CHAP. VII.

Some days had passed in anxious expectation, when in the dusk of evening, a man in a domestic’s habit appeared at the obscure abode of Baptista, and announcing himself sent by the Duchess Medina, urged admittance to Kara Aziek. She received him alone.

Having cautiously closed the door, the stranger threw off his cloak and hat, and Kara Aziek saw at her feet a young and handsome man, on whose intelligent countenance nature’s hand had stamped truth and goodness.

“It is the Queen of Portugal to whom I bend my knee?” said the animated youth, with a look that demanded if he were right. Kara Aziek answered with ready tears, “Alas! it is the most desolate of women—the wife of him whom would to God I could say was not born to a throne but you come from the Duchess of Medina Sidonia—know you her young companion—Blanche?”

A graceful disorder appeared on the face of the stranger, as with deepened colour and a fluttering voice, he replied that she was even then near St. Lucar. Kara Aziek clasped her hands together in an ecstasy of gratitude: but the emotion of the stranger did not escape her; and his menial habit so ill suited to the elegance of his air, made her attach an agitating meaning to the emotion he betrayed.

“I do not see a domestic of the Duchess Sidonia’s?”

“No, Madam—you behold her son.”

Don Hyppolito now put into her hands a letter from his mother, which Kara Aziek eagerly read. It informed her that Hyppolito was zealous in the cause of Don Sebastian, though wholly ignorant of their lovely ward’s connexion with his fate; that the Duchess was eager to afford the parents a sight of their daughter; and that the Duke having been fortunately importuned by all the Spanish grandees around, to visit the newly arrived galley, in which the King of Portugal was confined, in order to disprove the impostor from his personal knowledge of the true Sebastian, he had seized the opportunity of yielding to his own earnest desire, and was come openly to St. Lucar for the avowed purpose.

Desirous of bringing the mother and child to an immediate meeting, the good Duchess had sent her son (disguised thus to prevent observation) with orders to attend Kara Aziek to their dwelling near the town. Hyppolito (thus ended the letter) has no suspicion of the relationship we so religiously conceal, it will depend on yourself and the royal Sebastian, whether he may ever be so greatly trusted.

But Hyppolito scarcely needed to be now informed of the momentous secret; the likeness to Blanche, which a lover’s eye directly discovered, together with a recollection of Blanche’s distracted sympathy with the sufferings of the King and Queen of Portugal, and now the wild joy of Kara Aziek, all united to shew him the fact. Trouble and apprehension succeeded to his lively enthusiasm; and a multitude of strange pangs seized his young heart, as he prepared to lead forth the trembling mother.

During their hasty, and rather long walk, no words were exchanged between them; Hyppolito stopped under the high wall of a garden, and opening a small door concealed by trees, conducted Kara Aziek in. The next moment brought them to a pavilion, where he would have left his companion to enter alone, (so his mother had instructed him) but detaining him by the arm, she exclaimed in a low voice, “O no—leave me not—I owe you the reward of seeing how happy you have made me.”

Hyppolito caught at the permission; he pushed open the door, and the next moment beheld the mother and the daughter senseless in each other’s arms.

Joy and grief so blended, were too powerful for their hearts: nature sunk under such a meeting, and it was long ere the Duchess and her son succeeded in restoring them to life.

Sorrowful happiness was that which the young Hyppolito now witnessed; no sounds, save those of weeping and sighing, were heard through the apartment. Though the mother and daughter fondly embraced, fondly gazed on each other, their hearts were full of Sebastian, and incapable of real joy.

The tears of Blanche flowed with redoubled impetuosity whenever she looked on her mother. What a change did she see in that face and that figure! as her eyes wildly noted the ravages made there by sickness and sorrow, cold chills crept through her veins; she felt that a moment was approaching in which she would require the consolation of some object equally dear, and her eyes then sought those of him to whom her innocent heart unconsciously trusted for all its future comfort. Hyppolito’s soul speaking from his face, answered the supplication of hers: he advanced, and joining the hands of Kara Aziek and her daughter, in one of his, he pressed them with trembling lips, while a tear fell from his cheek upon the hand of Blanche. Kara Aziek smiled benignly, and returned the affectionate pressure.

To proclaim her maternal claim on the love of Blanche, seemed needless; but Kara Aziek gratified the Duchess by requesting her to place that confidence in the young Hyppolito. After a hasty explanation, the Duchess ventured to offer some incitement to hope of better days, lamented the circumscribed power of her husband, but assured Kara Aziek, that after he had seen Don Sebastian, by the desire and in the society of those noblemen who had urged him to the interview, and had convinced himself, by ocular proof of his identity, he would boldly publish the truth at all hazards. The Duke was now absent at the Governor of St. Lucar’s, but the morrow was pitched on for his visit to the galleys.

This information infused a faint hope through the bosom of his wife; she recovered by degrees from the excess of her first emotion, and remained till night was far advanced, tasting a sad pleasure in noticing the ardent and respectful passion which now blazed out, now receded from the fine eyes of Hyppolito, and fitfully coloured the cheeks of the bashful Blanche.

This love unknown to themselves, even while for ever felt, was not unmarked by the Duchess; and her looks had already interrogated those of Kara Aziek, with a sort of pleadingness for her son’s happiness, which gave the most solid satisfaction to the anxious mother.

Kara Aziek returned from this interview with a placidity long unknown to her; and Baptista, who merely guessed that she had been visiting Paula, made no inquiries, contented to observe that her mistress was really less dejected than usual.

But violent emotions, whether sad or exhilarating, are equally dangerous to a weakened frame: Kara Aziek was unable to rise from her humble couch on the ensuing morning, when Hyppolito came to inform her he was going with his father to recognize Don Sebastian.

Her death-like paleness (over which a smile of grateful regard cast the brightness of immortal beauty) touched the romantic heart of Hyppolito, and as he earnestly regarded the lovely wreck before him, love and pity inspired him with the determination of attempting something to smooth at least, her departing hour.

Having received a tender message for Don Sebastian, he hurried back to Blanche, whose duteous love did not wait for the disclosure of his wish ere it prompted her to exclaim. “So ill! so desolate!—O, Hyppolito, since my dear mother may not dwell here unsuspected, I will go to her habited less gaudily: confined to her sick chamber alone, in such an obscure quarter of the city, who will know the adopted child of the Duchess Medina Sidonia?—Some excuse may be invented for my absence, to prevent the curiosity of domestics—Ah! if she were to be torn from me, without my having the consolation of——”

Tears choaked her utterance, and covering her face, she remained abandoned to sorrow, while Hyppolito was urging the Duchess to sanction their pious project.

What mother could refuse such pleadings? Blanche was allowed to follow the impulse of filial tenderness; her dress was secretly exchanged for one of Paula’s, and gliding unseen through the garden, Hyppolito conducted her out of the private door, and led her safely to the arms of her expecting mother.

The ardent young man had not time to do more than kiss the hand of Kara Aziek, ere he ran off to join his father, and the rest of the grandees.

Accompanied by his wife, the Duke of Sidonia proceeded to the shore; his aspect was grave and thoughtful; for he was reflecting on the wondrous vicissitudes of our mortal life. That unfortunate Prince, upon whom all men might now gaze unchecked, all tongues move in reviling, was that same Sebastian whom Medina had last beheld, surrounded by power and majesty. It was that King whom Medina had himself served twenty years before, with submissive awe; whom he had feasted and entertained with tilt, and tournament, and ball, while he waited at Cadiz for the troops of Philip II. These reflections occupied the Duke till his company reached and mounted the chief galley.

Hyppolito was the first to spring on deck: he looked eagerly round, and immediately singled out the august object of his search. Removed from the other slaves, in a lonely quarter of the ship, he saw a man seated, with his arms folded, and his head bent towards the ground; his single garment was coarse and dark; his head and limbs were without covering; but the large and noble proportions of those once powerful limbs, and the majestic air of that head, denoted him to be the King of Portugal.

Hyppolito hastily advanced, and his quick breathing stirred the attention of Sebastian; he looked up, his eyes met those of Hyppolito, who felt them enter into his soul. By a sudden impulse, the young man half bent his knee; surprise and inquiry illuminated the countenance he was observing. Sebastian slowly arose, and as he did so, his youthful companion heard the clank of chains.

Such an expression of shame and indignation banished the air of veneration with which Hyppolito was looking at him, that Sebastian understood what passed in his mind. “Young man,” said he, “blush not for me—blush for my oppressors, and my coward friends!—deserved punishment is disgrace—but unmerited oppression, if nobly borne, is glory!”—He moved away as he concluded, leaving Hyppolito gazing after his kingly step, and yet—commanding figure.

The vessel was soon crowded with illustrious visitants from the yacht of Medina Sidonia; the captain of the galley understanding their errand, shewed the Duchess and her company to a wider part of the deck, and sent to inform Sebastian that they entreated to see him. He turned back with the captain, and calmly advanced into the circle formed by his examiners.

The Duchess who had last met him at Villa Rosolia, under such different circumstances, almost uttered a cry of melancholy welcome: her company burst forth into remarks and questionings: the Duke remained on one spot, steadily eyeing the figure before him.

So long was his scrutiny, that some of the group impatiently demanded whether the man they saw, were not really an impostor. Medina suffered them to importune him for an answer, and at length seriously replied, “Am I to speak the truth my lords?—I declare then, that in the voice and mien of this stranger, I recognize the very voice and mien of the King of Portugal. The alteration I find in his face and figure, is only such as twenty years of suffering might be expected to produce.”

“What then, you believe he is Don Sebastian? You assert it?”

“I assert nothing: persons and voices may resemble; but in events we cannot be mistaken. If this be the King, whom I entertained at Cadiz, ere his expedition to Africa, he will be able to point out to me amongst some armour which I have had brought hither, the present he made to me at that period.”

“I gave thee a sword, Sidonia!” said Sebastian, “and I think I should remember it again.”

The surrounding nobles, with dismay and surprise, followed the Duke to the stern of the galley, where some attendants had just arrived with a heap of swords, spurs, curious pistols, and daggers. The Duke silently pointed out to them all, the weapon given him by the King, which being less costly than any of the others, was the least likely to be guessed at as a royal gift.

Sebastian, who had remained exchanging looks of interesting meaning with the protectress of his daughter, courteously went to meet the returning party; an old servant displayed the armour: Hyppolito bent anxiously forward, fearful, that if the King’s memory failed of retaining such a trifle, they who chose to cavil at this truth, might seize so plausible a pretext, and pronounce his father deceived.

But, at the first glance, Sebastian recognized his own plain sword, and drew it from beneath a heap of others. “With this sword did I make thee a knight of Avis!” he said, sorrowfully, “O sad remembrance! for what a train of bitter recollections is in its train!”

“Now, my lords, what say you?” exclaimed the indiscreet Hyppolito,—“should you not bow your knee and acknowledge the royal kinsman of our sovereign Philip of Spain, and should we not all join in bringing this convincing proof to his abused ear?”

Most of the nobles, who well knew that the ear of Philip was wilfully stopt, fell back, murmuring “Sorcery or accident,” while others expressed their conviction, but lamented their want of influence. The captain of the galley stood with an air of sincere remorse, which did not escape Hyppolito. The old servant holding the armour, having carefully examined the lineaments of the King, added his testimony to that of his master. The deck of the galley became for a while a scene of confusion and strong emotion. Sebastian alone, was little moved; he was no longer to be deceived by vain hopes; he knew that all those people would go home convinced of his truth, pitying his misfortunes, and earnest in wishing them at an end; but that in a short time their wonder and their concern would cease; he would be forgotten, and left to his fate.

With Medina Sidonia he conversed aloud on various subjects, calculated to place his integrity under a yet broader light; the gratitude he felt for the protection afforded to his daughter, gave warmth to his manner, and attracted the heart of Don Hyppolito.

Upon that young man Sebastian cast many approving looks, for there was a careless intrepidity in the young Spaniard’s manner, and an ardent precipitation in his speech, which announced a generous and a brave character. Sebastian loved such characters, and he therefore beheld the homage of Hyppolito with engaging benignity.

The grandees who accompanied Medina Sidonia forcibly betrayed an extreme anxiety to depart; the Duke requested them to stay a moment.

“Nobles!” he said, “it was through your importunities that I came hither to determine on the truth or falsehood of the illustrious person before us, when you intreated me, you all promised to bear witness to the faithful testimony I should give, whatever that might prove him. I now insist upon your performance of this promise, and require that you set off with me on the instant for the court of our royal master, in order that he may hear from us together, the singular circumstances of this morning. That done, the event remains in our sovereign’s breast; we shall have acquitted ourselves to God, to our conscience, and to this injured monarch.”

Ashamed of opposing so equitable a demand, and trusting to private representations of their own unwillingness, the nobles were obliged to assent, and taking leave of Don Sebastian, they descended into the yacht which had brought them from St. Lucar.

Don Hyppolito lingered behind: no one was near Sebastian; he approached, and hastily whispered, “Blanche is with her mother—fear not for them—I will watch over their safety: for that purpose I remain in St. Lucar.” Hyppolito hurried away, and joining his party, was conveyed to shore.

In whispers to his father, he excused himself from attending him to Madrid, pleading the comparative insignificance of his youth, and the indecorum of leaving his mother alone. The Duke, little dreaming of the romantic scheme which his son was then revolving, made no hesitation of according to his wish, and the Duchess was too much gratified with such filial attention to receive it without pleasure.

Having left his parents at their own house, Hyppolito hastened to detail the scene he had just witnessed to the expecting Blanche.

In his progress across one of the squares, he was stopped by a knot of young lords, who knowing the visit that had been proposed, now stayed him with various questions. Hyppolito’s answers were full of his usual candour, and were mixed with so many passionate expressions and sympathy with the wrongs of Sebastian, and so many invectives against the inactive Portuguese, that he attracted and fixed the attention of a person, who clothed as a mendicant, remained without being noticed upon one spot close to the speakers.

After uttering a few unthinking jests, the young lords went away, and Hyppolito was now proceeding alone, when the mendicant followed, and drew nigh to him: Hyppolito threw him a piece of money unasked; the man passed it with trepidation, and said in a low voice, “I am no beggar, noble Guzman! but a friend of him you compassionate; one, that you see, is willing to risk his life on any scheme that may serve Sebastian of Portugal.”

Hyppolito turned joyfully round, and looking on the stranger, saw the features of a brave and honest youth, under the squalid rags in which he was enveloped. He made him a sign to follow at some distance, and getting out of the streets as fast as possible, the two young men found themselves in a lonely thicket, just beyond its precincts, “Now then, say on,” cried Hyppolito, “tell me your name and purpose,—we both risk much by this sudden confidence; but who would not risk all, save his immortal soul, for the injured Sebastian.”

“I am Don Christopher of Crato,” replied the stranger, blushing and sighing as he pronounced the name he mentioned, “my grandfather was great uncle to Sebastian, I am therefore bound to his fortunes by the ties of blood. Having returned into France after the base detention of my dear sovereign at Florence, I obtained from the French King a solemn promise of inviolable protection (a promise written by his own hand, and which I now possess) for Sebastian and his Queen, should I ever be able to effect their liberation. For this purpose the generous King has given me a large sum of money, with which I hastened to Naples, determined to attempt the rescue of Sebastian either by bribery or by artifice; but I found him removed to St. Lucar: hither I have followed him, and disguised as you see, am now watching an opportunity for the performance of a duty.”

At the name of Don Christopher, (whom the late Emanuel de Castro had so often extolled at Villa Rosolia,) Hyppolito dismissed his fears and suspicions, and at once unfolded to him the design he had himself formed during his visit to the galley.

From the countenance of her Captain, and the mean salary attached to his station, Hyppolito believed he might be induced to receive a rich reward for conniving at the escape of his prisoners; all the jewellery in his own possession he had already in thought, devoted to this generous purpose;—even the brilliant chanfraine which had sparkled round the brow of his horse when its master was proclaimed victor at a tournament, and he had ridden up to Blanche to receive her praises and her smiles. But Don Christopher shewed him the wisdom of keeping these gems as a fund for future emergency. “I have enough for our purpose:” he said, “enough to take us into France, and after that, I can offer from myself, a noble asylum to my royal relation. The fairest and the richest heiress of Brittany, will bless me with her hand the moment I return to claim it. Own that I love my King, Don Hyppolito, when I confess that nothing but his service should have torn me from the feet of my adorable Adelaide.”

Hyppolito smiled approbation, and returning to the plan for Sebastian’s escape, continued to converse on that subject, till a neighbouring clock twice reminded them that they should part. They now separated: Hyppolito promising to impart the meeting to Kara Aziek, and Don Christopher expressing a hope, that should he repair at dusk to her abode, in less lowly attire, she would admit him into her presence.

The interesting circumstances which Hyppolito related to Kara Aziek, shed a bright light over her long benighted spirit: at the description of Sebastian’s conduct, and the impressions it produced on all the beholders, she shed tears of exultation: her life was closing, but could she preserve his, bestow Blanche upon Don Hyppolito, and obtain their solemn promise to forget that the blood of Kings flowed in the veins of their children, she should die happy. Some such prospect now opened on her, and the ardent language of young Guzman taught her to believe it near.

Blanche spoke not; though her eyes, (fixed on Hyppolito with such fulness of love and gratitude, that she thought not what they was expressing) thrilled through all his frame, awakening a transporting conviction, that he was exclusively beloved.

No sooner had Don Christopher paid his respectful visit to Kara Aziek, than the two young men proceeded to commence their attack upon the honesty, or the compassion, of Haro, captain of the galley. The man was necessitous and he was humane: both motives rendered him accessible. Since the recognition of his prisoner by the Duke of Medina, he had granted to him, (by the Duke’s request) the indulgence of walking over the vessel with his ancles unfettered: this indulgence might, he thought, be turned into an apology for his disappearance. Thus free in his limbs, nothing would be sooner credited than that the wretched Sebastian had thrown himself into the sea, and perished by a voluntary death.

Haro proposed that Don Christopher and Don Hyppolito, should come some midnight under the stern of the vessel, when he would undertake to have all the slaves, and other officers, either at rest or at a distance; he alone, watching by Sebastian.

To convey the King privately down the side of the galley into the boat without discovery, might be difficult, but not impracticable; and the moment the boat received him and rowed away round the other end of the galley, Haro was to extinguish his lamp as if by accident, fling some large substance into the sea loaded with the chains of Sebastian, and by his outcry bring all the other persons to this end of the ship.

The clank of irons and the descent of a heavy body, might well pass for the last plunge of the living Sebastian: with a conviction of his self-murder, the sanguine Hyppolito believed that even Philip himself would rest satisfied. Should success crown their project, Don Christopher was to proceed into France with his prize; and as in that case, Aziek would remain behind, and Blanche be denied the joy of embracing her father, Hyppolito projected a scheme to attract his mother into meeting these two friends at a lonely fishing lodge which he possessed on the coast, only a few leagues off. It would be easy to land the King there, allow him a few hours conference with his child, and afterwards depart with him and Aziek for France.

This arrangement was no sooner settled, and Haro put into possession of half the sum he was to receive in recompense for so important a service, than he permitted an interview between his captive and the two young noblemen, who conversing with him apart from the other slaves, (a circumstance now so frequent that it was not regarded) opened before him a prospect of freedom and of peace.

Like light suddenly restored to the blind, was this amazing hope to the soul of Sebastian: touched by the chivalric ardour of two youths to whom his qualities were so little known, and recalled to the fond wishes of a father and a husband, he prest his hand on his heart unable to express in any other way, what was swelling there.

After some moments silence, he uttered a few animated words of gratitude and gratification, coupled with apprehension for their safety, should he accept their services, and accident hereafter discover them to the King of Spain.

Don Christopher declared he risked nothing, since he was already exiled from his country, and dependant on the favour of the French monarch, to whom he should return: and Hyppolito laughing at the chimera of a discovery, braved it as a phantom, protesting his belief that accident could not develope their share in a transaction to which no other person than Haro, would be privy.

His tongue, eloquently, though hastily, represented the joy which her father’s release would bestow on Blanche and on Kara Aziek, whom he reluctantly confessed to be now in a state, which rendered a peaceful mind absolutely necessary if they would preserve her life.

At this argument Sebastian lost sight of all other objects, and eagerly yielded assent. To regain, to preserve her, was it not to regain more than liberty? and where was the obscure spot in creation, to which he would not fly for that blessed purpose?

Don Christopher briefly referred him to Haro for the management of his part of the plot; and in order to silence all the King’s apprehension, declared his belief that an offer from the French King would allure Haro into France, where an honourable provision might recompence him for thus abandoning his country—in such a case, neither Haro nor Don Christopher need dread being known as the accomplices in Sebastian’s escape, when the time should arrive in which he would re-appear as a candidate for Portugal.

Sebastian listened patiently, then sadly smiling, said in a voice of determination. “Mark me, generous young man! too long have I struggled against the visible will of Heaven, too long have I sacrificed all that is nearest and dearest to me, for that enfeebled people who have shewn themselves rather disposed to clamour against my injuries, than bravely to arm and redress them. For their sakes I have made shipwreck of all that was precious unto me: alas! if I may but save one little remnant—if I may but find some retirement to shelter me and mine, where we may live and die in happy oblivion—my heart will have attained all its present wishes. I feel that I have acquitted myself of my duty to Portugal, and now I abandon her throne for ever.”

“What, Sire!” exclaimed the young Hyppolito in a transport of awakened hope, “and the amiable Blanche, do you abandon for her, all claim.”

Sebastian’s penetrating eye read the lover’s heart; he smiled graciously, and pressing his hand, said, “Yes, for her also, I speak: her safety and her happiness are the sole objects of her father’s anxiety; and how are they to be secured, save in domestic privacy? Think of her again, Hyppolito, as you were used to do; forget the Princess of Portugal, but ever protect and cherish the unpretending Blanche.”

Hyppolito hid his suddenly suffused face upon the hand which he now carried to his lips; his heart beat with strange and delightful emotion. Don Christopher earnestly strove to alter the resolution of Sebastian: the latter was inflexible. “I owe the remainder of my life,” he observed, “to my family and my friends; the period is too short for us to waste it in fresh struggles: let us be content Don Christopher to pass it in tranquillity.”

The captain of the galley now approached, and breaking off their discourse, the young men hastened to impart the consent they had obtained, to name the day of their enterprize, and to return to St. Lucar.

The short interval between this period and that which was to crown or to blast all their expectations, was spent by the young friends in active preparation, and by Kara Aziek and her daughter in the most agitating anxiety. The stimulus thus given to the nerves of Kara Aziek, imparted a transient hope of returning health: a bright glow was ever on her cheek, a brighter light for ever in her eye. With a motive for desiring life, the power of retaining life seemed to be granted; and while she opened her heart to receive the sanguine anticipations of Blanche and Hyppolito, they fondly fancied that her hour of danger was passed.

The Duchess Medina Sidonia was wilfully kept ignorant of the important affair now agitating: Hyppolito secretly resolved to meet the punishment of his temerity alone, (should any chance discover it to King Philip) since, if he could solemnly swear and prove that his parents were not accessary to the act, he justly believed that not even the deadliest tyrant would dare violate their lives, or their fortunes.

The evening preceding that on which Sebastian was to be carried off, Aziek and her daughter were removed to the fishing lodge of Hyppolito, (a lone house almost buried among rocks and thickets) of which only one purblind domestic had the charge.

Hyppolito suggested this place as more suited to an invalid than a noisy sea-port, besides which he urged, that his mother, who might not hazard the singular act of visiting a humble individual in her mean abode, might safely give them the meeting here, and occasionally come to share in the pious cares of Blanche.

Satisfied with so natural and considerate an arangement, the Duchess hastened to embrace the suffering Aziek, whom even this short journey contributed to enfeeble. Knowing the effect which solicitude too highly raised, ever produced on her mother, Blanche forbade Hyppolito to mention the real night of his enterprize; certain that such an enterprize was on the point of execution, she would in some degree be prepared for its failure or success, yet being deceived as to the precise instant would spare her the useless torture of suspence.

Obedient to this judicious injunction, on the very evening of their plot, the young friends named a succeeding one, and departed for St. Lucar.

Blanche had now to rouse up the whole force of her spirit to support the hard task of concealing an agitation which amounted to agony. As she hung over the couch of her pallid mother, indistinct apostrophe’s to Heaven, perpetually faltered on her lips, while hiding the flush of her cheeks and the restless wandering of her eye, from the unconscious Duchess, she strove to smile and to talk on subjects of trivial interest.

It was a serene and balmy evening, and as the stars appeared one by one in the firmament, and the illuminated sea slowly advanced and receded from the cliffs surrounding the fishing lodge; so much of peace and beauty pervaded every object, that Kara Aziek felt the scene tranquillize and renovate her.

“Suffer me to remain here, my child!” she said, (as Blanche hearing the clock strike ten, would have had her retire to rest) “the sight of these boundless and sublime objects, seems to elevate and calm my spirit. Never before have I beheld them with such feelings. How wonderous! how magnificent, how surpassing all human ideas of nobleness, wisdom, and goodness, must be that great being by whom they were created! it is fit I should habituate myself to contemplate and adore that divine perfection which I may so soon be summoned to adore in the courts of Heaven.”

Aziek paused, and her eyes floating in sweet though mournful tears, remained fixed upon the stars. Blanche turned weeping away, and the Duchess ventured to utter a few words of hope.

Kara Aziek smiled gratefully, shook her head, and repeated in so low a voice that her words were scarce audible, “I am past hope, and you must not deceive yourselves: might I but behold my Sebastian once again, know him safe, and obtain from him one promise, I should die completely happy.”

Blanche spoke not: she clasped her hands together with convulsive energy, and her heart only uttered a fervent petition to the Omnipotent for the success of her lover.

The Duchess seated herself near the couch of the invalid. “And what, dearest madam!” she said respectfully, “what commands do you leave me for my future conduct to this dear girl whom I love as I do Hyppolito? a day must arrive when other affections than filial ones, will arise in her bosom—how then am I to decide for the Princess of Portugal?”

Kara Aziek withdrew her eyes from above, and fixed them on the Duchess: the look which they exchanged at that moment, needed no interpreter. “Decide for her happiness, my kind friend! and let the generous man who may devote himself to the obscure and untitled Blanche, accept the blessing of her dying mother, for her dowry. I have nothing else to bestow.”

Drowned in tears, flowing from various sources, Blanche precipitated herself by the side of her mother, covering her hands with kisses; the Duchess resumed, “Such are your sentiments, but what are those of Don Sebastian? Would not he frown on the presumptuous house of Medina Sidonia, were they to hazard a wish for uniting their proudest boast, their brightest hope, with the heiress of Portugal? My Hyppolito feels far more than a brother’s love for our Blanche; his passion is worthy its object, for he loved her ere he knew her rank.”

Blanche heard not her mother’s reply, for a loud blast of wind, shaking the walls of the fishing lodge, made her start up and hurry to the window. The stars were disappearing under volumes of clouds, which this sudden wind had driven up from the horizon; extreme darkness was succeeding to light and beauty:—gloom was favourable to the views of the adventurers, and Blanche blest the darkness, even while trembling at the storm.

Kara Aziek and the Duchess continued so long and so earnest in conversation, that they did not notice the watchful looks of her about whom they were talking: by degrees the wind fell, and although the stars were but faintly discernible at intervals, there was still enough light to guide experienced manners on their road over the waves. Blanche stole back to her former station, and knelt down by her mother’s couch, listening to her discourse. She had scarcely placed herself, when the sound of distant oars grew on the stillness of night. At first, her limbs lost their power, and she could not rise from her kneeling posture, but quickly recovering again, she started abruptly up, and complaining of the sensation of suffocation, opened a door leading down a slope which terminated on the sands.

Having bounded away with bird-like swiftness, she turned aside among some rocks which formed a creek for the shelter of small vessels; by the dim light, she fancied that she perceived a boat afar off: her eyes remained fixed on the object—the night grew clearer, she saw more distinctly, and at length became certain that a single boat was approaching, rowed by two men.

But where was the third? where was her father? it might be, that he was concealed at the bottom of the little vessel, or that Hyppolito had failed. The rowers frequently looked behind them, as if afraid of pursuit, but they made no signal to her.

Blanche leaped upon a high point, and waved her handkerchief; the boatmen answered only by redoubling their exertions to make the land. They approached—they moved swifter as they advanced nearer; and the agitated girl hastening from the cliffs to the sands, eagerly rushed into the very waves; for now she beheld by the star-light, a human figure lying at the bottom of the boat.

The voice of Hyppolito warned her of her danger, and the next instant some one plunged into the water, and springing to shore caught her in his arms: it was Sebastian himself.

By the same impulse, both father and daughter sunk on their knees in each other’s embrace; their hearts gushed out at their eyes in silent gratitude.

Don Christopher hurried to break the joyful news to her, whose patient suffering had quickened their exertions; and Hyppolito mooring his bark, flew to share in the happiness he had bestowed.

Rising from the sand, Sebastian now beheld the amiable youth kneeling by the side of Blanche; he stooped to embrace him also. As he encircled them both, and pressed their beating hearts together, he fervently repeated, “I bless you both, my children! may I not say, that I join you in your father’s arms? would to God that this union may be eternal!”

Transported to ecstacy, Hyppolito hurried forth a crowd of rapturous and tumultuous expressions, in which Sebastian peculiarly distinguished the promise of resigning for Blanche, and for her offspring, all pretensions to dispute the crown of Portugal.

Blanche answered the eager questions of her lover, and the more temperate inquiry of her father, by sinking her blushing face on the shoulder of him to whom she was given, and tenderly returning the pressure of his hand. Hyppolito was in heaven, and forgot for awhile that the heart-wearied Sebastian was anxiously waiting the re-appearance of Don Christopher, from whom he was to learn whether Kara Aziek had strength to bear an interview.

Don Christopher at last appeared; and his countenance shewed how much he had been affected. Sebastian silently accepted the offer of his supporting arm, as they turned towards the house, leaving Hyppolito to lead the tottering steps of Blanche, whom joy, grief, and love, rendered feeble.

Imagination must picture the solemn and moving scene which took place in the apartment of Kara Aziek; the tears, the embraces, the broken exclamations, the fond and distracted perusal of each other’s altered persons, the alternate bursts of transport and anguish, which succeeded to this certainty of being restored to each other, and this fear of being doomed to part for ever.

When a little tranquilized, Kara Aziek desired to be left alone with her husband, and then she unfolded to him her last wishes for him and their daughter. Sebastian’s soul had gone on the like track with her’s; she found that the same events had produced on each the same effects, and that he was as willing to promise, as she was to exact, a determination of abandoning every thought of Portugal.

Believed self-destroyed, he was resolved to enter France with Don Christopher, and retiring to some solitude with her, and such of his friends as chose to join his retirement, pass his life in such happy obscurity as they had done at Cachoeira. Though separated from Blanche by the union to which they destined her, they believed this sacrifice demanded of them, in gratitude for the services of the Medina Sidonia family; and since occasional visits from Blanche and Hyppolito, would enliven their retirement, Sebastian tried to persuade his Aziek that they might yet find happiness.

“A few brief years,” she said tenderly, “and then my beloved, we shall enjoy it together. I go to prepare a place for thee in that world to which we have so long accustomed ourselves to look for imperishable joys! My soul exhausted with suffering, languishes for the rest of heaven. Shake not thus, my Sebastian—what mortal agony convulses those dear features? Wouldst thou then retain me in a world like this? O! rather rejoice that I am going to leave it. Shall I not breathe my last on thy faithful breast? O blessing! O comfort unutterable!”

Sebastian believed at this moment that she was indeed drawing her latest breath; for spent with emotion, her heart ceased to beat, and her eyes closed. He folded her in his arms, and uttering a doleful cry, remained gazing on her pale face with the stare of madness.

Alarmed by his voice, his friends and daughter rushed in, and finding that Kara Aziek yet breathed, though almost imperceptibly, they exerted their influence to persuade him to withdraw awhile.

During their short absence from the apartment, Don Christopher hesitatingly asked, what measures his King meant to pursue; the vessel that was to carry them to France, lay at anchor two leagues up the coast, and as Kara Aziek could not be moved thither, without the certainty of immediate death, Don Christopher ventured to hint that his sovereign’s safety could only be secured by his departing with him alone.

At this friendly suggestion, some of his youthful impetuosity burst from Sebastian: “What! leave her!” he exclaimed, “My Aziek! my wife! my life’s comforter! the very soul of all my past happiness!—no, no, young man. I will stay by her, till heaven restores, or tears her from me: after that blow, all the world will be nothing to the undone Sebastian, and Philip may triumph as he will, over this senseless body. Think of your own safety—I ought to urge you—but my whole soul is swallowed up in one sad object. You have my thanks for your loving care—some other time perhaps,”—— Sebastian could not proceed, and again he returned to the room where he left Kara Aziek.

Recovered by the assistance of the Duchess and Blanche, Kara Aziek had strength sufficient to assure them that she was better, and believed herself capable of being removed in any way that was requisite to speed the departure of her husband. To this assurance, Sebastian replied with a steady declaration of his late taken resolution, and being joined by Hyppolito in arguing against the chance of a discovery at a lodge so little known, when the story of his self-murder would lull inquiry, he vanquished the reluctance of Kara Aziek to let him remain beside her.

Don Christopher then suggested the prudence of suffering the Duchess to return to St. Lucar, lest her longer absence should create any curiosity, and with an unwilling mind, after receiving again Sebastian’s pledge that he would resign Blanche to Hyppolito, she departed from the fishing lodge.

For three successive days and nights, Kara Aziek enjoyed the sacred pleasure of seeing her sick bed attended by the object dearest to her on earth; whenever she opened her eyes, during the day or the night, still they met the anxious gaze either of her husband or her daughter. Hyppolito too, watched her with a son’s tenderness, and the attached Baptista shared in all their feelings.

Contemplating her husband restored to liberty by the noble youth with whom Blanche was to unite her destiny, seeing in Don Christopher the faithful friend that was to repair her loss, and cheer the spirit of Sebastian, Kara Aziek felt a grateful and placid happiness, which sweetened the pains of approaching death. How much was there to be thankful for, in a death thus softened, which otherwise must have approached in unutterable horror!

She ventured not to repine that her life was prematurely abridged by late sorrow, since of former felicity, she had enjoyed so large a portion; and fixing her thoughts on that eternity which would re-unite her with her husband, she gently yielded to the decay of all her powers.

Like gradual sleep, death stole over her faculties and her feelings; she lay stretched on a couch, losing by degrees the powers of motion, and of speech, the faculty of hearing, and of sight.

Sebastian hung over her marble form, speechless, pale, and despairing: he spoke, and she heard him not; he touched her, and the death-cold hand that returned not the agonizing grasp of his, convinced him that she felt not the pressure. But still her closing eyes were directed towards him, and the heavenly smile that moved her lips, spoke to his breaking heart of love and better hopes.

Too soon these dim eyes ceased to see the objects before them, her faint breathing was scarce perceptible,—she breathed only at intervals; at length her eyelids closed for ever, and she breathed no more!

Blessed close of a virtuous life! what are all the wild transports of earthly joy, when compared with the mercy of thus “falling asleep” to wake in Paradise?

Sebastian was standing with his eyes fixed on her face, and his hand holding hers; he watched her yet, but his looks were no longer sad and patient, they expressed alarm, anguish, desperation. He put his lips to hers; no breath mingled with his; his hand sought her heart,—all there was still!—a mortal cry came from his very soul, and dropping the cold arm he was grasping, the desolate Sebastian fell lifeless upon the body of her he lamented.

Supported by her lover, Blanche was kneeling by the bed, distracted between grief for her mother, and fear for her father’s senses; Hyppolito hastily resigned her to Baptista, and judging this to be the decisive moment, he dashed away his own tears, and motioning to the pale Don Christopher, they lifted Sebastian from the chamber into the open air.

Trusting him to their attention, Blanche allowed herself to yield to her own sorrow, and remained weeping over the beauteous remains of the tenderest of women. Meanwhile Hyppolito and Don Christopher hastened to the boat, placed their royal charge within it, covered him with their clothes, and swiftly rowed away towards that part of the coast where their larger vessel was in waiting. When Sebastian recovered, he looked round, and beheld himself in an open boat on the wide ocean, over which the grey of morning just began to glimmer; he saw that Don Christopher and Hyppolito were his companions. At first his scattered senses were unable to recollect more than his late escape from the galley, and he fancied himself newly rescued from that dismal situation; but soon the dejected looks of his friends, and returning memory, banished this short delusion, and he awoke to the consciousness of being bereft of all he loved.

Sebastian had risen from the bottom of the boat, he now sat down again without having spoken; and neither uttering groan nor sigh, neither shedding a tear, nor raising his head, he remained like one stupefied into stone.

This dismal silence was unbroken by his pitying friends; they plyed their oars unremittingly, and after much toil came along side the ship, which they hailed and mounted.

All this time Sebastian spoke not; he suffered Hyppolito to lead him into the cabin, while Don Christopher remained above, to give directions for her immediate sailing. When the latter re-appeared, he rose to depart. In silence he bent his knee to kiss the hand of Sebastian,—in silence the grief-wrapt Sebastian placed his hands on his head in token of benediction.

“You bless me as your son, my father!” asked the young man, with much emotion.

The desolate Sebastian strained him in his arms, and attempted to speak, but finding the effort impossible, he repeated the embrace, and motioning for his friends to withdraw, he shut himself in the cabin, and delivered himself up to despair.

Hyppolito earnestly commended the unfortunate King to his friend Don Christopher, settled with him their mode of communication, promised to visit France the instant he could obtain permission to travel, and bring with him his wedded Blanche; then exchanging an affectionate farewel, he leaped into the boat, again seized the oars, and toiled through the sullen waves to the fishing lodge.