tefza’s was not one of those vigorous minds which are sufficient for themselves: he needed objects to enliven and to interest him; without these he sunk into sadness. Piety however offered such a character consolation, and Sebastian comforted himself by hoping, that in the mildly-cheerful society of Abensallah, his weaker spirit would find a stay and a charm.

On the morrow, after sunrise, when half the inhabitants of Mecca were hastening to the shrine of their prophet, and the remainder were opening their shops, arranging their merchandize, &c. Sebastian enquired of his host where perfumes were to be purchased; the Jew hastened to produce some scented handkerchiefs, and having just received a small portion of the flowers of the keura, (an Arabian tree, the blossoms of which retain their celestial fragrance even when dried,) he soon disposed of them to one who caught eagerly at any thing which might prove a passport to Aziek.

The Jew was well paid and incurious; so he neither openly nor secretly commented upon the stranger’s additional purchase of a woman’s black gaberdine and large hat. Having made these useful acquisitions, Sebastian went to one of those public places where coffee is sold, and having obtained some, he retired to a back apartment, and there stained his face and hands, already darkened by many a burning sun and scorching wind: he threw the gaberdine over his other clothes, and watching an opportunity when all the men in the coffee-house were gathered round one of those story-tellers, that in the east make a trade of amusing strangers, he glided into the street, and was soon lost amongst the crowd.

By the least frequented ways, he reached the abode of Kara Aziek: it was the hour of morning prayers, and every man was at the mosque; all but a few soldiers who relieved each other as guards at her door. Sebastian eyed them well, to observe if they were men he had ever conversed with during their journey over the desarts: he did not remember their faces, and trusting to a similar forgetfulness on their side, he approached and asked, in a stifled jargon, whether they would look at his merchandize.

The soldiers, who were Turks, did not understand, and roughly repulsed him; he unfolded his shawl, and the delicious scent of the keura flowers instantly perfuming the whole air around them, induced one of the guards to call out an old negro, whose office it was to convey the commands of Kara Aziek from her women to the Basha’s officer: by this negro the soldiers had been instructed not to turn away any vender of perfumes.—

The unsuspecting slave now beckoned for Sebastian to enter, and led him through a suite of apartments to a chamber adjoining that of Kara Aziek; the negro left him for a moment, then re-appearing, said something in his own language, and went out the way they had come.

Left alone, eager and apprehensive, Sebastian knew not whether to follow or to proceed; while he hesitated, the door of the inner chamber softly opened;—he bent forward—a female figure came forth—she put aside her veil, and shewed him an unknown but engaging countenance, fair, pale, and mildly sad.

Past the prime of life, and evidently wasted by sickness, the lady looked like some interesting phantom; she smiled and courteously bowed as she passed slowly to the opposite door, which she bolted, then re-approaching, took him by the hand and led him to the entrance of the other chamber.

This unknown European, his incertitude, his grief, his fears, all were forgot, when in the retired chamber to which she pointed, he beheld Kara Aziek alone, unveiled, trembling with love and expectation: he flew forward, he locked her in his arms, he held her to his heart in silence; but that heaving heart, his quick and disturbed breathing, his trembling convulsive grasp, spoke more eloquently than words the extent and the intensity of his joy.

The softer and fainter spirit of Aziek seemed to sink under the weight of happiness: she lay on his bosom nearly insensible; her eyes closed, and her feeble hand incapable of returning the frequent pressure of his. At length Sebastian spoke, and the sound of that beloved voice, like some strain of music, suddenly dissolved the spell; a few relieving tears trickled from beneath the eyelids of Aziek.

It was but a moment of happiness; those joyful tears which the devoted lover gently kissed away, were soon replaced by mists of fond apprehension: they must part again! their fate was yet darkened by menacing clouds, which might burst in destruction over their hapless heads.

In answer to Aziek’s expression of these fears, Sebastian eagerly besought her to say whether she had learned where she was destined to remain in Syria: Aziek informed him that she heard the Basha had given orders for her to follow his camp, which some Syrian merchants at Mecca, had described as being in the interior of Persia; part of which kingdom he had already traversed as a conqueror.

“It is in this hurry of war, and triumph of success, that I hope for awhile to be forgotten;” she said, “and perhaps the confusion of such scenes may render escape less difficult: at any rate I trust to this altered person for abating that strange passion of the Basha’s, which a picture (drawn in my days of peace,) had created.—When he sees me, surely—I know not how to explain my meaning, Sebastian—but it is not love he feels for me—and nothing less than love can be satisfied with Aziek as she is now.”

She spoke this blushing and looking down; and Sebastian felt such delightful tenderness as he gazed on her, that it was some moments ere he perceived the justice of her suggestion.

His beloved was changed: it has been remarked that “folly and insensibility season beauty;” they preserve it indeed, from that alteration which reflection and extreme tenderness, inevitably produce.

Aziek’s gentle form was constructed too finely for duration under violent emotions of any kind: her grief at his supposed death, and her joy at finding that grief unfounded, had wasted her visibly; it had exhausted her strength, and gradually dried up the rosy spring that used to colour her cheeks. The brightness of her beauty indeed was clouded, but no disease had fixed on her constitution, no languor pervaded her countenance; and when Sebastian first saw her again after their long separation, he felt not the absence of perfection while his senses were un-shocked by an appearance of absolute decay.

The devoted lover ardently kissed the hand which Aziek had extended to him; “I complain of nothing, sweetest Aziek, if I may but retain yourself—your heart—your soul!—Live for me, continue to love me—and time, which hastens to wear away such passions as those inspired by mere beauty, will only bind our affections in closer union.—Yes Aziek, it was reserved for your precious character to teach me the nature and the value of real love; of that love which the Great Being beholds with complacency, and will bless hereafter:—till I knew you, I was ignorant how much that sentiment can exalt as well as delight.—We must not part, Aziek!—I cannot—cannot quit you.”—

The tone in which he pronounced the last words, penetrated Kara Aziek; she lifted her dark eyes, and fixed them on his, with the look of one whose heart is overflowing with some feeling they long to express, and share with a beloved object; tears of strong emotion gushed from them, a vivid colour spread over her face, and she threw herself suddenly into his arms, exclaiming—“we are divided now perhaps, by Heaven’s will, only that we may meet again for eternal re-union.”

The expression given by her touching voice to the word eternal, struck Sebastian forcibly: he recalled the European woman that had conducted him; he looked intently at Aziek:—resolved to believe what he wished, and without giving utterance to his thoughts, he pressed her against his heart with an emotion only to be conceived by one who has felt the same.

“That Christian lady whom thou hast just seen,” said Aziek, as she disengaged herself from his arms after a short pause, “is my friend; she was a slave in my uncle’s house, and I bought her to give her liberty, and convey her to a countryman now residing at the Persian court. She was taken in a vessel returning from Venice to England (of which country she is a native,) and having lost her husband during the engagement of the ships, cared too little for life to lament her captivity. I love her, and confide in her: I have told her our story, (but concealing thy rank,) and it is with her I hope to fly to the court of Persia.”

“And what is her countryman, Aziek?”

“The queen of England’s ambassador, Sir Anthony Shirley; a sage and worthy gentleman; one, she says, that will protect me, and would aid thee, if—”

A sudden light shone over the face of Sebastian—“Tell me Aziek,” he said, “have you heard the grounds of this war? which are the aggressors, the Turks, or the Persians?”

Ignorant of her lover’s motive for this inquiry, Kara Aziek proceeded to detail what had been casually communicated to her by the old negro, and by the captain of her guard; from their accounts it was evident that the Persians had been forced into hostilities. A most atrocious act had been committed on their frontiers in the time of peace by a Turkish grandee whom the Sultan refused to punish; this insult had been followed by a train of enormities which obliged the sufferers to take up arms, and the merciless Ottomans had already traversed part of Persia, with desolation and cruelty as their attendants. It was a war of justice on the part of Persia;—not a barbarous contest for supremacy.

“Once more then in the broad field of honour—once more in open day and fearless truth, will I press onward to my wishes!”—this exclamation burst from the heart of Sebastian: as he spoke, his hand habitually sought the place where his sword formerly hung; joy smoothed his noble brow, his whole being seemed to dilate.

“What meanest thou, Sebastian?”—faintly articulated Kara Aziek.

“To gain you like a King and a soldier!—Tremble not my beloved; think you that the God we serve, will not bless me more in the open path of sincerity, than when shrinking from scrutiny, planning, deceiving, and over-reaching?—my soul abhors artifice, Aziek,—’tis a yoke that galls me worse than servitude or chains.—I will abandon this disguise, trust your dear safety to angels like yourself, hasten to Persia, enroll myself in her list of champions, and with my sword clear out the way to thee.—I will win thee——I will deserve thee Aziek!”

In an ecstacy of hope, the young and ardent monarch fell at the feet of Kara Aziek; he was restored to himself, he was Sebastian of Portugal again! never had she beheld him thus.

What new charm did this proud fire spread over his countenance! his figure was concealed by its loose black drapery, but his uncovered head breathed indeed both the King and the soldier.

Aziek regarded him more fondly, more admiringly, more devotedly than ever: “Ah why must I love thee thus (she exclaimed) with an increasing passion?” her blushing face hid itself on the shoulder of her lover.

Soothing, grateful and tender, Sebastian checked his enthusiasm to raise the drooping spirits of Aziek: while endearing vows, and chaste caresses, assured her of his attachment, she forgot every apprehension, and whispered only this sentiment of regret, “Life is too short to love thee in.” But when he spoke again of his intention to join the forces of Persia and win her by deeds of arms; her fears returned, and her tears flowed.

It was long ere Sebastian could convince her that his life would be more secure, and their prospect of union more certain, were he to incur the chances of open warfare, than if he should follow her disguised into Syria, and there loiter near her, subject to suspicion and to discovery.

War, tremendous war! how did it shock the tender soul of Aziek! but the dignity and integrity of Sebastian was too precious in her eyes for her to urge any conduct by which they might be compromised. “Go then,” she said, at length, “Go! beloved of my soul! delight of my eyes! treasure of my days! obey the dictates of thy brave and upright spirit! I will believe that the God thou dost worship, that God who did create and make thee what thou art, the most excellent, most dear,—ah! foolish Aziek, say what thou wilt, to this thou recurrest at last!” again she leaned her glowing face on his breast, and smiling through crouding tears, ceased to speak.

“Was man ever loved thus?”—exclaimed Sebastian, half-wild with an emotion too exquisite for mortality to sustain. “Angelic Aziek! this moment is cheaply bought by all my past sufferings. Take every thing, high Heaven! so you leave me but her.”

The silence that followed, was interrupted only by soft and delightful sighs, which alternately seemed to waft to their different bosoms, the souls of each: every painful fear had faded from their minds, all was forgotten.

In the midst of this sweet oblivion, the Englishwoman appeared; her looks and gesture expressed haste and alarm; Sebastian started from the arms of Aziek, he hastened to the door: then turning to look on her once more, saw her pale, trembling, her arms yet extended, and her touching eyes fixed upon him: he hastened back, folded her to his breast, and without speaking or being spoken to, tore himself away.

While he hurried after his directress, she whispered in imperfect French, “Be under the eastern side of this house at prayer time to night.” She then unlocked the door of the apartment, and leading him forward, called the negro, who soon appeared and conducted him out.

The crowds hurrying home from the mosques, proved to Sebastian that Aziek’s friend had not been too careful; a moment’s stay might have exposed him to the scrutiny of her whole household, and suspicion must have followed, from his female habit so ill-suited with his countenance. He returned to his lodging, where he shut himself up with Barémel till the hour of evening prayer.

How hope-inspiring were the reveries with which he delighted his naturally-blissful spirit, during this interval!

The activity of camps and armies, “the pomp and circumstance of war,” the exercise of bodily power and mental energy, the chivalric glow of perilous enterprize, still had charms for this unquenchable spirit: in renouncing their attractions at the command of principle, his heart had yet yearned after them; he had bidden them adieu with such fond regret as the lover feels who tears himself away from a faithless mistress, exclaiming, “Ah why are so many charms united with so much frailty!”

Now his soul sprung back with impetuous force, for now he should at once fight for an oppressed people and a beloved object: he rose, he traversed his apartment with disordered steps; his burning cheek and kindling eye were full of noble purposes: again his limbs seemed to feel the gallant clasp of mailed armour; the knightly helm again seemed to press his brow; and once more his manly arm wielded the tremendous faulchion.

Who that had seen Sebastian at this moment, would have failed to discover in him that enthusiastic, rash heroic King of Portugal, who had once risked and lost every thing for the sake of glory?—he was no longer the same Sebastian that had so lately been stricken to the dust by despair and misanthropy.

How often does the spirit of man die and revive! in the season of youth grief may destroy, but hope will renew it. Like the hardy eagle which poets have fabled immortal, the soul decays, sheds her plumes, sinks into transient death, then suddenly glows again with life, rises new-winged from dust, and soars to Heaven!

Into the mind of Sebastian no visions entered, except such as were bright and blissful: an instant of time, an atom only of distance, seemed to divide him from the possession of all he panted for. In the vigour of youth, and the full zenith of ardour, he felt an inward strength, which assured him that his destiny was yet in his own hands.

“I shall acquire thee, Aziek!” he said exultingly, “I shall regain my crown, my people’s hearts, my friends, and my own respect!”

Yet erring Sebastian!—didst thou weakly think that a throne and a name were necessary to make thee great? thou wast more worthy thy own respect when performing the meanest tasks for thy fellow-slaves in the cassavee of El Hader, than when issuing commands to crowds of obedient courtiers, from thy palace of Ribera.

Sebastian’s proud nature was yet but imperfectly amended; he had to suffer and to learn still more.

At the hour appointed, he repaired to the place marked out by Aziek’s friend: it was a spot calculated for concealment, being surrounded by decayed buildings and thick clusters of sycamores: he looked up at the sound of an opening blind, which was put aside by Kara Aziek herself, who regarding him tenderly, took a small packet from her bosom, and pressing it to her lips with a smile that seemed to say “I send this kiss to thee,” threw down the packet, motioned him away, and withdrew immediately.

The King seized his prize and hurried home to examine it.

The contents were a letter from Aziek’s friend to her countryman in Persia, and one from Aziek to Sebastian: she conjured him to hasten to Ispahan, where the Sophi held his court, there to seek Sir Anthony Shirley. Perhaps the zeal of that Englishman for a highly-allied countrywoman, would quicken his exertions for the man beloved by her protectress; and by his advice, or through his means, some safe plan for their flight from Syria might be devised.—At all events, she conjured him to couple prudence with enterprise, and to remember, that if her freedom was to be purchased by his death, the blessing would change into a curse.

The instructions for his conduct contained in this letter, were so full and satisfactory, that Sebastian lost not a moment in fulfilling them: he calculated justly, that Kara Aziek would scarcely have reached the Basha’s camp, ere he should have entered Ispahan, procured permission to join the Sophi’s army, and perhaps carried that formidable camp sword in hand.

He hastened to seek his Jewish host, and having engaged him to procure a trusty Arab as a guide, enjoining him to be ready early on the morrow, he returned to his chamber, where he threw himself on the ground to renovate his strength with sleep, ere he commenced his journey.