CHAP. III.

The boy, who was very young and very timid, stood looking down with an air of gentleness which attracted kindness; his extreme youth immediately destroyed the suspicion which Maimuna’s conversation had first raised, since a passion for him was preposterous to suppose: at this conviction Sebastian felt his embarrassment and apprehension increase, but he approached the youth, and taking his hand, said to him,

“Is it still your wish, Zaphna, to leave the security of a gentle lady’s house, for the vicissitudes of a camp?—Nature stamps us all with the impress of her intentions; and your delicate frame has not been moulded from the clay she makes soldiers of,—let me then advise you to read your fate better, and to desist from this wild desire.”

Zaphna withdrew his hand from that of the King, and without raising his eyes from the ground, or moving his head, which was bashfully averted, he replied in a low voice, “I thought, Sir Knight, that you had promised my lady to receive me? do not injure my indulgent mistress by imagining that even your persuasions can avail, where hers have failed. I am resolved to accompany the army.”

The firm tone of his last words caused Sebastian to smile: “I see you are unused to opposition;” he observed, “but my pretty friend, you must remember that to serve a rough soldier will be a very different task from that of living in the lap of a soft mistress, whom your boyish petulancies may entertain. You must expect infinite hardships and privations with me; however, count upon my affection for you, and my zeal for your lady; and when I return you to her, tell her that for one dear, absent woman’s sake, I am thus obedient to the wishes of another.”

The boy blushed for his lady, as if he felt what Sebastian meant to convey; but he spoke not; his hands pressed on his heart, and his head bent still lower, expressed obedience.

The King then described the few duties he would require of him; and hearing the sound of the trumpets, hastened away to join Sir Anthony Shirley, and to go with him to the field.

They rode together towards the troops; while Zaphna took charge of his master’s war-equipage and Barémel; and seated beside them in a covered sort of carriage, made one in a long line of baggage.

Abbas and Sebastian met now with brows cleared from every cloud; their whole souls were given to action:—they beheld with animated looks the numerous troops passing in review before them. As they filed off in divisions and began their march, the oriental magnificence of their white vestments, their pointed caps covered with gold, their decorated arms and embroidered banners, their horses (covered with purple housings,) tossing their manes like sea-foam lifted by winds, formed a spectacle at once new and splendid.

An European warrior saw in this army little more than a gorgeous preparation for some vast tournament, where the mockery of battle is exhibited amidst pomp and gaiety: the light-robed Persians, with their painted quivers and gilded bows, scattered and diffused in various groups, could not excite such an emotion as the deadly sight of phalanxed men ribbed in grim iron, armed with maces and battle-axes, and steadily advancing as if by one movement and with one thought.

The King of Portugal at first saw the Persian troops with pleasure, as he would have considered a lively picture, but his reflections soon became graver, and estimating their feebleness, he followed their march with concern: some vain regrets also intruded; past disasters rose to remembrance; and on the boundless plain where the Persians had lately stood, his troubled fancy saw the ghost of his own gallant army.

The sudden paleness of his cheek at this mental phantom, attracted the attention of Sir Anthony Shirley, he rode up to him, and fixing his eyes on his face, said, “you appear disturbed brave friend! perhaps your noble mind conceives, that in thus beholding you entrusted with the command my pledge has obtained, I am secretly agitated, and fear that I may have gone too far: not so, I know that my honour, my safety, nay my life, hang upon your fidelity to the Sophi, and it is from that reason I confidently expect fidelity at your hands.”

“You might risk your salvation on me, after this!” exclaimed Sebastian, ardently grasping Shirley’s hand in both his, and squeezing it within them, “Generous Englishman! did a man meditate treachery, such heroic reliance would damn him or make him true!—Yes!” he added, after a pause, “I will save Persia, or lose myself! your nobleness renders the recovery of her I love, but a secondary object.”

In the bright suffusion that spread over Sebastian’s elevated countenance, in the enthusiasm of his voice, Shirley read the worth he sought to ascertain: a slighter but less pleasing glow, (for it was the blush of shame,) tinted his face; his reliance had been transiently staggered, and the speech Sebastian had understood literally, was meant delicately to convey a renewed exhortation.

Shirley had lived, alas! too long in courts, not to be justified in this apprehensiveness. Struck with amiable remorse, he was going to drew a valuable gem from his finger and proffer it to the Christian Knight, as a type of friendship, when he was checked by perceiving no ring on his hand which he might give him in exchange: awed by that sensitive delicacy which had appeared in all the stranger’s actions, Shirley relinquished the intention.

Tefza’s parting gift had enabled the King to preserve himself independent of every pecuniary obligation; and though he accepted a lodging from the hospitality of Sir Anthony, that gentleman’s domestics had tasted liberally of his bounty: no one indeed served him without being recompensed beyond the value of their services.

Never could Sebastian forget that he was a King: happily fortune had not yet reminded him that even a monarch must shape his largesses to his means. In the quality of a commander it was necessary for him to use the Sophi’s treasures, but it was only for the purposes of that situation, and for public service, that he destined to employ them; his own fund was, or he determined it should be, sufficient for his own personal wants.

By the new plan of the night, the two generals, instead of marching forward together, as if the whole army meant to attack the Basha, deemed it best to wave the use of a faint intended merely to mislead; for time pressed, and the able conduct of their enemy required a counterpoise in promptitude.

The troops divided on the field, and their commanders exchanged adieus: they were on the point of separating, when Prince Abbas said in a low voice, and with a troubled air which he tried to render gay, “There are some bright eyes in Ispahan at this moment dim with tears for you I conjecture.”

Sebastian smiled, shook his head, then bowing to Sir Anthony Shirley, rode up to head his division.

It was not till after the troops had attained their place of destination by rapid marches, and that Sebastian had reconnoitred the ground and made the requisite dispositions, that he sent for Zaphna into his tent at night to converse with him, and give repose to his mind by recitations of Persian poetry.

The King was lying along a mattrass when the boy entered. As only a single light burned in the tent, he could not distinctly observe his lineaments, but he was charmed with the beautiful simplicity of his figure, with which a Persian dress of delicate-coloured silk delightfully harmonized: a turban of the same taffeta heightened the graceful air of his head and throat, which still averted, and a little inclined, indicated a timid and gentle temper.

“Come hither, Zaphna,” he said, in a tender accent, for the boy’s age and figure reminded him of young Diego: “come hither! you must not look thus apprehensive. In me you see a master who will indulge you in every thing, except what would make your lady unhappy—cheer up—tell me how you have travelled? if you have had all your little wants attended to? is there any wish of yours that I can gratify.”

Zaphna, thanked him, and expressing himself perfectly content, continued still to stand at a distance.

“Why do you not come nearer?” asked Sebastian as he kindly held out his hand, while saying this, the bashful youth was obliged to approach and give him his: Sebastian felt that it trembled. “Ah my little friend,” he gaily exclaimed, “this hand was never formed to draw the warrior’s bow.”

For the first time, Zaphna hastily turned round and fixed a disturbed look upon his master; the glance of his eyes caused the King to start up. “I have met that glance before!” he was just going to exclaim, but checking himself, he let the hand of his page drop, and continued gazing on him.

A face finely-composed, whiter than ivory, unmixed with any shade, except that formed by the arch of two jet-black brows, now remained motionless before him: Sebastian eagerly perused it, with a mixture of admiration, regret, and alarm. After a long silence he took his determination, and said with a serious air.

“Perhaps you are surprized, Zaphna, that I do not question you about your mistress, and try to discover some circumstance flattering to my vanity, but I must teach you your master. He would willingly walk for ever in the path of sincerity himself, and therefore he makes it a rule to believe the same of every other person: Your fair lady told me her name and rank, she assured me that in seeking my protection for you, she was doing it for your sake alone, I shall therefore religiously confide on this assurance. Let me, however, take one painful precaution, which is this, to tell you a conversation that passed between me and the Prince of Persia, on the night of the lady Maimuna’s visit; perhaps it may be of consequence for her to know.”

The colours of the rose now diffused themselves even to the ivory forehead of Zaphna: the name of Abbas evidently caused this alteration. Faltering and confused, he repeated, “The Prince of Persia!—what then, Sir Knight, have you no reserves from your friend? my lady thought not so, when she confided her reputation and perhaps her life in your honour. Ah me! unhappy wretch that I am,—my mad resolution!”—tears gushed from his eyes as he broke off, and he concealed his face in his drapery.

Again the opinion of Sebastian varied, and requiring the boy to calm himself, he succinctly related the interview between him and Prince Abbas: By this detail Zaphna learned that Abbas in reality knew nothing that could endanger the character or safety of his protectress, and this conviction quieted him: the honourable frankness of Sebastian heightened his esteem for the master he served, and wiping his tears, he said firmly, “I may not answer any question implied by this recital, but I venture to protest Sir Knight, that my lady is incapable of giving warrant to the Prince of Persia’s suspicions. A chaste woman believes herself safe everywhere, and she ventured therefore to visit a young warrior alone, in the dead of night. Think better of her than Prince Abbas does.”—Here Zaphna’s firmness forsook him, and he broke off with a deep sigh.

There was something in the boy’s manner which perplexed Sebastian: this alternate appearance of timidity and of courage, this extreme sensibility to the cause of his mistress, nay more, the visible trouble excited in him by the name of Abbas, forced him to recur again to that suspicion which his friend had infused: he almost believed that he beheld in Zaphna the young Princess of Persia herself.

At this idea, did “no thought infirm alter his cheek?”—did no throb of vanity or passion transiently disorder the movement of that heart, which ought never to have beaten but for Kara Aziek?—not one!—all the sensibilities of his age and nature glowed solely for her; in her was summed up to him everything that is tender, trusting, faithful, and delightful: he needed not the aid of principle to assist him in remaining true to one who loved him so devotedly.—The constancy and intensity of her love, had sealed his for eternity.

“We will dismiss this subject;” said he, after a long and serious pause, “Suffice it that you tell your lady what we have discoursed on, lest any mischance should happen from the Prince’s rigorous attention to Persian customs: I would have nothing to reproach myself with. The Prince and I are now separated by our different duties; we command in different provinces; perhaps we may never meet again; one or both of us may fall in battle: should it be my fate, I charge you preserve his esteem to my memory.” This sad image excited such excessive emotion in Zaphna, that pale, trembling, and tearful, he spoke almost without consciousness, faltering out, “The Prince does not join you then—one of you may fall!—your injunction shall be obeyed—but O never may”——the incoherent sentence was lost in sighs.

Grieved to have thus pained him, Sebastian indulgently bade him retire, Zaphna prest his hands on his bosom and disappeared.

Satisfied with having acted sincerely, although still troubled with suspicions of Zaphna’s sex, Sebastian wrested his thoughts from this comparatively inconsiderable subject, and fixed them solely on the important plan of the campaign.—The morning sun awoke him to activity and to care.

As the war-council had discovered Ibrahim’s army to be advancing towards the capital, it was Prince Abbas’s task to meet and to give them battle, while the Christian knight was to cut off their retreat, by possessing himself of all the forts and passes on the line of Armenia. This distribution evidently awarded to Abbas the most brilliant, and at the same time the least difficult duty; but Sebastian, who considered their two commands with a soldier’s judgment, thought himself distinguished by the grant of the most hazardous.

During the short period of his abode at Ispahan, he had devoted himself not to the vain attempt of altering the manœuvres of the troops committed to him, but to a deep consideration of how he could best employ a machine so ill-constructed: he now reaped the benefit of such reflections; and found that in the hands of an able commander, bravery and docility are nearly all-sufficient.

Behold him now, attacking, storming, carrying sword in hand every stronghold of the Turks; sometimes marching under the insufferable noon day sun, or in the darkness of a stormy night, to surprize and to overcome the enemy! see him pass with the velocity of a sweeping wind, from one extremity of the frontier to another, restoring wandering outcasts to their houses, rescuing children and women from dishonour and slavery, followed everywhere by rejoicing and benedictions!

But wherever he went, his heart sought only Aziek: these quick-gathered laurels filled his grasp with worthless leaves, while she was unattained. His interrogatories to the Turkish prisoners were productive of no satisfaction; they were all ignorant whether she had or had not reached Syria.

This uncertainty, though it had not power to detach his mind during the day from his momentous duties, dominated over him at that season when others tasted the refreshing sweets of repose: on his pillow he thought but of her. Zaphna alone shared his confidence, for Zaphna had now banished some of his timidity, and by the kindest attentions won on his master’s heart.

Sebastian had long ceased to fancy that the Princess of Persia shared his fatigues disguised: how could the mere sight of any man have excited such a mad passion as that which should lead a Persian Princess into the situation of Zaphna? and would not her disappearance have spread dismay through the kingdom long ere this? doubtless Maimuna was really what she appeared, she had spoken truth, and the boy’s resemblance to her was the natural consequence of relationship.

While Sebastian discoursed of his love, and lightly touched on the sufferings which had given birth to, and nursed it, his youthful confident shed tears, and seemed to feel but too faithful a sympathy with his feelings: was it possible for one so young to have felt the master passion? it might be so: perhaps his longing after war, was only the desire of banishing from his mind some cherished image: this fancy increased Sebastian’s partiality, and half their nights were spent together in melancholy discourse.

At this period the news of Prince Abbas’s defeat fell like a thunderbolt on the victorious camp of Sebastian: a courier brought the intelligence in the middle of the night; he was charged with this billet from the Prince himself.

“I have lost a battle—the enemy will be at the gates of Ispahan perhaps ere you receive this.—Come brave stranger and retrieve my errors.”

Tears of admiration and regret started in the eyes of Sebastian while he ran over this noble submission of a great soul: doubly roused to save Persia, he threw the silk on which the letter was written to Zaphna, while he hastily mentioned its purport, and bade him prepare for immediate departure.

The dreadful danger which menaced the capital, in which probably was involved the safety of the person he loved, took so powerful an effect upon the delicate boy, that unable to speak, he motioned for his master not to follow him, and tottering to the door of their tent, hastened to get air.

After some minutes’ absence, he returned with his eyes swollen, but his manner less agitated: “I have dear friends in Ispahan, you know Sir, he said timidly, I tremble for them—O let us hasten thither.”

“You cannot support the fatigue of advancing as I shall do, replied his master, I must be at Ispahan ere sun set to-morrow, compose yourself—you shall follow me as safely and as swiftly as possible. My poor boy! I would not have you the prize of Ibrahim.”

The King stopped not for a more particular farewel, he did not even wait for Zaphna’s answer, but hurried out to rouse his soldiers, to issue orders, to draw supplies from the different garrisons, and to march for Ispahan.

On the road he encountered several fugitives from the broken army of Abbas: from them he learned that Abbas had thrown himself into the capital with a handful of men, and that doubtless ere this he must have surrendered to the Basha.

At a short distance from the capital Sebastian ordered his troops to halt, in a situation which concealed them from the view of the town; he then dispatched scouts to gain information: their return confirmed his fears; Ispahan was taken; the city was filled with Turks and Syrians, and a division of their army lay encamped on the plain to the eastward.

A moment decided him, he divided his force into two unequal parts; with the smaller he hoped to deceive the enemy into giving him battle, while with the other, and at the same time, he attacked the town itself. Every thing would depend on the courage and steadiness of his comparatively small band.

Having detailed his plan to the officers, and when stamped by their concurrence, explained it to his men, he made them a short exhortation: with the strong motive of fighting for their houses, their liberties, rights, and dearest connexions; he mingled so warm an eulogium upon the Prince, and painted the anguish of his brave heart in such lively colours, that all the soldiers, as if animated by one soul, exclaimed, “they would efface his misfortune or die!”

“On then, my gallant friends!” exclaimed the transported Sebastian, waving his bright sword and pointing to Ispahan. “On then, for God and your Prince!”

May we doubt that such honourable enthusiasm prevailed? no; credulous of the stratagem employed, Ibrahim sent orders to his encamped army to give the Persians battle. It was late in the evening when the two parties encountered; the Persian general had instructions to fight Parthian-like, retreating at every stroke, thus drawing his adversary by quick degrees from Ispahan. Meanwhile Sebastian waited impatiently under cover of the mountain behind the city, for the hour of darkness: every one in the town went to repose, except only a few Turkish sentinels; everything was still; the clashing of the contending troops came no longer from the distant echoes. A shadowy moon favoured stratagem: by its uncertain light some thickets of myrtles (then covered with white blossoms) among which his men were planted, appeared like so many more divisions of phalanxed soldiers.

Again he divided his force, and attacked at the same instant two quarters of the city: the walls were scaled, the gates forced, the streets crowded with exulting Persians; the noise of tumult, of hope, of fury, of victory! resounded through all the squares: Sebastian was everywhere; like some warring angel sent to succour a cause favoured by Heaven, he was seen in every quarter of Ispahan.

The Turks, half asleep, and scarcely-roused from the stupefaction of opium, ran about in aimless confusion: from one of these, whom he had taken prisoner, Sebastian learned the destiny of the Prince; at that moment the Basha’s person might have been secured, but it was possible that while securing him Abbas might be sacrificed. Sebastian hesitated scarce a moment, selfish wishes were subdued, he flew to his friend, and had the delight of restoring him to liberty: they hastily embraced.

“Go Prince,” exclaimed Sebastian, interrupting his thanks, “shew yourself to the people—the sight of you will repay them for all their fatigues,” so saying, they separated.

Abbas flew to head a party of Persians that were yet disputing the gate of the palace, Sebastian hastened out of the city to recall the pursuing part of the army, lest success might carry them too far.

Ibrahim with a remnant of followers had succeeded in gaining that division of his force which followed the retreating part of Sebastian’s; his troops now outnumbered those they pursued, but ignorant of the strength in Ispahan, he made no other use of this advantage than that of effecting his retreat to a pass where he encamped himself strongly.

To attempt forcing his camp would have been to risk the superiority already gained; the Persians were exhausted by a rapid march and incessant fighting; Sebastian therefore called them back, and re-entered the town, where they were rejoined before day-break by the other division, which having left Ibrahim entrenching himself amongst the mountains, had wheeled round through a defile, and trod back their steps.

The knight of the cross had now fulfilled his vow to Sir Anthony Shirley, he had saved Persia: nay more, while there remained a chance of victory inclining to the adversary, he had done violence to his heart’s wish of seeking for Kara Aziek.

The contest over, he ran to the palace, the late quarter of the Basha: almost assured of finding her he sought, he hastily interrogated the guards to learn if the Turkish women had been respected; he was answered that there were no foreign women in the city; none had accompanied the Basha’s army.

Struck and afflicted, Sebastian was some moments ere he could reply, or interrogate anew, different soldiers and Syrian prisoners: one of the latter assured him that there were women in the Basha’s camp near Bagdad, and that he knew a Moorish lady had arrived there. At this intelligence the hopes of Sebastian revived; “I will speak with that man again;” he said to the Persian who had interpreted between them, “see that you bring him to me when I require him,” the appearance of Prince Abbas interrupted his speech.

In expressive silence the Prince took and squeezed his hand, and held it to his heart; his silence was even more eloquent than his countenance: that semblance of coldness which was natural to him, or rather, was the effect of a violent repression of violent sensibility, gave way before the magnitude of his obligations to Sebastian.

“You have indeed retrieved my error!” he said at last, “you have saved my father and the kingdom; you have preserved me from dying of grief and shame! what is the recompence we are to give you?—the only valuable recompence in our power you have already wrested from us by a noble force—you have won our eternal gratitude and admiration.—Is there any thing else in Persia we may offer?—command it.”—

“One thing more;” replied Sebastian, sweetly smiling, “I would have the Persians respect Christians for my sake:—should such ever fall into their hands or settle amongst them, I pray you bid them remember that it was a Christian Knight who loved their Prince, and combatted in their defence.”

“And is that all?” exclaimed Abbas, pleasure sparkling in his fine countenance—“have those bright eyes I warned you against, taught your heart no tenderer desire?—were you to claim the rarest beauty in Ispahan, nay even my sister Zelide, it is not the friend whose life, liberty, and honour you have saved, that dare deny the boon.”

“Be under no apprehension Prince,” replied Sebastian, “the image of one, amiable as lovely, has long sealed both my heart and eyes against other impressions: no Persian lady can efface it.”

The smile with which Sebastian concluded, was reflected by one from the young Persian, he then led the way to the state apartments, where the Sophi and Sir Anthony Shirley waited to greet their deliverer.

A glow of modest pleasure sat on the face of Sebastian as he bent to the repeated thanks and eulogiums of Shirley: enfeebled by age and emotion, the Sophi wept like a child, while he embraced his son; after which he unclasped from his throat a massy collar of diamonds, and essayed to fasten it round that of Sebastian: but his shaking hands refused to obey his will, and Abbas hastened to supply his place.

There was something so sacred in the feelings of an old man and a father, that the King of Portugal would not pain them by refusing this magnificent offering; he suffered Abbas to clasp the collar, then full of her who alone agitated his secret thoughts, proposed to the Sophi, that after the repose of a night, the troops should make a vigorous assault upon the camp of the Basha, and terminate the war at once, by crushing the whole Turkish force in Persia.

Timid from misfortune, the Sophi adopted this counsel only in part: he insisted on the necessity of his soldiers having a longer period to recruit their strength, lest the Basha, re-inforced by a body of reserve, which it was believed he had stationed behind him in the country of Armenia, should prove eventually too strong for their diminished numbers.

To the plausibility of this argument Sebastian opposed every reason which could be judiciously urged in support of the adverse opinion; the Sophi was absolute; and Prince Abbas, brave as a lion, but without a genius for war, inclined to his father’s judgment, Sebastian bowed gravely, and resigned himself to the decision.

Abbas now eyed his friend with the unsteady and disturbed look of a man who fears the effect of what he is going to say; his cheeks by turns crimsoned and grew pale: at length coming close to Sebastian, he said in a low embarrassed voice, “imagine yourself in my place, what would be your desire at this moment?”

Sebastian turned round and looked at him earnestly; “I comprehend you Prince!” he said, turning pale also, “you would have me resign my command;—you would strike this last and most important blow yourself.—I cannot blame such laudable ambition—I honour it—but I fear—that is—the soldiers used to my method of”—he stopt in extreme confusion, and pained to bitterness; no selfish avarice of distinction or power, mixed with the dread of a second misfortune to Abbas; he saw the limits of his friend’s military capacity, and he trembled at once for Kara Aziek and for Persia.

His resolution however was taken; he determined to speak frankly to Abbas on his evident inexperience, and then represent to him the fatal consequences which must ensue, should the Persians be routed. “Retire with me into this anti-chamber,” he said softly; the Prince followed him in silent dissatisfaction.

There, an explanation ensued, and though Sebastian failed of dissuading Abbas from his rash resolution, he had the consolation of observing that this obstinacy grew out of nobleness; no envy discovered itself; nothing but the laudable, though ill-judged longing for an opportunity of regaining what he thought he had forfeited, a title to the throne and people which he had shewn himself unable to protect.

Fearful of appearing to prize command for its own sake, Sebastian had nothing left but to request permission to serve as a volunteer under his friend, this request was granted; the compact was ratified by the Sophi, and again vainly combated by Sir Anthony Shirley, after which the warrior friends issued from the palace, that they might inspect the arsenals, concert measures together, and provide as far as possible against future disaster.

These employments detained Sebastian till after day break, when he sought his Kiosk in the garden of the ambassador: he now met his page for the first time since their late parting; the boy had but just arrived, and learnt the news of the royal family’s safety, and the consequent security of Ispahan.

On seeing their deliverer, he fell at his feet, and bathing his hand with tears, as he timidly kissed it, repeated in a broken voice, “This, this for my country.”—Touched by his sensibility, Sebastian raised him, and anticipating his questions, briefly detailed the incidents of the night. “You have doubtless enquired after the lady Maimuna?” he asked: Zaphna answered, that she had escaped outrage.

“Will you return to her?” said the King, “or, must I allow you to see the end of this campaign? is it your wish to join me in my expedition with the Prince?”

A thousand changing colours painted the face of Zaphna at the last expression—he looked down, but answered firmly “It is.”—

Again Sebastian endeavoured to dissuade him, and again the youth resisted. Wearied in body and spirit, the King required repose, and charging his page to bring him in the morning the Turkish prisoner, whom he sought to interrogate, he dismissed him, and laid down to sleep.

At the hour of rising, Zaphna re-appeared with the Turk; Sebastian then learnt that the Moorish lady had been seen only once by the Basha, that he had expressed himself anxious to preserve her from the enemy, and had inclosed her, with her women, in a strong fortress among the mountains of Taurus: if she remained there still, this fellow, having once kept guard at her door, undertook to lead Sebastian thither, and to obtain his entrance.

At this proposal, the imprudent lover lost every idea of personal danger: too certain that the evil genius of Abbas would give victory to his enemy, and that consequently the loss of Kara Aziek would follow the loss of Persia, he believed there was no longer time to hesitate; he must endeavour to save her, since no longer permitted to save the country. Again, therefore, he must use the aid of artifice: O hateful necessity! to which so many upright souls are forcibly made to bend!—

After a few moments of deep thought, he accepted the offer of Jusuf (the Turkish soldier,) it was settled that they should go privately out of the city together at night, where two trusty Italian servants whom Sir Anthony Shirley had transferred to his service, were to be in waiting, with horses and arms: these men were to accompany them to the fortress, and concealing themselves amongst the hills, wait at a certain point of rendezvous for the return of Sebastian with his prize.

To gain admittance into the tower, it would be only needful to state that Sebastian was a messenger from the foreign knight, who disgusted with some affront given him by Prince Abbas, was willing to revenge himself, by betraying the Sophi and the city he was left to guard: that to avoid the suspicion which would ensue, did he go to the Basha’s camp, towards which Abbas was marching, he had chosen this plan of sending an emissary to the Basha’s wife, requiring her promise in Ibrahim’s name of acquiescence with the demands of the foreigner.

In state matters alone, the Turks sometimes relaxed their strict rules with respect to women; it was more than probable therefore, that in this instance, tempted by the signal advantage held out, of ending the war by a decisive blow, they would fall into the snare: once admitted, Jusuf undertook from his knowledge of the place, and by a path down the height on which the fortress was situated, to secure the flight of the lovers.

A door opened from the women’s apartments upon this very path, which being a fissure overhung by extremely thick shrubs, and terminating in a wood, might be depended on for concealing their course; could they once gain the horses, their retreat would be certain.

Sebastian did not hesitate to embrace this plausible plan: the countenance of Jusuf bore the stamp of integrity; and compassion for the Moorish lady, (whose unceasing sighs he had often heard during the whole night of his watch at her door,) appeared to have infused into him an unfeigned zeal for her service. Trusting to his sincerity, Sebastian gave him some gold, and promising him a richer reward hereafter, left him in the Kiosk.

The enthusiasm inspired by Sebastian’s late intrepid and able conduct, and still more by the sweet graciousness of his manner, did not allow the two Italians to debate a moment about risking themselves for his sake, and for that of the ladies he wished to succour: they promised to meet him in a grove of plane trees, behind the city, at the hour of twilight.

It was not Sebastian’s intention to encumber himself with his page, and to avoid the boy’s importunity he resolved not to speak to him of the enterprize until they were beyond the city walls; there he should disclose his intention, and leave him in charge to reveal the motive of his apparent flight to Sir Anthony Shirley, should fate destine him to perish or be detained in the fortress.

Desperate indeed was the throw he was about to hazard: every thing rested on the faith of one man who might betray and ruin him; but if, withheld by caution, he should let this perilous opportunity escape, Kara Aziek might be lost to him for ever; once possessed by the Basha, death only would offer her refuge.—This thought determined him.

Having arranged his own dearest concern, he hastened to visit such parts of the city as required particular attention to their defence: he examined, instructed, superintended, directed a thousand details in the fortification; he repeated the most important orders again and again, that Ispahan might not feel his absence should he not return ere the departure of Prince Abbas: he then returned to his Kiosk, warned by the sun, whose softening light was already sinking behind clouds.