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                            DON SEBASTIAN;

                                  OR,

                        THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.




                         J. M‘CREERY, Printer,
               Black-Horse-Court, Fleet-Street, London.




                            DON SEBASTIAN;

                                  OR,

                        THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.

                        AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE.

                           IN FOUR VOLUMES.

                      BY MISS ANNA MARIA PORTER,

                   AUTHOR OF THE HUNGARIAN BROTHERS.

                                 Take Physic, Pomp!
               Expose thyself to feel what wretches feel,
               So shalt thou shake the superflux to them,
               And shew the Heavens more just.
                            KING LEAR.

                               VOL. II.

                                LONDON:

              PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORME,
                           PATERNOSTER-ROW.

                                 1809.




                            DON SEBASTIAN,

                                  OR

                        THE HOUSE OF BRAGANZA.




CHAP. I.


The first day on which Gaspar was able to walk out, Sebastian obtained
leave for him to breathe the air of the gardens in the cool of evening:
all the slaves were retired to supper, when the grateful soldier
hesitatingly accepted the support of his King, and slowly proceeded from
his chamber.

“At moments like these,” whispered he, “I cannot believe myself
awake.--So supported--so attended,--oh sire! in Portugal this would
have been impossible.”

“Only because in Portugal I should not have known your value.” Sebastian
could not forbear sighing as he spoke--but quickly smiling, he added,
“Trust me, Gaspar, I shall not feel less a King when again seated on the
throne of my ancestors, for having administered to your sufferings and
shewn my gratitude for your rare attachment. I take your heart as a
sample of all my people’s; and the reflections your generous
sensibilities have given rise to, shall teach me to respect their
feelings, though at the expense of my own extravagant desires.”

They now moved slowly on: a gentle breeze just stirred the leaves of the
umbrageous plane trees, mingling their murmurs with the cooling sound of
fountains and water-falls; a balmy smell from fruits and flowers
delighted the senses of Gaspar; his eyes wandered with pleasure over the
beautiful gardens, and the consciousness of reviving health diffused
through his heart and over his face an air of grateful complacency. His
pale cheek and feeble frame presented an interesting contrast to the yet
vigorous youth of Sebastian: like a young cedar of Libanus, flourishing
in eternal spring, his manly beauty seemed formed for duration.

Having conducted Gaspar into the labyrinth, the King laid him down upon
one of its mossy couches; fearing to exhaust him by conversation, he
took out his flute, and played several soft airs.

The music, the profound tranquillity, and his extreme weakness, by
degrees stole upon the senses of Gaspar; and he dropt to sleep:
Sebastian observed it in silence; then fearing to awake him, rose to
seek some other slave who might assist in conveying him to his chamber.

For this purpose he quitted the labyrinth: the pale evening star
twinkling through innumerous boughs, alone lighted him on his way.
Glowing with benevolent and friendly joy, he trod with a lighter step,
and looked even in the gardens of El Hader as he had done in the
magnificent precincts of Xabregas: though wrapt in a homely dress, the
kingly air was still visible. There is a gracefulness of mind which
ennobles the meanest habit; that grace now gave picturesque grandeur to
the coarse drapery of Sebastian. His neck and head were bare; but the
crown of Portugal itself, could not have added majesty to that
commanding brow, nature’s hand had encircled it with a crown: his dark
brown hair glowing with living gold, hung in glossy curls over his
forehead and his cheek, discovering at intervals, as the breeze lifted
it, those eyes and that mouth whose sweetness had once been proverbial
in a court.

Hastening onwards, he was startled by the sight of Kara Aziek standing
alone, as if she had been listening to the sound of his flute: after an
instant’s confusion, the impetuous monarch flung himself at her feet,
and uttered in Moresco a hasty expression of gratitude, then remembering
what Hafiz had said of her accomplishments, and fearing to be overheard,
he changed his accent, and spoke to her in Italian.

She answered him courteously, though not fluently, in the same language;
but her soft voice was so broken by timidity, so mixed with sighs, and
interrupted by hesitation, that she was scarcely intelligible. Sebastian
remained at her feet, and she had time to recover herself.

“What is it I can do for thee, amiable Christian?” she resumed, “my
heart is touched with thy situation.--So young, so brave, so generous as
I hear thou art, thou must have many friends in thine own country, the
remembrance of whom increases thy present sorrow: would I could restore
thee to them! but I cannot; my power extends only to ameliorating thy
condition.--What is it I can do for thee?”

“Alas, nothing!” exclaimed the King, pierced with disappointment,
“banished from my country, without hope of return, I no longer desire
life. I was born, lady, in the midst of power, riches, and honors; I had
the means and the will of blessing multitudes; I was surrounded by
relations and friends. I am now a slave! if forced at last to abandon
the hope of release, do you imagine that any thing can reconcile me to
such a destiny? To your heavenly goodness I already owe all the comfort
of which my miserable fate is susceptible: ah! could I persuade you to
pity me yet further--to procure for me permission to inform one friend
of my captivity, and so be ransomed from the Almoçadem!”

“Christian!” said Kara Aziek, after a pause, “thy noble disregard of
selfish considerations since thou hast been under the charge of Hafiz,
deserves the exertions of all who love virtue; be assured, from this
moment, that thou hast made a friend in Kara Aziek: she will continue
to protect thee, she will cautiously labour to obtain thy release; but
thou must not be impatient if the time be long, and the object lost. My
father will not bear either too frequent or too earnest urging: if I
would serve the Christians, I must do it prudently.”

Sebastian put the embroidered hem of her kaftan to his lips: “You are my
guardian angel, he exclaimed, and there are hearts in Portugal worthy of
knowing yours, that shall one day bless you!”

The young monarch’s emotion interested Kara Aziek, she wished to see him
again more distinctly, and for this purpose lifted up her veil; the
instant their eyes met, she dropt it with a modest blush. But her soft
beauty, like that of the summer moon, instantaneously changed the
impetuous ardour of Sebastian; a serene and delightful admiration
succeeded to his agitation; her shape, her voice, her countenance, were
all lovely, they breathed the tenderness and the purity of an angel,
and though the radient image of Donna Gonsalva outshone the Moorish
Beauty in splendor, it could only have been preferred by a lover.

Every thing in Gonsalva was gay, resistless, triumphant; in Kara Aziek,
touching, yielding, and humble; the one seemed a divinity to be
worshipped, the other a tender creature to be loved.

Every endearing quality of woman’s fond and faithful heart, beamed from
the dewy eyes of Kara Aziek; those eyes bespoke a soul capable of wholly
losing itself in the happiness and honour of one beloved object; they
promised heroic devotedness, disinterested goodness, virtuous
submission: they had never yet known how to express disdain, anger, or
desire of rule. It was sufficient to have beheld Kara Aziek but for a
moment, to be convinced that she was the sweetest and the gentlest of
human beings.

Lost in the remembrance of a countenance so engaging, the young King
did not remark that his companion heaved several deep sighs: at length,
she spoke to him again. “It is then to Portugal that thou wishest to
return? It was my mother’s country--perhaps thou hast a mother and
sisters there--or a wife--art thou married, Christian?--”

Sebastian answered in the negative with a sigh deeper than her own;
Aziek eagerly resumed. “If thou, hast neither mother, sister, nor wife,
thou should’st not be so very unhappy at thy present misfortune: think
how much keener would have been thy sorrows, had they been increased by
the memory of such beloved relations. Learn to be grateful, Christian,
to the _Great Being_ for his smallest mercies!”

Sebastian was about to own that Portugal contained one as dear to him as
a wife, when she asked after his sick countryman; on hearing that he was
then in the labyrinth, she grieved at having detained his friend, and
bade him pursue his way to the house. “Pray warn this poor fellow,” she
added, “never again to attempt so rash an enterprize: he may get beyond
my father’s walls ’tis true, but wherever he goes he must encounter
Moors, or perish for want among solitary places.--Adieu, Portuguese!
endure patiently, pray often, hope constantly.”--So saying, the lovely
Moor turned away, leaving Sebastian standing where they had first met.

He could not forbear ejaculating a thanksgiving for this fortunate
meeting, which licensed him in all those sanguine expectations that
otherwise had been fantastic: he blessed the amiable Aziek repeatedly,
while hastening to the hall of the household slaves, he procured an
assistant, and returned for Gaspar.

The motion, in carrying him, quickly awakened Gaspar, but Sebastian
would not rouse him further by speaking then of his adventure, and
shortly afterwards left him to repose for the night.

The next time Kara Aziek saw the King of Portugal, it was again in the
gardens, supporting his still-languid friend: she stopt in the midst of
her women and asked after the invalid.

Sebastian seized this opportunity of describing his delicate
constitution, and beseeching her to order him some less hazardous labour
than that of working through all weathers in the open air: at the same
time he ventured to solicit indulgence for some other sick captives.
Kara Aziek fixed her luminous eyes on him through her veil, with a look
of soft admiration.

“How is it,” she said, “that thou dost never ask any thing for
thyself?--hast thou been taught to live solely for others?”

“It was the first lesson I ever learnt,” replied Sebastian, “would to
God, that I had always practised it! but my heart, lady, has not room
at present for minor wishes; I languish for liberty. While I am a slave,
every personal good is indifferent to me.”

“I pity thee, Christian, indeed I pity thee!” said Aziek in a tone of
touching sincerity, “if I were the sole arbiter of thy fate, of all
fates, there is not a Christian groaning throughout Africa that should
remain in his bonds--but, though my father indulges me beyond what any
other parent allows, he does not leave me absolute. I must win favours
from him by degrees; while thou askest these indulgencies for others,
thine own suit remains unurged: choose then between them and thyself! am
I to plead for their comfort, or thy freedom?”

“For them! for them!” cried Sebastian.

“Generous Christian!” she exclaimed, extending her arm by an involuntary
impulse: Sebastian threw himself at her feet, and ventured to seize and
kiss her hand; it was a hand so lovely soft, that it seemed to melt in
the pressure: though his ardour was chastized by respect, Kara Aziek
drew back in confusion. “I will learn of thee to be generous,” she
added, “to be so, I must risk something, conquer my timid nature, and be
importunate for thy sake.” She then earnestly besought Sebastian to
concert some mode of ameliorating the condition of all the slaves, and
yet rendering them useful to El Hader: if a plan were formed, embracing
a variety of objects suited to different degrees of strength and
ingenuity, she thought its profitableness would recommend it to her
father, and make a strong argument for her to use in urging its
adoption.

Delighted with her benevolent idea, Sebastian readily promised to sketch
such a plan with Hafiz, and then to submit it for her approval: he
accompanied this promise with an animated eulogium upon her mind and
heart. At this she blushed timidly, telling him that she owed her
thoughtfulness to a few good books which her mother had taught her to
read, and which perhaps might now be a solace to him: the King was
gladdened by this offer, and gratefully accepted it.

He then ventured to ask whether Kara Aziek could give him any
information about the state of Portugal; she replied with benevolent
minuteness. From her answers he learnt that his throne was filled by the
Cardinal, Don Henry, and that his own supposed body (obtained through
the King of Spain) had been buried at Belem, with royal honours. “Do
they lament their late king?” asked Sebastian, with extreme emotion.

“I hear he was in many things worthy to be regretted,” replied Aziek,
“but his ill-advised enterprize nearly desolated Portugal; for of the
few families he left in it, there was not one that has not lost some
relative, either on the field, or by captivity. In this weight of
private grief, I suppose a public loss is scarcely felt. Thou didst love
thy monarch, I think, that starting tear honours his memory.” The eyes
of the gentle Moor filled with answering tears while she spoke.

Overcome by her obvious remark, Sebastian stifled a groan: again he saw
the bloody plain of Alcazar, and again conscience accused him of
countless murders. Heart-wrung, even to torture, he leaned in silent
agony upon the shoulder of Gaspar, who being ignorant of Italian (in
which they spoke) was now surprized and disturbed at his sovereign’s
agitation. Kara Aziek regarded him with a mixture of terror and pity.

“Alas! what have I said!” she exclaimed, “that has thus afflicted thee?
compose thyself, amiable Christian! thou shalt see thy country again, if
Kara Aziek parts with every comfort of her life to obtain thee that
felicity.”

Without waiting to receive his thanks, she withdrew hastily, leaving
Gaspar to make unsuccessful attempts at soothing his royal friend.

Aziek had unconsciously planted the dagger of the furies in the very
bosom she would fain have shielded from every shaft: care for others,
constant occupation, and ceaseless projects of escape, had lately
banished from Sebastian’s mind, all self-accusing recollections; but now
he saw at one glance his name forgotten or execrated in the land which
he loved with parental tenderness, his throne filled by another, his
people sunk in funereal gloom, and Donna Gonsalva learning to hate his
name, while she wept for her murdered father!

These images were heightened to the wildest excess by a passionate
imagination, fruitful in self-tormenting, and as it hurried him in
thought from object to object, he sacredly vowed never again to
unsheathe the sword but in defence, or for the succour of others: this
virtuous vow checked the torrent of sorrow.

The last words of Kara Aziek had escaped his ear; and desperate of
release through her means, (since she herself was so doubtful of it,)
he came to the resolution of making some personal effort for his own
deliverance: warmed by this new project, he gradually recovered himself,
and returned back with Gaspar.

On entering his chamber he found several volumes of Italian and
Portuguese authors, which he took up and looked at, without knowing one
of their titles; for his mind was otherwise occupied, and he laid
himself on his pallet, not to sleep, but to think.

It was now that Sebastian found his first visit to Barbary likely to
produce benefit; by it he was made acquainted with all the coast, and
much of the interior, he had also acquired information from the persons
he redeemed, which now promised to serve him essentially.

In those days the Emperors of Morocco had a right to every captive
beyond a certain rank, taken either in battle, or on the seas, and the
Moors therefore, frequently secreted their noble slaves and conveyed
them privately away for the sake of high ransoms: one of these gentlemen
who was the property of a low man, had been conducted by him to the
castle of Massignan, by a road which the King now tried to recollect. It
had lain through a track of more than a hundred miles: Sebastian
calculated on being able to pursue the same route undiscovered, as it
led principally through desart mountains.

It is true, that before he could reach Massignan, he must cross the
river Ardea, the fords of which were all guarded by Moorish posts, for
the express purpose of frustrating the escape of run-a-ways. But he had
been told of a safe passage in one part where the river narrowed among
the Green mountains, and which on account of its remoteness was left
unwatched: once there, he might cross, and make directly down to the
coast; could he gain Massignan he should be safe.

Neither the savage beasts infesting the country he must thus traverse
unarmed, nor the apprehension of starving, staggered the resolution of
Sebastian; he felt that a mighty spirit has something of omnipotence in
it; and believed that the all-seeing parent who feeds the fowls of the
air, would provide for his limited wants: if he were destined to perish,
better to die free, than to linger out life in slavery.

At first he thought of making Gaspar his companion, but a moment’s
consideration forbade him to indulge so dangerous a wish: Gaspar could
not endure the fatigue and peril to which they must be subjected during
such an enterprize, and would in all probability prove the cause of
their eventual re-capture: better therefore, to hasten to Masignan and
from thence send a King’s offer to El Hader. Long did the generous
Sebastian pause upon this obstacle: he abhorred the appearance of
abandoning his friend, and would not have resolved on it at last, had
he not justly deemed that the only method of procuring his ultimate
liberation.

The next object of consideration was how to get beyond the walls of the
Almoçadem: so indulged as he had long been, it seemed almost perfidious
to repay the lenity of El Hader, and the reliance of Hafiz, by using
them for the purpose of escape; yet liberty, sacred liberty, is the
birth-right of every man; and he who would enslave his fellow-man,
however softly he may weave his chains, has perhaps no legitimate claim
to his fidelity.

Sebastian felt the force of this assertion: he had ever scorned
dissembling his thirst for freedom, and therefore believed himself still
privileged to attempt obtaining it by any bold measure. Ere he finally
digested this sudden plan, he endeavoured to obey the humane injunction
of Kara Aziek; from the day on which they first met, he had employed
himself after work-hours in visiting the different quarters of the
Cassavee, and making such inquiries and observations as were necessary
for his purpose. Hafiz accompanied him, completely satisfied with acting
in obedience to his mistress. In a short time the King had perfected the
theory of a new establishment infinitely more advantageous to the
Almoçadem, and far milder for his Christian associates: this project he
delivered to Kara Aziek, through Hafiz, who was recommended in it, to be
made Governor of the whole. Aziek studied it attentively, and assented
to its excellence with all the ardour of her benevolent nature; soon
afterwards she sought and obtained her father’s approval.

Transported with this success, she urged El Hader to send for that
enlightened Christian, who thus united regard for his interest with pity
for his own countrymen; El Hader had not forgotten their last interview,
but no longer apprehensive of seeing a madman, he yielded to his
daughter’s wish.

The Almoçadem received Sebastian with his usual good-natured indolence;
and after having suggested one or two alterations, and demanded a few
explanations, he pronounced the desired acquiescence. Sebastian would
not have prostrated himself to any mortal for a favor merely selfish;
but at this mercy to so many sufferers, he cast himself at the feet of
Kara Aziek, who sat wrapt up in her veil, exclaiming in Italian.

“It is to you, amiable Lady! that the Christians owe these blessings;
henceforth I will believe myself _your_ slave, and then bondage will be
no longer abhorrent.”

“Ah Christian!” cried the lovely Moor, and stopping abruptly, she
averted her eyes with a palpitating heart.

Sebastian knew not the soft confusion his ardent speech had caused; he
forgot the woman in Kara Aziek, and saw only the pure and disinterested
spirit of an angel.

El Hader now made some remarks upon the improvements in his domain,
which he was told were the effects of his Portuguese slave’s exertions,
adding, “Thou must surely be satisfied with the miraculous kindness with
which thou are treated, and consequently pleased with thy situation?”

This observation afforded Sebastian the opportunity he sought. “Many and
important favors,” he said “I gratefully acknowledge in my own person,
and in that of every Christian inhabiting this place, but while I labour
to shew my sense of your indulgence by a peaceable demeanour and
voluntary acts of service, remember El Hader, that I do not conceive
myself bound to forego the hope of liberty: my heart is filled with
it;--day and night my thoughts are on it; I warn you therefore not to
suppose that any thing can make me abandon a resolution to break my
bonds, if possible. You refuse a ransom, therein you are merciless and
tyrannical, and by that act free me from the obligation honour would
otherwise impose: would you accept money as an equivalent for me
(however exorbitant the sum) I would not steal myself away, and defraud
you of your rightful gain, though liberty tempted me from a thousand
avenues; now, I hold my conscience unshackled: if I can escape, I will,
but wherever I go, be assured I shall bear with me a salutary
remembrance of Moorish virtues.”

“Is not this fellow a madman?” asked El Hader, turning with a smile to
his daughter. “This confession of his may clip his wings. Christian, (he
added) dost thou not believe I can abridge thy present freedom, and so
prevent thy escape?”

“Assuredly I do, returned the impetuous monarch, but that consideration
ought not to deter me from asserting my right to use every means of
restoring myself to my country. I tell it you, that you may not
hereafter call me a base, ungrateful hypocrite; I tell it you, that you
may not impute to others my imagined guilt. God forbid that I should be
the occasion of any man’s disgrace! should I effect my purpose,
recollect it will be all my own work, and that neither your slaves nor
your servants will have had the smallest share in it.

“Rash, but amiable man!” exclaimed Kara Aziek, regarding him with a look
of admiration, “O that thou couldst forget thy country and be happy in
Africa!”

The tenderness of her tone penetrated the heart of Sebastian, he did not
reply by words, but his eloquent eyes fixed for a moment upon her, spoke
only too ardently the gratitude she inspired: again the soft bosom of
Kara Aziek palpitated with an unknown emotion, and covering her figure
still more with her veil--(as if fearing her soul was visible)--she
hastily withdrew.

El Hader detained the King a few moments longer, jesting him on his
extravagant hopes, and assuring him, that though still indulgently used,
he should be well watched. Sebastian listened in silent majesty, then
quitted him, completely satisfied with their mutual understanding.

While he returned to toil and the society of Gaspar, who was now able to
bear a moderate part in the work of the gardens, Kara Aziek retired to
her own apartments agitated with pain and pleasure: unknown to herself,
the pity with which she had at first regarded the young and handsome
Christian was now changed into a sentiment less disinterested but more
animated; his situation and character were alike interesting; his
conversation insensibly stole her from herself; and his graceful image
contrasted with the swarthy Moors and pallid slaves around, was ever
present to her eyes: at the sound of his voice or his flute, (heard at
a distance from the gardens,) she would feel her heart throb
tumultuously; and when his past looks or words crossed her memory, a
delightful thrill would run through her veins.

Formerly Benevolence was content to administer to his wants and to
secure him from hardships; now Love panted to surround him with the
delicacies of refinement, and to procure for him exemption from every
occupation. She would send him the choicest fruits and viands, essences
and fragrant oils for his use after the bath, books, music, and becoming
apparel; she would watch his looks with silent anxiety, foreseeing
indisposition ere it approached him, and providing against it by
medicines prepared by her own hand; a favorite maid cautiously conveyed
these things to the apartment of Sebastian, who received them silently
and distributed them with discretion.

Though indulged in a freedom perfectly singular in Barbary, Aziek dared
not openly pour upon a Christian such a shower of benefits, she was
obliged to find frequent employment for him, that she might see and
converse with him unsuspected. At those times she would talk to him not
merely of his country but upon such subjects as enlightened her mind and
displayed the treasures of his: thus did she unconsciously weave her own
chains, little dreaming that the heart she thus learned to idolize, was
the property of another.

Wholly devoted to the remembrance of Donna Gonsalva, and too much
occupied with his various anxieties, Sebastian never once thought of the
possibility of destroying the peace of his benefactress; he beheld her
with the tenderest and most exalted admiration; and as she shewed to
Gaspar nearly equal compassion, (for Gaspar was dear to her on his
account,) he considered her as a creature formed by providence
expressly for the purpose of succouring unfortunate Christians.

The new order of things was now established throughout El Hader’s
residence, and Sebastian became painfully anxious for its success. By
adapting every occupation to the peculiar powers of each man, and
allowing them more rest and more food, he knew that nothing short of
determined industry would render their master satisfied with the change;
he was therefore obliged to urge these motives unremittingly amongst
them till he conquered their habitual languor, and made them feel that
the persevering activity of half the day would insure to them repose and
comfort during the remainder. The perfect completion of his system left
him free to think solely of his escape.

To keep his promise with El Hader, and avert destruction from Gaspar,
Sebastian refrained from telling him of his purpose: alone, and in
secret, he meditated and observed.

Though he was permitted to range through every part of the Cassavee
domain, it was enclosed by walls of great height and thickness, upon
which, at small distances, were placed sentinels day and night; the only
possible avenue appeared to be that part where a narrow river washed the
eastern wall, the sentinels there were far apart and relying on this
natural barrier watched carelessly: here Sebastian thought it
practicable to cut a passage through, and so passing from one side to
the other, creep through the underwood to the river, and swim across.

The eastern wall was not far from that angle of the building in which he
slept, and he might therefore pass and repass with less danger of
discovery; though his door was locked nightly, his window was unbarred,
and from it he could easily descend into the garden.

On reconnoitring the particular spot he pitched on, he found that a
cluster of very thick trees would conceal him from possible observation,
and that a canal, not many paces distant, would serve as a reservoir for
the rubbish and stones: inspirited by these providential circumstances
he commenced his project the ensuing night.

The implements of daily toil served now for the instruments of freedom;
Sebastian was disciplined to labour, and rendered expert by practice;
every night he worked during the half of it, leaving the increasing
chasm, masked with stones well-fitted. Success seemed to await him; no
one hitherto had suspected his nocturnal employment, and Gaspar, for
whose delicate health he feared, (as he resolved not to abandon him in a
dying state,) rather strengthened than declined. Meanwhile peace and
comfort reigned throughout the abode of El Hader; his slaves looked
better, and performed more than they had ever done; groans and sighs
were no longer heard in the Cassavee, and if the captives still wept for
their country and friends, it was in the privacy of their own chambers.

Kara Aziek continued to move amongst them like the angel of pity; she
compassionated them all, but she loved one, whose “looks were now her
soul’s food.” Sometimes she sent for him to instruct her in the
Portuguese songs and the Portuguese history, and then, though her father
were present, she would speak to him in Italian of the subject nearest
his heart. Sometimes she would loiter with her women for hours beside
him in the gardens under pretence of giving orders about her bowers and
her green-houses, when in reality it was to hear the music of his voice
and to “suck in the honey of his sweet discourse.”

Indeed Kara Aziek could no longer command, where she would willingly
have served; respect ever accompanies love; and her worth-inspired
affection now shrunk from those acts which reminded her that the object
of her devotion was in a state of humiliation.

In such interviews the ardent manner of Sebastian deceived her
unintentionally: those eyes that spoke even the slightest emotion more
distinctly than any other eyes, seemed when expressive of gratitude, to
be expressive of love; at sight of her he remembered Donna Gonsalva, and
that enchanting recollection diffusing over his countenance the most
touching tenderness, made Kara Aziek fondly fancy herself its object.

By these frequent opportunities she saw him under every variety of his
various nature; alternately the serenest and the most tempestuous, the
tenderest and the fiercest of human beings: her gentle character often
trembled at the violence of his; but when the storm was gone, and the
sun smiling in his face, she felt only the fonder anxiety and the
deeper interest.

She saw him quick to avenge the wrongs or relieve the pains of others,
but regardless still of his own; how then could she denounce that very
rashness which disquieted her, since it arose from the excess of a
virtue?

Yet she was solicitous to have this rashness moderated, and often took
occasion to converse on the subjects of prudence and forbearance: she
reminded him that there is no such thing as swaying others, before we
have learned to command ourselves; she pointed out to him several
instances in which the fierceness of his temper had frustrated the
effects of his benevolence: when he sought some indulgence for a fellow
captive suddenly overpowered with heat or sickness, if the task-master
demurred, he would blaze into indignation, and harden the heart he
disdained to soften.

Kara Aziek ventured to shew him the superior dignity and utility of
employing reason at such times rather than anger: he would listen with
delight and contrition, though his former habit of exacting obedience
from others, rendered it difficult for him to obey himself.

Aziek saw that to conquer his natural infirmity would cost Sebastian
infinite trouble,--and to her, it would have been no visible blemish,
since she loved him with a tenderness that veiled his very faults;--but
she felt that his faults made himself unhappy: how then could they
continue a matter of indifference?--with such impatience and imprudence
he must ever carry in his own mind the seeds of sorrow and remorse.

Unconscious of his hazardous purpose, she was daily advancing towards
the object he desired: her father never left her without bearing away
with him some argument in favor of the Christians, and particularly of
Sebastian: not daring to ask at once for his liberation, she was
gradually softening and preparing El Hader’s mind for such a request.

Meanwhile time rolled on, and Sebastian completed his laborious task.
When he first caught a gleam of the moon-lighted river shining through
the important aperture, it seemed as if that sight alone had released
him from his bonds; he kissed his bosom cross in a rapture of gratitude,
and emotion for awhile prevented him from thinking of his indiscretion
in suffering the chasm to remain uncovered; he filled it up immediately,
at both extremities, for the night was just closing.

On returning to his chamber he found it impossible to sleep; his heart
was too full of anxiety for the event of his enterprize, and for the
effect it might have upon Gaspar: to disclose the secret to him,
Sebastian believed absolutely necessary, as that would soften the pain
of being apparently deserted, and yet could not justly subject him to
the vengeance of El Hader.--Gaspar might conscientiously swear that he
had in no way contributed to the escape of his countryman.

Agreeable to these reflections, Sebastian seized an opportunity the next
morning, and detailed his project: for awhile the affectionate soldier
stood aghast, but quickly recovering, he faltered out a mixed expression
of joy and sorrow: he then ventured to solicit his sovereign’s bounty
for his mother and sister, praying him to relieve their poverty, and to
remember that he was left behind in slavery. The poor youth was
frequently on the point of asking to accompany his King, but as often
the conviction of his infirm health checked the selfish request.

Sebastian saw only liberty before him, and succour for those he left
behind; yet he grieved to part his destiny from that of Gaspar, and at
thought of the gentle Aziek, he felt the most piercing regret: her rare
goodness and refinement was worthy a nobler fate than that to which she
seemed born: she was not adapted to share with a Harem the capricious
favor of an ignorant Mussulman, she was calculated to win and to deserve
a heart polished by culture.

Kara Aziek did not appear in the gardens that day, and towards evening
Sebastian spoke of her to Hafiz: he learnt from him, that she was gone
to Mequinez, to keep the feast of El Ed Geer, with the Almoçadem; at
this information his joyous feelings were damped: he had then parted
from that amiable being for ever, without having uttered afresh those
animated sentiments which filled his heart, and which she might
hereafter recollect as a grateful farewel!

The pain of this thought would have tempted Sebastian to delay his
departure, had not the image of Donna Gonsalva, sorrowing over his
supposed grave, hurried him onwards; he could not however depart, until
he had left a slight memorial of his gratitude:--for this purpose he
entered the labyrinth, and cut with a knife upon the chalk of one of
its stones, a few words in Italian.

After this tribute to the gentle spirit that had blessed him even in
captivity, he hastened from the spot, for it was now the hour of
retiring.

Gaspar waited for him in his sleeping room: the night was dark and
gusty; a circumstance that awakened some friendly fears in the former;
but Sebastian’s soul was roused with the prospect of freedom, and he
considered the gloom which alarmed his friend, as favorable to his
concealment. They sat together in a remote chamber, watching with
extreme anxiety the gradual stillness that spread around them: by
degrees the sound of voices and steps died away,--the closing of doors
became less and less frequent, till at length profound silence settled
over the scene.

They scarcely exchanged even a whisper during this long suspense;
Gaspar’s heart was full almost to bursting; for he felt, that in losing
the King of Portugal as a fellow-prisoner, he was losing a friend: that
King seated again upon a throne, would not surely acknowledge and love a
private soldier! he had heard that “the favor of princes is not fastened
by nails of diamonds to men whom they affect,” and while his artless
mind dwelt on this saying, the deepest dejection stole over him.

Ideas of such a nature changed his former ease and confidence into awe
and distrust; and at the very moment in which Gaspar most longed to
throw himself at his beloved master’s feet, there to pour forth all his
feelings, he stood sadly silent, scarce venturing to breathe or to raise
his eyes from the earth.

Sebastian comprehended these emotions: he took Gaspar’s hand with a
warmth and earnestness which enforced his words, and pressing it
repeatedly, assured him that neither the pomps nor the cares of a crown
could break those bonds in which mutual suffering and mutual obligation
had united them: he renewed his promise of immediately placing Gaspar’s
family in competence, and of dispatching an embassy to the Muley of
Morocco for the purpose of ransoming him and the rest of the Christians.

“Rely on the word of a King, and the faith of a friend!” he concluded,
“all this I solemnly swear to perform should heaven restore me to my
throne.--When we meet again, may it be in our dear native land!--then
Gaspar thou shalt see how much I love thee.”

Transported with such goodness, the tender-hearted youth wept like a
woman; his sovereign’s heart beat high with hope, and could not admit
regret; he anticipated a blissful hour of future meeting, and gently
chiding his companion, leaped the window of their chamber:--Gaspar
followed more cautiously.

Sebastian was lightly clothed in a habit sent him by Kara Aziek, which
he had never yet worn, and therefore could not be described by; in his
girdle was stuck a small hatchet, and a Moorish knife, for the purpose
of defence; over his shoulder was flung a sort of basket, containing a
few Tourkia cakes and dried meats, which he had saved from the daily
presents of Aziek.

A short circuit brought them to their place of destination: pushing
aside the trees, they gently drew away the loose stones that concealed
the aperture; the sullen sound of the river was heard through it: Gaspar
looked up fearfully to the sky; the clouds there were thick and dull,
but something like light gleamed through them in parts proceeding from
the moon now at her full: Sebastian whispered him to be of good cheer;
then turning hastily round, he grasped him to his heart without
speaking.

Both the King and the soldier trembled in each other’s embrace; at
length sinking from his sovereign’s arms, Gaspar embraced his knees
without being able to articulate a single word: Sebastian hastily raised
him, embraced him once more, then pressed through the aperture.

With breathless attention Gaspar listened to the rustling of the bushes
on the opposite side through which Sebastian had rushed; the next moment
he distinctly heard him plunge into the river: at that fearful crisis he
crossed his breast and his forehead, and remained kneeling in an agony
of supplication; but suddenly recollecting his friend’s injunctions, he
hastily filled up the chasm of the wall at each extremity.

At every blast of wind sweeping through the leafy branches over his
head, (while thus employed,) he almost fancied that he heard the
drowning voice of his King: once he thought the sound of a gun had
mingled with the blast, but it was not repeated, and his apprehension
ceased.

By degrees the wind sunk into a low moan, only mixed with the hoarse
dashing of the water; neither voice nor step came any longer to his ear:
the faithful soldier then sorrowfully arose, and returned to his
solitary chamber; piously endeavouring there to cast his cares upon that
Almighty Protector who alone is able to destroy and to save.




CHAP. II.


Sebastian had to contend with a strong current, but having stripped off
his cloaths and fastened them above his head, he was able to breast the
powerful water with equal strength; a few strokes of his nervous arm
brought him to the opposite bank; he sprung on land, and shaking off the
wet quickly re-dressed himself.

While he was fastening on his rude sandals, he looked up to the
Cassavee, from whence he had escaped: the faintly glimmering moon now
cast a momentary gleam over its high dome, and silvered part of the line
formed by the wall, upon which were seen a few sentinels walking to and
fro: one of these men appeared to stop and bend forward; Sebastian
glided behind a cluster of sallows; the Moor called out, and receiving
no answer, discharged his harquebuss; but whether Sebastian’s profound
stillness deceived him into the belief of having mistaken the shadow of
a tree for a human figure, or whether he thought all his duty performed
by this act, is uncertain,--he waited awhile, then moved away without
further scrutiny.

Sebastian crept slowly through the underwood till he found himself in a
path gradually declining between tolerably steep hills; no longer afraid
of discovery, he rose from his stooping posture, and ran swiftly in a
direction leading towards the interior. Happily the moon began to shine
distinctly, for a rising east wind scattered the clouds that had before
ascended from the west, and now her steady light brightened every hill
and every valley.

The royal Portuguese proceeded with rapidity through scenes which
increased in wild solitariness; at every step the heights assumed a
bolder and steeper form, the thickets of oak and locust trees became
more frequent, and except the din of a torrent which grew upon his ear,
nothing was heard to startle even momentary apprehension.

Guiding his course by the stars, he continued to advance among the
mountains with the utmost celerity: nature and habit had made him
capable of bearing great fatigue without injury; he now flew rather than
ran, springing over the broad beds of mountain streams, and leaping from
point to point of the rocky fissures.

Day dawned on him in these desart places, but neither flocks nor
dwellings appeared to warn him from his fellow men: he pressed forward,
eager to get the start of his pursuers, and resolved not to rest till he
could do so with a prospect of security.

After journeying till mid-day, chance led him to a steep rocky dell so
overhung with shrubs and trees, that it appeared to promise a safe
resting place; he had to stoop under the pendent branches that shaded
its entrance, but after passing through them, the foliage fell down
again like a curtain, and secured him from observation.

He advanced to the end of this recess, and sat down on a projecting
crag; there, for the first time since his escape, he had leisure to
think and to calculate on his future movements: the earliest fruit of
those reflections was gratitude to that Almighty Being whose hand had
thus conducted him in safety; the next emotion was tender remembrance of
Gaspar and Kara Aziek, but while he believed that he was hastening from
the latter never to see her again, joy brightened regret, for he was
returning to Donna Gonsalva.

Never before had Sebastian been sensible to such a sudden translation
from misery to transport: Freedom, man’s greatest blessing, the air he
is destined to breathe and to live by, and without which he
dies--Freedom, that pure element, which is scarcely felt while it
surrounds us, and seldom known but in its privation,--was now his own
again; it throbbed in all his pulses, spoke to his senses from every
outward object and inward feeling, new-strung his nerves, and turned
hopes into certainties.

What bright visions of future happiness, transcending all he had ever
yet known, now animated him--in his own person he had acquired a keener
relish for the blessings of home and liberty, and he had learned such
important lessons as would make him respect those blessings in the
persons of others.

Thankful even for captivity, since it had ameliorated his character, he
gave no check to sanguine thought: yet thirty leagues of African ground
still lay between him and security.

Finding himself faint for want of refreshment, he ate sparingly of his
few provisions, and quenched his thirst with the water of a
neighbouring spring, then commending himself to the protection of his
tutelary saints, laid down to rest.

When Sebastian awoke, he found the day far spent: he had of late
abridged his sleep so much, and been so continually anxious, that this
first repose, in a scene of comparative freedom, lasted longer than he
wished; however, he awoke with renovated strength, and quitting the
dell, resumed his former track.

He had not proceeded far, when he came abruptly upon a flock of goats,
with a couple of stout Moorish boys watching them; not allowing them an
instant to note his dress or face, he darted down a side declivity and
flew along, till seeing the hills opening in several directions, he
chose one path at a venture, and soon lost himself among thickets and
precipices.--At first he heard the boys voices mixed with those of men;
but shortly they ceased to reach him, and he then concluded they were
seeking him in a different path.

Alarmed by this incident he deemed it best to penetrate further into the
mountains, ere he shaped his course downwards towards Massignan, as by
so doing he would not be so likely to encounter any Moors but Alarbes,
and against meeting them, he must guard as well as possible: it is true
that by thus prolonging his journey in desert regions, he incurred the
risk of perishing either by famine or by savage beasts; but he believed
himself capable of warding off the latter, and for the former he did not
fear, as he learned amongst the Alarbes where to find roots and berries
fit for sustenance. Putting up a fervent prayer, he resumed his flight.

Night surprized him in a thick forest: to proceed now would have been
madness; those enormous serpents and lions with which Africa abounds,
were not lightly to be braved in the darkness of vast solitudes; he
therefore ascended one of the largest trees, where he watched away the
remaining hours.

The awfulness of his present situation, and the alarmed state of his
spirits, formed a striking contrast to his late exultation: every thing
around was dismal; one of those fierce winds which constantly blow in
Barbary from the north-east, in the month of March, was now raving
through the forest; this was mixed with the distant roar of lions, and
the thrilling yell of hyenas; as each pealing blast shook the very roots
of the huge oak in which he lodged, he fancied it the fury of some
powerful animal, and prepared himself to encounter it with his hatchet.

Night however passed away, and the rising sun flamed over a track which
Sebastian now trod with tranquil thankfulness; the beans of the Alcorabe
made his scanty breakfast, as he walked under its umbrageous boughs:
trusting that he had now baffled pursuit, he proceeded in a direction
which must bring him lower down among the green mountains, and lead
directly to the Ardea:--Two hours brought him out into a wide plain
skirting their feet; a broad river rolled through this plain, and over
it were scattered Alarbe’s tents.

Sebastian’s blood curdled with abhorrence at hearing the tinkling of
Zauphens; (a barbarous musical instrument he remembered too well) as he
precipitately turned back to retrace his steps, the figures of men
crossing from a side eminence forced him to retreat, the men shouted on
seeing him, and rushed forwards; others were quickly seen pouring from
the tents; some came on foot, some on horseback; they gained upon his
steps, till he distinctly recognized the voices of two Moors whom he had
known under the roof of El Hader.

Death or slavery was now before him; he flew on the wind, outstripping
even their lances and the shot of their harquebusses: the opposite side
of the river towards which he made was clothed with woods, could he
reach them, (as there was no bridge or boat for the conveyance of his
pursuers,) he hoped yet to escape; shaking off his cloak and his
baggage, he plunged into the water. Awhile he combatted its rapid
current; but alas! former fatigue, anxiety, and intense heat, had nearly
forespent his bodily powers: he struggled with the waves till strength
was exhausted and consciousness gone: just as he was sinking, an Alarbe
dashed into the river, seized his arm, and dragged him to shore.

The rude remedies used by these ferocious people succeeded in bringing
their victim to life: Sebastian opened his eyes and beheld himself in
the hands of the Almoçadem’s servants, once more a prisoner and a slave.

At that moment it could not be said his fortitude forsook him, though he
closed his eyes again with the air of one bereft of hope: on the
contrary, he was mentally bowing to the will of Providence, and striving
to rein in the phrenzy of extravagant rashness.

Having secured the weapons with which he might have attempted
resistance, and seeing him completely enfeebled, the Moors loaded him
with abuse; and one of them was on the point of adding outrage to
invective, when Sebastian half-started from the ground on which he lay,
faintly uttering the name of Kara Aziek; at that sound the Africans
shrunk back, staring on each other, and pronouncing the Christian a
sorcerer: he had indeed divined the only magic that could save him from
an extremity of insult; for on quitting the Cassavee these slaves had
been threatened by Hafiz with their lady’s wrath should they injure the
Portuguese.

The crowd of Alarbes that had joined El Hader’s servants, forbade any
attempt to elude them; Sebastian promised to return quietly, upon
condition that they did not fasten his hands like a criminal. After
some consultation together, the men at last consented to this. Without
allowing him time to recover from his exhaustion, they mounted him upon
a horse, and forming a troop of Alarbes around him, proceeded towards
the valley of palms.

The uncouth habits and ferocious looks of his mountaineer associates,
the mode of his conveyance, joined to the circumstances of his
situation, forcibly recalled to Sebastian the period in which he was
first carried to the abode of El Hader: thought then flowed back upon
the memory of Stukeley and the rare goodness of Abensallah; sigh
followed sigh as he remembered them, though he envied the lot of the
friend he lamented, who had escaped the galling chains of slavery by a
memorable death.

Such reflections as these occupied him so entirely, as to render him
insensible to the brutality of his companions, who frequently repeated
with grins of horrid triumph, that the Almoçadem had sworn he should be
broken upon the wheel.

Advancing in a beaten and direct road lying below the hills he had
mounted, Sebastian found that a journey which had cost him two nights
and days of wearisome toil, was to be achieved in less than the fourth
part of that time: the Moors hurried on, not allowing him any other
refreshment than a draught of water, so that when they reached the
valley of palms, his strength had completely forsaken him, and he almost
dropped from his horse at the great gate of El Hader’s residence.

The Moors conveyed their captive to one of those dungeons where Gaspar
had formerly been confined, telling him he must wait there till it
pleased their high Lord the Almoçadem to determine upon his punishment:
Sebastian gave no answer to their brutal information, throwing himself
along the damp earth (his only resting place) regardless of his own
fate, alarmed now for that of Gaspar.

It was but too probable that the Almoçadem might have revenged himself
upon his innocent head for the flight of his countryman: this fear had
not before agitated Sebastian, because he believed Kara Aziek would
interfere for the poor soldier, and that indeed El Hader himself was not
inclined to cruelty; but the present appearance of severity rendered
apprehensions for Gaspar perfectly rational.

This thought gave anxiety a new direction, and kept the unfortunate
monarch from reflecting upon his own disappointment; he was now
earnestly praying to see, or hear from Kara Aziek, from whom alone he
could hope for an account of his friend: but Kara Aziek did not appear,
and the King of Portugal counted the tedious hours of night in a dark
dungeon, upon the bare ground, alone and unsolaced.

“When the mind’s free, the body’s delicate;” he that had been nursed on
the lap of luxury, now suffered every human privation without missing
any other comforts than those of freedom and friendship.

Morning was made known to Sebastian merely by the sounds of labour
without; no cheering sun-beam penetrated his airless cell; he lay on the
unpaved floor, his spirit subdued awhile by past exertion and present
disturbance.

Towards evening a Moor whom he had once before seen, came to inform him
that it was El Hader’s pleasure he should be brought out the ensuing day
into the large slave-court, there to receive a thousand lashes, in the
presence of the Almoçadem and all his household.

“Tell your merciless master that I will die first!” exclaimed Sebastian,
fiercely starting from the ground.

“Peace! thou art a fool!” returned the phlegmatic Ephra, “how art thou
to escape this flogging, when thou hast neither weapons nor strength to
put thyself out of the world?”

“I shall then meet death on some of _your_ weapons!” cried Sebastian,
whose eyes struck fire as he spoke. “By every saint above, I swear, that
while there is life in this body it shall not be dishonoured by a
coward’s punishment! The man who would sooner lose life than honour, may
find avenues to death at every step. Tell your master--again I say tell
him--that I will die resisting his infamous decree!”

“You will die like a lunatic then, as you are,” retorted Ephra, turning
to go away, “I can tell you in return, that our master swears he will
not abate one jot of your punishment, even to please my lady, his
daughter: so don’t reckon upon _her_ interference.--Nay, for that
matter, she is lying sick at Mequinez, and will know nothing of this
business till it is over.”

Ephra closed the dungeon door as he finished, leaving Sebastian to
contemplate the probability of death on the morrow.

It was in vain that the young and ardent monarch strove to reconcile
himself to a destiny so inglorious: to perish thus in obscurity among a
handful of sordid Moors, without the means of conveying to his people,
and his Gonsalva a last blessing, was a thought which drove him to
phrenzy; he could not hope for the satisfaction of seeing Gaspar, nor
was Kara Aziek to be near, soothing his parting pangs with respect and
tenderness.

A confused apprehension that she would too deeply regret his fate,
trembled at his heart, softening the wildness of despair;--“Amiable, too
tender Aziek!” he exclaimed, “when I am released from earthly
sufferings, may some miracle be worked for thee!--may thine eyes be
opened to the true faith, and thy days be spent in other scenes than
these, so full of horror and iniquity!”

Hope, which hitherto had never completely left the intrepid breast of
Sebastian, now fled far away; the absence and sickness of Kara Aziek
appeared his death-warrant; he therefore endeavoured to meditate on the
probable event of his approaching struggle, with the seriousness it
demanded.

It was the middle watch of night, when having fallen asleep after a long
train of thought; he was awakened by the sound of the heavy bolts which
fastened his prison door; they were withdrawn by feeble hands, for they
moved gratingly: at length the door opened, and he beheld two of Kara
Aziek’s women.

They advanced timidly, closing the door behind them: the King sprung
from the ground; hope once more warmed his heart.--“Your mistress, your
angel mistress!” he exclaimed, “does she send you hither?”

“She sends me to reproach you, you rash Christian!” answered the slave,
“did you doubt her promise, that you thus rushed upon certain
destruction by attempting escape?”

“No, no, Benzaide,” replied Sebastian, “I doubted only her power to
serve me.--tell her that if I am to perish tomorrow, my soul will pine
in Paradise till it meets again, her pure and benevolent spirit!”

At this passionate burst of gratitude, the companion of Benzaide (who
had hitherto leaned unnoticed against the dungeon wall) sobbed aloud,
and sunk down upon the floor: in strange alarm Sebastian hastened to
raise her; Benzaide put aside the slave’s veil to give her air, and the
lamp she held, shining directly upon her face, discovered the soft
olive-brown complexion and lovely features of Kara Aziek.

Sebastian’s excess of pleasure was checked by an instinctive conviction
of Kara Aziek’s motive; and now those fervent acknowledgements he would
have lavished upon disinterested benevolence, were stifled by an
apprehension of heightening a sentiment which he could not return: every
animated word he should at this moment address to her, would be treason
against Gonsalva. At that thought he hastily dropped the trembling hand
he was carrying to his lips, and respectfully resigning her to Benzaide,
rose with a dejected air from his kneeling posture.

The gentle Moor wept some time in silence; but how expressive was that
silence! her eyes spoke every feeling of a fond and pitying heart; as
they alternately looked from the dungeon to its noble inhabitant,--to
him whose feet were cut, and bleeding still from the sharp rocks he had
traversed, and whose countenance, though pale and wasted, was yet bright
with unsubdued heroism.

“Ah, Fabian!” she exclaimed at length, in a voice that went to the soul,
“why didst thou do this rash thing? If I should not be able to save
thee?” she stopped at this, unable to conclude the sentence, and the
blood forsook her cheeks.

Wrung with grief, sick, pale, and languid, Kara Aziek could not have
been seen by the man she wished to charm, at a moment more unfavourable
for personal beauty; but there is a beauty of the soul, so transcending
all mortal perfections, that it triumphs over deformity itself: that
beauty now beamed from her tear-dimmed eyes and colourless cheek; it
seemed to shed a glory round her, at once awaking love and veneration.
Sebastian must have yielded to its sweet force, had not his heart been
pledged to another.

The agitated expression of the Christian’s countenance, reminded Aziek
that she was allowing too much of her own emotion to appear; struggling
to conceal it, she proceeded to repeat that he owed her present visit
solely to that sincere friendship which his misfortunes and his virtues
inspired; a friendship that feared not to shew itself in the form of
sympathy and succour. She informed him, that having been taken ill at
Mequinez soon after his flight, she must have remained in ignorance of
his return and fated punishment, had it not been for Hafiz, who secretly
dispatched a message to her, praying her intercession in behalf of his
favourite slave: she had then set off for the valley of palms, but
arriving too late for an interview with El Hader (who was gone to rest)
had ventured to assume a disguise, and pass the prison guards as one of
her own servants.

Aziek anxiously tried to hide from Sebastian the distraction into which
his departure had thrown her, by mentioning her illness as accidental;
native delicacy taught her to conceal the tenderest and purest love that
ever warmed a human bosom; to conceal it because she would owe nothing
to gratitude, nothing to compassion; because his happiness was the first
object of her generous heart.

The enthusiasm of Aziek’s manner while she spoke of pity and
philanthropy, almost persuaded her grateful auditor, that she would
indeed have done as much for any other man under such affecting
circumstances; yet he could not help allowing that the peculiar esteem
she felt for him, gave a charm to her benevolence.

He now blamed his late vain idea’s, and thought, that in El Hader’s
daughter he beheld one who would learn with a sister’s sympathy his
affection for another, and lament with a sister’s sorrow the privations
of his love!--this belief restored him to composure, and after
expressing much of his lively admiration, he ventured to inquire about
Gaspar.

Aziek replied, that Gaspar had so adroitly parried the questions put to
him (during the examination which followed Sebastian’s flight) that the
Almoçadem could find no ground for supposing him privy to the
run-a-way’s escape, especially as it seemed more natural for the former
to have escaped also, than to have remained behind: Gaspar had been
dismissed without censure, and was now occupied as usual under the
indulgent Hafiz.

This information relieved Sebastian’s heart from its heaviest load, and
again he blessed the gentle Being whose humanity imparted some of its
own mercy even to Moors grown old in tyranny.

Benzaide at this period reminded her mistress of the late hour, and of
her indisposition, which rendered rest indispensible; Kara Aziek
reluctantly took her arm: “I am going to leave thee, Fabian,” she said,
“Alla alone knows when and how we shall meet again!--that frantic spirit
of thine makes me tremble. If I should fail of softening my father,
alas, what will become of thee! thy terrible look at this moment answers
me but too plainly.”

Her eyes swimming in tears were now fixed upon his violently agitated
features; Sebastian strove to calm himself for her sake: “I dare not
deceive you, amiable Aziek!” he said, “it is my determination not to
survive disgrace: yet perhaps they will not seek to inflict it. Let your
father change my punishment to the severest penalties of toil, famine,
or imprisonment--let him condemn me to unheard-of sufferings, and I will
consent to live on, in the fantastic hope of being miraculously
delivered at last: but were freedom, and all those blessings comprized
in the dear name of country, to follow the execution of that sentence,
which turns my cheeks to fire while I but think of it, I would abhor
life after such degradation.--No, no, generous Aziek, ask me not to bear
it and to live.”

“I do not ask thee!--I know not what I would ask of thee!” exclaimed the
lovely Moor, in a tone of distraction, “thy life so precious--so
dear--so dear to all thy companions--O Alla! is it to be thus madly
thrown away! I would not have thee live disgraced, yet I would have thee
live. Perhaps if thou wouldest join thy prayers with mine, and humble
thyself to my father--prostrate at his feet, he could not surely----”

“Prostrate at his feet!” interrupted Sebastian wildly, darting on her a
look of indignation. “What! for myself!--for a Mahometan’s
mercy!--No!--I will die as I have lived--a King!”

The magnanimous and proud spirit of Sebastian, yet unsubdued by all his
mortifications, now shone out in full force over his face and figure:
like one awaking from some vanishing dream, Kara Aziek gazed on him,
faintly repeating his last words: she stood transfixed, while thought,
more rapid than light, was destroying every former hope.

If a Christian King, what must be the daughter of a Moorish noble, in
his eyes?--an atom!--a mote in the broad sunshine of regal glory: as
well might she think to scale the immeasurable heavens, as to become the
friend and partner of a King: in one moment she was hurled from him to a
distance so remote, that it seemed madness to hope his heart would ever
again throb with a single feeling answerable to hers.

Shocked, chilled, despairing, she silently tried to cover herself with
her veil, while half sinking in an attitude of reverence, excess of
emotion overcame her, and she was forced to catch at Benzaide for
support.

The heavy sigh which came from Aziek’s heart as she fell on the arm of
her maid, recovered Sebastian from his paroxysm; he now threw himself
before her: “Proud as you may think me, gentle Aziek!” he said, “Behold
the King of Portugal at your feet, soliciting pardon for his
impetuosity: the discovery that fiery hastiness has made, will but
increase your pity for an unfortunate man who, while languishing in
captivity, has so much to lament.”

He stopt, and Kara Aziek extending her hand to him with a varying cheek,
answered faulteringly, “The King of Portugal was said to have fallen at
Alcazar, and to be now buried in his native land--but I believe indeed
that thou art he.--Thou art then that Sebastian I was taught to _hate_!”

A deep but tender sigh burst forth with the last expression: how did
that sigh appear to change the meaning of the word she uttered!--the
touching voice in which she spoke, the tears that floated her
momentarily-fixed, and then suddenly-averted eyes, were only too
expressive of an eternal devotedness; but Sebastian, self-absorbed, saw
nothing; he rapidly recapitulated to her all that he possessed in
Portugal, and was now on the point of abandoning for ever.

On the mentioning of Donna Gonsalva, whom love painted in the most
seducing colours, Kara Aziek’s countenance suddenly changed; it varied
at every word, but she listened in silence: those fond hopes which had
again sprung up, when she saw him at her feet, those hopes which
formerly had been nourished by his tender manner, were now withered;
could she preserve his honour and his life, and after that obtain his
liberty, she would be doing this only to hasten the moment that would
give him to another.

Her pure, impassioned heart almost exclaimed aloud, “Ah, it is not thy
throne I covet to share; thy love alone would be to me a kingdom: with
thee, a desart, or a dungeon, obscurity or poverty would bestow
happiness.”

But though this regret filled her bosom, it could not displace for one
moment, that disinterested generosity which formed the basis of her
noblest qualities; whatever might become of herself she resolved to
renew her endeavour for procuring his release hereafter, should she
succeed in saving him now.

Donna Gonsalva’s beauty appeared from the description of Sebastian to be
that of a Celestial, and her character delineated by the same partial
hand could not fail of impressing Kara Aziek with the conviction that
she was worthy to be adored: to such a rival she yielded with the less
pain.

The King of Portugal was painfully affected by the changes he beheld in
the expressive countenance of his gentle friend; it was impossible for
him not to find his past fears recur, as he witnessed this ill-concealed
emotion: at one moment he repented, at another applauded the disclosure
of those dear engagements which must teach Kara Aziek that he was not
ungrateful in remaining untouched by her tenderness and charms: but his
heart saddened to think what the eventful morrow might prove to her.

Benzaide now warned her mistress that day would soon break and expose
them to the notice of the Moorish guards; Aziek started, and covered
herself with her veil, unwilling to shew Sebastian the extent of her
grief at bidding him farewel: incapable of speaking, she timidly held
out her hand to him; it was cold and trembling--the King put it to his
lips--“adieu matchless creature!” he cried, “may angels benevolent and
pure like yourself, watch over all your days!--were not my heart in
Portugal with her who is mourning for my sake, this transcendant
goodness must either have softened or sharpened the pains of slavery:--I
should have forgotten my fallen state, and dared to love the lovely
Aziek.”--

The last sentence breathed in an agitated whisper over the soft hand he
was pressing to his heart, thrilled through the frame of Aziek; she
blushed, faltered, moved tremblingly away, and seeking the support of
Benzaide, faintly pronounced a parting benediction:--her senses were in
sweet disorder at so delightful and unexpected a confession; next to the
bliss of possessing that noble heart, was the certainty that he believed
her worthy of it. Transported with this assurance, she gave him a last
look filled with gratitude and pleasure, and then departed.--

Compassion heightened by admiration, was the reigning sentiment left in
the heart of Sebastian; long after the departure of his benefactress,
her endearing image solely filled his thoughts:--without a single
moment’s infidelity to the exquisite Gonsalva, he was yet deeply
interested in the happiness of her rival, and could not refrain from
thinking oftener of her than of himself.--Still hoping something from
her interference, he commended himself to Providence, and lay down to
sleep again, upon the floor of his dungeon.

Sebastian had been awake some time the ensuing morning, when he heard a
bell ring; at the sound of which he had been, told to prepare for
punishment: as he listened, the blood forsook his face, and a horrid
chill suddenly ran through his veins:--Kara Aziek had then
failed!--recovering from the shock of disappointment (which had shocked
him only because it was unforeseen) he knelt down with the crucifix
clasped in his hands, fervently breathing over it a solemn supplication
of forgiveness for all his sins and errors.

He prayed the Lord of Heaven to forgive or to enlighten him, if the
resistance he meditated, were an act of impious rebellion; he besought
blessings for his friends and for his enemies; he commended his people
to the protection of Him, who places Kings upon their thrones, and the
names of Gonsalva and Aziek were mingling on his lips, when the prison
door opened, and instead of guards to conduct him to a scene of blood,
he beheld the smiling Benzaide.

Her mission spoke in her face, as she put aside her veil, bidding him
rise and follow her.--Sebastian obeyed: not before he had devoutly
kissed the cross he wore;--boundless gratitude to Heaven, did indeed
swell his heart, as he passed with his companion through the various
courts, leading to Kara Aziek’s apartments: on reaching them, Benzaide
threw a large mantle over him, in which she bade him wrap even his head,
as he would then pass unnoticed by the female servants; at the same time
she deposited a pair of slippers at the entrance, observing, that should
the Almoçadem come and see them, he would retire according to the
Moorish fashion, believing that some neighbouring lady was then visiting
his daughter.

Sebastian learnt from this, that in rendering him such services as
these, Kara Aziek perpetually risked the displeasure of her father: this
thought did but the more enhance the value of her protection.

Upon entering the chamber of Aziek, he found her alone, lying along a
sopha shaded by thin drapery: she spoke to him without altering her
position or uncovering her face, for she was ill, and greatly agitated:
her motive for admitting him to her presence at such a period, was not
merely to see him again, or to receive his thanks, but to soothe him
under a disappointment she had been forced to prepare for him.

El Hader had been previously with her, when she had exerted all her
influence for the pardon of Sebastian: at first he refused to hear his
daughter’s petition, expressing great anger at her partiality to this
ungovernable Christian, on whom so many favors had already been thrown
away; he ridiculed the idea of a slave’s preferring death to a few
strokes of the whip, and told her plainly, that if she continued thus to
protect a Christian, merely because he was of her mother’s country, the
Moors would proclaim her an enemy to the true faith.

Kara Aziek mildly allowed herself to be called foolish and profane, yet
redoubled her intercessions, availing herself of her severe illness to
plead with more earnestness for indulgence: she prayed, she wept, she
embraced her father’s knees, telling him that she had vowed for her
mother’s sake never to cease protecting the two Portuguese, and that
consequently, she could not remain inactive now, without breaking that
inward promise.

Her tears and touching feebleness at length melted El Hader, and he
consented to limit the punishment of Sebastian to a month of the hardest
labour in his quarries: “as the fellow is so strong and ingenious,” he
concluded, “I would not part with him, but his countryman, your other
favorite, shall be sold immediately; he is a sickly, stupid,
good-for-nothing dog, and the sooner he is got rid of the better.--see
that you make no attempt to bring these Christian fools to a
leave-taking--if you do, I swear by the beard of the Prophet, that the
slave Fabian shall pay the price of your fault.”

This had been the Almoçadem’s parting command, and Kara Aziek, for
Sebastian’s sake, did not venture to disobey,--she detailed her
father’s resolution with many sighs and expressions of deep regret: the
King turned pale: and an exclamation of grief escaped him; not for
himself he grieved, but for the less healthy Gaspar, who had so long
been accustomed to receive from him comfort and assistance.--

The distress painted on his manly features, was visible to Kara Aziek
through her transparent veil--she hastened to efface it--“I must not
detain thee here,” she said blushing, “even now my heart trembles for
fear, I have done wrong in admitting thee into these apartments--but I
could not deny myself the gratification of telling thee that I will not
lose sight of thy poor friend; if money may avail, Gaspar shall regain
his freedom, and return to Portugal to prepare the way for thee.--Go
Prince! (for I cannot call thee Fabian now) go, and believe that Kara
Aziek knows no other bliss on earth than that of trying to resemble the
ministering spirits of Heaven. Thy rare example first taught her, that
it is noble to live solely for others.”

Sebastian’s heart made a more animated reply to this speech than he
suffered to flow from his lips: her disinterested goodness was exalted
in his eyes from the very circumstance which threatened to weaken its
force: if she loved him, and felt that her peculiar happiness was only
to be found in his presence, what heroic generosity was it, thus to
sacrifice every selfish consideration, by seeking to procure for him the
means of withdrawing to a rival and a distant land.

After expressing some part of his feelings, and tenderly assuring her of
his deep concern at her increased illness, he once more wrapped himself
in the mantle, and passed with Benzaide through the outer chambers.

On quitting that side of the Cassavee, Sebastian proceeded to see and
thank Hafiz, to whom he owed the prompt interference of Aziek: his
acknowledgements were received with a mixture of kindness and anger; for
Hafiz was to lose his services a whole month, and could not comprehend
what he wanted with liberty, when so indulged by him and the Almoçadem.
From the gardens the unfortunate monarch proceeded to the scene of new
labour; there he toiled under a sky like burning brass, without shelter,
almost without sustenance; but his mind was too full of interesting
thoughts to leave him time for noticing bodily suffering: Gaspar and far
distant freedom, tortured remembrance.

Though the strict command of her father deterred Kara Aziek from
attempting to see Sebastian while he wore out his days of penance remote
from Hafiz, she contrived to send him every night various refreshments,
accompanied sometimes by short billets: in one of these she gave him the
unexpected information of Gaspar’s being free, and now on his way to
Portugal.

After a cautious negociation through the means of a Jew merchant, she
had purchased the poor fellow’s liberty by the sale of a few jewels, and
now wrote to animate Sebastian into hopes for himself:--ardent were the
hopes her letter awakened! The King could not doubt but that Gaspar, who
knew in common with every other Portuguese, his engagements with Donna
Gonsalva, would immediately repair to her with the news of his life and
captivity, and that consequently her fond zeal would quicken the
exertions for his release.

It was not in man, however disinterested, to lament the act which would
thus convey to his ministers and his friends the knowledge of his
existence: sincere as was his determination of never calling upon his
subjects for that succour he had a right to demand of them, he was not
insensible to the joy of finding that another was gone to tell the tale
of his sufferings, and to plead for his return. If the people of
Portugal loved their King well enough to tax themselves for his ransom,
he was well inclined to receive that obligation from their affection,
which both pride and principle had forbidden him to extort from their
duty. Not doubting the general sentiment, he surrendered himself up to
delightful anticipations.

But a little while, and he would be free again! As his heart throbbed
high at this blissful thought, it naturally turned with warmer gratitude
to the generous friend from whom it proceeded. Kara Aziek, still dearer
than ever, from her unwearied goodness, was however to be abandoned, and
never more beheld! As well might a brother have contemplated the
prospect of eternally quitting a beloved sister; Sebastian _would_ not
dwell on it, but formed in fancy many romantic plans, each of which had
for its foundation the religious conversion of Kara Aziek.

Towards this new and pleasing project, now suddenly conceived, he
determined to direct the whole force of his heart, that heart which had
never ceased to glow with its original zeal: from this period he devoted
his leisure moments to the recollection and arrangement of such
arguments in favour of Christianity, as appeared to him the most
convincing, and when again brought into the gardens, was enabled to
press them upon Aziek in the interviews she frequently afforded him.

Kara Aziek listened with attention and pleasure, for she loved to hear
him talk upon any subject, more especially upon one which interested her
deeply; but though she afforded Sebastian frequent opportunities for
conversation, and almost wished to believe, as he did, her clear reason
could not blind itself to the monstrous system of Popery: unhappily the
young monarch was not qualified to remove this veil from the simple
beauty of Christianity: he had been educated a devoted son of the Romish
church, and was incapable of perceiving, that but from its unscriptural
authority, and intolerant tenets, Kara Aziek would have ceased to be a
Mahometan.

These constant interviews only tended to fix Sebastian more firmly in
the heart of the gentle Moor; she felt that they did so, but with an
excess of generosity refused to purchase peace for herself, by the
sacrifice of his enjoyments: her society was evidently his chief solace,
and to her unremitting attention he owed every personal comfort; could
she then afflict him by sudden or gradual coldness, by long absences,
and assumed indifference? Sebastian knew her only as his friend, and to
that disinterested character she was resolved never to lose a claim.

Consonant to this resolution, she accustomed herself to talk with him of
Donna Gonsalva, yet at his lover-like description of her rival’s
enchantments, she could not controul those tumultuous feelings, of which
a love so hopeless and so powerful was but too susceptible.

“Happy, happy creature!” she would often exclaim to herself, “could I
believe that _thou_ lovest him, that _any one_ can love him as I do,
what should I lament? but who has seen him like Kara Aziek, a prisoner
and a slave, alternately the object of terror and admiration,
interesting even in his moments of wildest passion, who therefore will
ever learn to forget herself and the whole world in him? Alas! how shall
I live, when he who is become the very soul of my life, is far from me.”

From that painful question Kara Aziek always turned without delay,
striving to be indeed as indifferent as she believed herself, to her own
happiness: love, ingenious at deceit, fondly persuaded her that in
sighing after the bliss of being united to Sebastian she was actuated
solely by this idea, that no one’s affection could equal hers,
consequently that no one would ever watch so attentively over his
conduct and his comfort.

The King himself, hurried away by an earnest desire for her conversion,
no longer saw or thought of her attachment, but dwelt with grateful
enthusiasm upon the joy she might bestow on him, would she yield her
heart to the doctrines of the church, renounce her infidel country, and
consent to become like a sister to his adored Gonsalva. At length he
found that no arguments of his availed to convince her of the fallacy of
her own religion, she had many specious ones to urge in its defence, but
still more to urge against papal Christianity; sorrowing and reluctant
therefore, he relinquished his attempt.

Sebastian now counted the days as they passed, welcoming each on its
arrival, as the day of freedom: Gaspar had been absent above a month;
Kara Aziek had learned at the Moorish court that the Prior of Crato was
alive and in Lisbon, therefore the King; reckoned still more confidently
upon his release: time, however, wore away; days, weeks, months elapsed;
as they fled, still they bore with them some health and spirit from
Sebastian; the excuses he mentally made for his people’s delay and
hesitation hourly decayed, apprehension and indignation took their
place.

Was he to expect succour from his grand uncle, Don Henry? That uncle now
knew the gratifications of absolute power, and might not perhaps feel
willing to resign them: was he to hope for freedom from the voluntary
sacrifices of his people!--those people were the descendants of that
pitiless generation who a century before had basely suffered the infant
Don Ferdinand to die in captivity. Ferdinand had offered himself to the
Moors as a pledge for the fulfilment of a certain treaty, the Portuguese
refused to ratify it, and left him to languish out his youth in
confinement. Such a precedent might but too fatally influence the
present conduct of Portugal.

At this piercing thought, the unhappy monarch lost all self-command, and
no longer restrained the expression of his fears. Sometimes Kara Aziek
would behold him given up to the bitterest grief, imagining his beloved
Gonsalva torn from him by death; at others, she would witness the
whirlwinds of his character, while he conceived himself abandoned by his
subjects, or his relations: resentment and sorrow then swayed him by
turns; and it was only at the sound of her pitying voice, or at the gaze
of her imploring eyes, that he would rein in his anger, or check the
tide of lamentation.

So tossed by various passions, so agitated with many a fond fear, so
surrounded and touched by the ill-disguised tenderness of Kara Aziek,
there were moments in which Sebastian felt her excellence so
exquisitely, that he doubted whether he could be quite happy even in
Portugal with Gonsalva, unless she were there to complete it: his
imprudently-ingenuous nature spoke the sentiment as it arose, fatally
flattering the young and inexperienced Aziek with ideas she was
scarcely conscious of indulging.

The different emotions of each, soon produced a visible effect:
Sebastian lost his strength and his looks; Kara Aziek suddenly became
languid, sick, and sad: when with the King, her eyes no longer dwelt on
him with an apparent forgetfulness of every thing but of that soul whose
movements she was tracing through the eloquent countenance; they were
tearful and downcast, and that irresistible meltingness which used to
make love visible in their floating orbs, was displaced by an expression
of troubled anxiety.

Her careless attire, and unusual fits of abstraction, at length led the
King to suppose that some domestic distress had a principal share in so
painful a change; he interrogated Kara Aziek: as they walked together
with Benzaide under the starry sky, while others slept, he gently strove
to win from her the secret of her affliction; Kara Aziek alternately
blushed and turned pale, sighed and wept, but refused to satisfy him.

Such conduct only stimulated the efforts of a friend whose tenderness
was increased by this first call upon its sympathy; but Aziek, mildly
inflexible, constantly left him at the usual hour in doubt and
conjecture.




CHAP. III.


Sebastian’s suspence did not continue long: one night he was summoned to
meet Aziek in the labyrinth.

It was nearly midnight when his listening ear caught the sound of her
unsteady and hurried steps; she came leaning on her confidential maid:
her veil was down, and he could not therefore behold any peculiar
emotion in her countenance, but he perceived it in her air and voice.

She answered his salutation in broken accents, then sitting down at some
distance from him, was awhile silent.

The green, and now fading lamps, with which the subterraneous passage
was illuminated, cast a melancholy light over the veiled figure of Kara
Aziek; her silence, and the rapidly apprehensive mind of Sebastian
contributed to agitate him beyond measure: he approached her with
extreme solicitude.

“Allow me a little emotion,” she said faintly, averting her head, “I
believe we are about to part for ever! thou art the only friend Kara
Aziek ever had reason to esteem and to regret--ah! if thou shouldest
forget her entirely!”

She stopped, momentarily overcome, affording the King an opportunity for
uttering an exclamation of surprize and of affectionate reproach:
“Prince! she faultered out, thou art free; tomorrow thou mayest return
to Portugal.”

Uncertain whether he had heard aright, Sebastian repeated her words,
conjuring her to say if his senses had deceived him: her answer
transported him to throw himself at her feet; he did not speak, but joy
triumphed on his face, and burnt in the kiss which he imprinted on her
trembling hands.

This excess of joy was what Aziek had thought herself prepared to meet,
yet now it distracted her resolutions, and half-maddened her to exclaim,
“Ah, ungrateful man, is it thus that my friendship is returned!”

Liberty, home, happiness, every dear and oft-remembered object was now
present to the ardent imagination of Sebastian; the names of his country
and of his mistress were the only sounds that escaped his lips: they
penetrated the heart of Kara Aziek: she strove to extricate herself from
the transports of his gratitude and rapture, for, alas! their
impassioned expressions glowed more from anticipated emotions, than from
any that she herself excited.--Faultering and tearful, she besought him
to let her depart.

“Depart!” he repeated, (roused from his selfish delirium) “depart so
soon, when we are to meet no more! Do not poison the felicity you give,
by making me fear that you think me indifferent to the future fate of my
benefactress! You tell me, Aziek, that it is to your intreaties I am
indebted for this blessing, but you do not say how it was
granted--whether you did not incur some wrath.”

Aziek hastened to assure him that she had secured her father’s assent
without incurring his displeasure: “Thy freedom was unexpectedly
offered, upon a condition which I need not detail, as it does not relate
to thee. Take thy liberty, prince! and be convinced that though these
eyes shall never more behold thee, thine image--the memory of thy
misfortunes--thy virtues--thy delightful converse, will exist in my
heart, while life and memory--”

Tears interrupted the sentence, and she cast herself back upon the bosom
of Benzaide.

Vehemently agitated by her emotion, Sebastian pressed her to trust
herself to his honour, and to quit Africa with him: he promised her the
friendship of his Gonsalva, and protection in the exercise of her own
religion; he urged to her the delights of polished society; and perhaps
Aziek would not have resisted his pleadings had they been seconded by
vows of love; but now she was able to feel and to avow the strong claim
of filial obligation.

Her refusal to desert her father was grounded on arguments which the
King wished, but was not able to shake; “Yet I will not say _farewel for
ever_!” he said, “were I able to do so, Kara Aziek, I should abhor
myself: you are dear to me as a sister, you are the object of the
tenderest and truest gratitude that ever penetrated a human heart,--how
then can I consent to forego all thought of beholding you again? If
Providence permit me to regain my former power, the Moors will no longer
find me their enemy: for your sake I will court their friendship, and
when in amity with their Xeriff, may tempt my Gonsalva to cross the sea
in search of her Sebastian’s guardian angel.”

Kara Aziek did not reply; she was overcome by recollection of the price
she must pay for his deliverance, a price which would remove her far
from the seducing prospect he pictured; formed with all the weakness and
strength of woman’s mixed character, she could command her actions but
not her emotions; she could constrain every selfish consideration for
the sake of another, though she knew not how to conceal the grief such
sacrifices cost her: her fast-falling tears now fell without
interruption.

Shocked and afflicted at her excess of sorrow, the young monarch
scarcely knew how to suppose that it originated solely in the regret of
parting from him; indeed he wished to believe otherwise, and suffering
his imagination to take a new direction, importuned her to say whether
she had not heard distressing intelligence of Gaspar, or of some of his
dearest friends in Portugal.

Aziek hastened to relieve his apprehensions, and by exerting herself to
do so, gradually recovered her own composure.

Having succeeded in calming him, she held out a letter, conjuring him
not to open it till he should be restored to Donna Gonsalva; “In it thou
wilt find a braid of Kara Aziek’s jetty hair;” she said, striving to
smile, “thou wilt sometimes look at it, and remember her who gave it
thee: perhaps thou wilt contrast it with the golden tresses and ivory
skin of thy beloved; ah! tell her, as thou dost so, that the heart of
Kara Aziek is fairer than her face.”

As she spoke, she lifted her veil, and fixed on Sebastian her lovely
eyes, now swimming in tears; the look they gave entered his soul:
neither time nor distance ever effaced their impression.--Thrilled with
pity, admiration, and regret, he could only faulter out a repetition of
his hope that they were not parting for the last time; Aziek faintly
repeated that hope, adding, they must now separate, to allow him some
repose ere he began his journey.

“Hafiz is instructed to provide for thy accommodation,”
she continued, “he has my father’s commands.--Adieu,
Prince!--friend!--instructor!--light of my once dark mind!--may thy
prophet, may my prophet conduct thee, not merely to thy throne, but to
the hearts of thy people!”

She turned aside her head while she spoke, and stretched out her hands
to him; the half-distracted and bewildered Sebastian made a movement as
if he would have thrown himself at her feet, but the feelings of nature
triumphed over every idea of established customs, and he found that he
had pressed her to his heart, instead of distantly saluting her hand.

In a tumult of new emotions, Kara Aziek gently pushed him from her,
“Leave me, leave me, Prince!” she exclaimed faintly,--“think of me in
Portugal--remember me there, as the mutual friend of thee and thy
Gonsalva.”

At that name the agitated monarch recovered from a moment’s oblivion; he
fixed his eyes earnestly upon her lovely figure, then lifted them to
heaven, as if invoking blessings on her, and hurried from the grotto.

Occupied with contradictory feelings, the King reached his own
apartment: to sleep was impossible; he walked up and down, watching the
dawn of that day which was either to restore him to liberty, or to crush
him with disappointment. The capriciousness of the Moorish character
made him dread some change in the sentiments of El Hader; yet hope
preponderated, and the joyful tone now given to his mind, dissipated
those fears for Gaspar and Gonsalva which had before tormented him.

How rarely does our reason behold any object uncoloured by the medium
of passion! not a single circumstance had arisen to warrant a change of
opinion, yet Sebastian now banished every suspicion of his people’s
infidelity and his relations unkindness; he recollected the timid spirit
of his uncle, which might have procrastinated, without wishing to
frustrate measures, and warm with present happiness, confidently
anticipated superior felicity in the future.

Giving himself up to the most gratifying anticipations, he rapidly
sketched out plans for times remote, and these still included Kara Aziek
and the benevolent Abensallah:--to Sebastian’s ardent romantic heart,
every thing it wished seemed probable.

An hour after sun-rise Hafiz appeared: he came to inform the Portuguese
that their illustrious master, Mahommed El Hader, had generously granted
his freedom, and that he might depart immediately. At this confirmation
of what he had been so long and apparently so confidently expecting,
Sebastian’s emotion rendered him speechless: meanwhile Hafiz poured
forth a most pathetic lamentation.

It was some time ere the King could comfort him sufficiently to obtain
information about his route: his sole aim was to travel expeditiously
and safely towards some Christian settlement; this was an object not
easily attained. Unless under the protection of natives or licensed
merchants, a liberated captive was but too likely to fall into a second
captivity: Hafiz knew no way for his friend to avoid such a mischance,
except by joining a party of travelling traders from Syria, who were
going that very day from Mequinez to a Moorish port, between Tangier and
Ceutah. From this port a passage might easily be obtained in one of
those vessels employed in carrying on a contraband trade with the coast
of Spain, or the King might hazard a short expedition alone, and strike
across to the Christian town.

The journey from Mequinez was indeed long and fatiguing, but it would be
performed leisurely, and as the road lay near Benzeroel, would afford
Sebastian an opportunity of ascertaining whether Abensallah were yet
alive. After settling this important point, a most momentous
consideration remained: how were the expences of this journey to be
defrayed! happily the Almoçadem had given orders that the Christian
should be conveyed whither he chose, at his cost, and therefore nothing
now remained but to take leave of his fellow prisoners.

Never before had the King; felt so acutely for his brethren in
affliction; the alteration in his own situation appeared to deepen the
misery of theirs: he parted from them with many expressions of sympathy,
charged with commissions to various quarters of the globe, and
promising faithfully to have them all executed.

From the slave-court Sebastian returned through the gardens, bidding a
joyful farewel to every structure and every plant that his labour had
formed or fostered: yet regret mingled with gladness, for these gardens
were the peculiar property of Kara Aziek, and her gentle image appeared
to rise at every turning to reproach him.

Hafiz had obtained permission to attend his favorite slave to Mequinez:
as they mounted their mules at the great gate of the Cassavee, Sebastian
recalled the last time he had passed those gates after his fruitless
attempt at escape; he was then returning he believed to eternal
thraldom; but four months had elapsed since, and as if by miracle his
chains were broken!

The mules were swift of foot, and well acquainted with their road; when
they had conveyed their riders to the top of an eminence leading from
the valley, Sebastian turned round to take a farewel look of the
habitation that contained Kara Aziek. The gilded pinnacles of her
apartment glittered above rows of tall cypress trees; he breathed
unnumbered blessings on her, fixed his eyes for some moments upon that
quarter of the Cassavee, then spurred his mule down the opposite side of
the declivity.

An arrangement with the merchants was quickly made by Hafiz, who paid
beforehand the charges of his companion’s journey; at parting, the
good-natured man shed tears, which Sebastian repaid by sincere
expressions of esteem and everlasting sense of obligation: he was
preparing to commence his journey, when one of the Syrians brought him a
packet which Hafiz had instructed him to deliver when he should be on
his return; the King took, and eagerly opened it.

Its contents were a purse containing several gold sequins, some valuable
jewels, and a number of those small shells which then passed current
through Africa, and are still known there by the name of Barbary money;
upon them lay a slip of vellum, with these words written on
it--“Unforeseen accidents may render this purse of use to the friend of
Kara Aziek.”

This fragment of her hand-writing made the amiable Moor almost present
to Sebastian; he looked intently on the characters, sighed and sighed
again, for memory too forcibly told him, that in striving to succour him
she had lost her own peace. Closing the packet with a mixture of
gratitude and regret, he mounted the animal provided for him, and began
his route.

The men with whom he travelled, were too much occupied in calculations
of profits and losses to interrupt their companion’s reveries; they were
furnished with an order from the Almoçadem, purporting that Fabian his
slave was going on business to the sea-coast, and therefore not to be
detained on suspicion of being a runaway: in consequence of this, their
progress was unmolested, and they continued journeying on slowly, but
safely.

The traveller’s road lay near Alcazar; it crossed that fatal plain,
where, above twelvemonths before, the King of Portugal, at the head of a
few gallant troops, had rashly braved the whole force of Morocco: what
were his emotions when he now entered on it!

The meridian sun blazed over its broad and arid surface, marking with a
glaring light every spot affecting to memory: Sebastian transiently
closed his eyes, as if to shut out a picture, that, alas! was painted
yet stronger on his mind. That dismal plain covered with dead, such as
he had seen it with Abensallah, was even more present to him than the
one he actually saw: Stukeley, De Castro, the young Braganza, every dear
and lamented associate, pressed upon recollection; those deep wounds of
the heart which new anxieties had closed, now opened afresh, and he
became once more the prey of profound though unavailing remorse.

Given up to gloomy retrospects, Sebastian sought to indulge them alone
and at liberty; for this purpose he took advantage of his companion’s
halting for refreshment, and went to visit the tower where Sir Thomas
Stukeley fell. His path was whitened with human bones! he trod amongst
them hastily, yet apprehensively, for whether these were the last mortal
relics of Moors or Portuguese, they were still the relics of men.

Seen under the cheerful light of day, the broken watch tower was not in
itself so dreary an object as it had appeared by the glimmering of
moon-light, but Sebastian viewed it with still drearier reflections:
time had altered his sentiments, and taught him to consider the blood
shed under those walls, as blood shed uselessly and madly; but for his
fanatic enthusiasm, Stukeley might have been then living honored and
happy.

Struck with this thought he slowly approached the ruins, that he might
look for the last time on the spot where he had found his friend’s body;
as he advanced, two men issued from the shattered gateway, and passed
him; one of them started as he passed, and stopped--Sebastian moved on,
thoughtless of personal danger. He had gained the place he sought, and
had stood sadly contemplating it, when, on raising his eyes, as he
turned away, they were arrested by the sight of faces peeping at him
through the lower branches of some trees: in one of these he recognized
the dark scowl of Ben Tarab.

Instinctively he grasped the head of a loaded pistol which he wore in
his girdle; this action, and the sudden blaze of his eyes, made the
cowardly Moor relinquish his hold of the tree, its boughs closed as he
let them hastily out of his hand, preventing Sebastian from seeing
which way he went.

Somewhat disturbed at this unexpected rencontre, the young monarch stood
for a moment to determine on his future movements, he was too conscious
of Ben Tarab’s animosity not to apprehend its effects, and therefore
thought it best to rejoin his companions without incurring fresh risk by
attempting alone to find the cave of Abensallah: regretting this
necessity, he hastened from the ruins, and looking back, beheld Ben
Tarab and his comrade stealing between the trees and the wall in the
same direction with himself.

Once more he turned round and stopt, determining to accost the Moor and
be satisfied if the meeting were accidental; but on seeing him pause,
Ben Tarab again retreated and concealed himself among the broken walls:
Sebastian then resumed the road to his friends.

The travellers had pitched a tent on the plain, and were therefore
visible at a great distance: through the loop holes of the tower Ben
Tarab now watched the course of the King, and saw him enter their tent;
he then descended, and rejoicing at the chance which had led him to this
spot for temporary shelter from the heat, called his associate and ran
off to the town of Alcazar.

On rejoining the merchants, Sebastian thought it best to speak of his
adventure and the apprehension he grounded on it: one of the Syrians to
whom Hafiz had peculiarly recommended his favorite, proposed immediate
departure; if Ben Tarab wished to cast obstacles in their way, he might
easily find means for doing so, by questioning the freedom of Sebastian,
or by informing some of the Emperor’s officers in Alcazar, who would
then seize him for their master’s service. Under this idea it was fit
the whole party should hasten to get the start of the Moor.

Their tents were now struck, their camels re-loaded, and bidding adieu
to the pleasing hope of seeing Abensallah, Sebastian mounted a swift
horse and resumed his journey.

They had scarcely passed the boundaries of the plain, when a party of
horsemen from Alcazar, overtook and detained them: the King gave himself
up for lost; but he dissembled this despair, and met the scrutiny of the
Moorish soldiers with apparent composure. Surrounded by armed guards,
Ben Tarab could rail and threaten with impunity: he accused Sebastian of
being a runaway slave; to oppose this assertion, the principal merchant
simply produced the writing and signet to the Almoçadem, purporting that
the Christian who accompanied them was a servant of his, bearing
important dispatches to the Alcayde of Kouf.--At sight of this
convincing testimony, the Moors began to excuse themselves, and were
about to depart, when Ben Tarab called their captain aside and said a
few words to him in a low, furious tone; the officer directly
countermanded his men, telling the merchants that as they were going to
travel through a Cavila then in a state of insurrection, he would honour
the Almoçadem’s messenger by escorting him to the Alcayde and afterwards
protecting him back to Mequinez.

At this masterly trick of Ben Tarab’s the blood forsook the face of
Sebastian, but it rushed indignantly back, while haughtily braving his
fate he told the Moorish captain to lead on.--Ben Tarab eyed his
changing countenance with a doubtful look;--

“If thou art not a runaway,” he said, “thou and thy master will thank us
for this safe guard; and if thou art deceiving us, thy punishment will
not wait for the sentence of El Hader, whose signet thou must have
stolen; the Alcayde of Kouf will doom thee to death immediately.”

“_Thou_ art not my judge,” replied the King, directing a withering
glance towards him: intimidated by former scenes, the malicious wretch
nimbly fell into the ranks of his military comrades, and proposed
advancing in their journey; the merchants acquiesced. None but the
acquaintance of Hafiz knew the real destination of Sebastian, and they
were therefore pleased to find, that instead of being detained by this
adventure, it would expedite and protect them: they proceeded on their
way, headed and flanked by the soldiers, who were content to observe the
object of their suspicion riding in the centre:--

While Ben Tarab was exulting in an accidental meeting, which had thus
enabled him at least to annoy, if not to frustrate the supposed design
of his former enemy, Sebastian was ruminating upon some mode of escape:
not one presented itself: he must either confess that he was made free,
and going to embark for Portugal, or try a bold experiment on the
Alcayde.

To dare the former, would be madness, because all Christian captives
above the rank of artizans or peasants, belonged by law to the Xeriffs;
Ben Tarab could therefore plausibly question El Hader’s right to
liberate him, until his true rank were ascertained, and such a scrutiny
would be destruction: he then resolved to hazard a suddenly-conceived
stratagem.

During the time in which they halted for the night, he selected a superb
diamond from the jewels of Kara Aziek, and placing it in the embroidered
purse by itself, folded it in a piece of brocade after the Moresco
fashion, and deposited it in his breast. The character of the Alcayde
had been given him by Hafiz’s friend, to whom he communicated his plan,
and upon that he built for success.

After some days of wearisome travelling, and days full of agitation, the
cavalcade came in sight of the chief town in the province of Kouf; the
merchants were suffered to pursue their way to the port they sought,
leaving Sebastian, whom they dared not attempt detaining, solely to
fortune and his guards.

Ben Tarab’s ferocious eyes glared with satisfaction as he followed his
unprotected victim into the Alcayde’s house; disdaining to notice him,
Sebastian calmly proceeded.--while passing from the court to the
audience-hall, his upright mind shrunk from unmanly deception; he was
tempted to risk the truth, though convinced it would throw him again
into slavery; but his country, his duties, his beloved, all tugged at
his heart-strings, and aided by the universal toleration of stratagem
under circumstances like his, weakened every other impression: he sighed
over the bitter necessity of the act, besought Heaven to pardon it if
really culpable, then entered the hall.

His fate was quickly decided: the gem he brought, appeared an undeniable
proof that he came direct from El Hader; he presented it in his master’s
name, alledging that the Almoçadem had sent it as a friendly token,
requiring from his relation in return only a satisfactory account of the
province he governed, as it was said at Mequinez, to be ripe for
revolt.--The credulous Alcayde readily promised to give him every
information on the morrow; and immediately issued orders, for the guards
from Alcazar to be refreshed in his house, and lodged there during their
stay.

Sebastian now carelessly told him the story of their officious
protection, at which the foolish Alcayde laughed heartily, though he
deigned to say, they had not acted amiss; and telling the Christian to
repose himself wherever he chose, left him for the night.

It was quite dark at this time, and the room in which Sebastian
remained, opened into a piazza on the outer side of the house: the sound
of laughter and voices, mixed with the sharp notes of a tabor, and the
ringing of drinking cups, assured him that Ben Tarab and his followers
were already relaxing from their watchings, among the domestics of the
Alcayde.--The Syrian had hastily sketched out to him the site of a
neighbouring village, from whence he might possibly cross to Spain, (for
to reach Ceutah or Tangier undiscovered, was out of the question) and by
the rocks he saw towering before him, he knew the village must be at
hand: now then was the moment for flight. He felt in his sash to
ascertain if the remainder of Kara Aziek’s present was safe, and feeling
it under his hand, he pushed open a latticed door, and sprung into the
piazza.

A short winding path brought him to a slanting defile of rocks, whose
feet were washed by the united seas of the Atlantic and Mediterranean;
the sublime sound of their waves, first quickened the motion of
Sebastian’s heart and steps; he rushed forwards, and their vast volume
of waters, heaving under a clouded sky, burst upon his view.

Joy unnerved him; he stood rivetted for awhile, straining his eager eyes
towards the shore of Spain. Through the dusky night, the lofty rock of
Gibraltar (towering like some fabled giant) was alone dimly discernible;
its watch-fires cast a sullen gloom above the horizon, now ascending
steadily, now blown by sudden gusts along the air, roused by the
creaking of vessels, the King started from his trance, and hurried to
the village.

It consisted of a few fishing-huts, and except an old man and his son
who were busy in towing their bark to shore, all its inhabitants were
gone to rest. There was just light enough for these men to see in the
hand of Sebastian, a heap of sequins, with which he tempted them to put
off immediately for any port on the opposite coast: they hesitated only
a short time; his ardent intreaties and persuasive manner, but above
all, his gold, decided them to incur any risks, they once more hoisted
their sail, he leaped into the bark, and in a few minutes they were far
out at sea.

Is there a heart to which liberty is sacred, to which a country and a
home are dear, that does not throb with anxiety for Sebastian? and if
that heart has known the bitterness of long and hopeless exile from
these blessings, will it not paint his feelings only too faithfully?--

As the little boat flew direct before the wind, and the waves roared and
foamed round its slender keel, the King of Portugal sat motionless, like
one stunned; his eyes indeed moved; they roved over every object again
and again, to impress their reality upon his mind with that assurance he
felt it needed: doubtfully he hearkened to the splashing of the sea,
mistrusting the evidence of every sense, and unable to steady or to
compose his thoughts.

Assuredly joy overcomes us more frequently than sorrow: perhaps it is
because we arm ourselves against the latter, and abandon ourselves to
the former without reserve.

While myriads of bright visions were passing and repassing through
Sebastian’s entranced imagination, the fisherman and his son were
shifting their sail and tacking about with plodding indifference; they
neither observed nor shared their royal companion’s emotion.

The wind continued favorable, the coast of Africa receded, and the
fertile mountains of Grenada and Andalusia advanced from the horizon:
the vessel now ran into a creek, and disembarked her crew.

The moment Sebastian’s foot pressed Christian ground, he threw himself
down and embraced it; gratitude and adoration locked up the powers of
speech; so much pain and pleasure melted his heart, that it was too big
for utterance, and he wept. His companions did not long allow him an
indulgence of this honorable weakness, their voices made him start from
the earth, he flung them their reward, and then they hastened away.




CHAP. IV.


Day was just breaking over the high tops of an olive ground, beneath
which stood a solitary cottage; Sebastian approached, and unwillingly
roused its inhabitants: they were a simple good couple, and finding that
their disturber was a Portuguese escaped from Barbary, they brought him
in, forced refreshment on him, half-wearied him with questions, and at
length resigned to him the only bed their habitation afforded.

Secure of freedom, and of all the blessings in its train, the King
hastened to give repose, both to his body and to his mind; his exhausted
spirit bathed itself in a long and deep sleep, which not even a blissful
dream disturbed: the noon-day sun awoke him to a livelier sense of what
he had regained.

Glowing with rapturous emotions, and eagerly anticipating that moment
which should restore him to Donna Gonsalva, he knew it would be
impossible for him to endure those delays which must arise, were he to
declare himself in Spain or in his own dominions, ere he had reached
Xabregas; he therefore determined upon travelling disguised, and giving
himself the romantic delight of surprizing her.

Having told the people who lodged him that he was a Portuguese officer
journeying homewards, he had no difficulty in procuring a guide and
mules to take him through Andaluzia, the low condition of the men with
whom he must associate during his journey, would render a recognition of
his person very improbable, and relying on this circumstance, he left
the sea-coast without apprehension of discovery.

In one of the valleys through which he passed, the ringing of a convent
bell gave the welcome tidings of evening prayers; how many months had
elapsed since that holy sound had spoken to him of heaven! he hastened
to obey its summons, and leaving his guide in charge of the mules, went
into the chapel: scarcely any one was there except a few poor monks.
Sebastian prostrated himself before the image of his dying Saviour, and
the emotion of his heart again flowed out in tears.

Tears like these the manliest eyes need not disdain shedding; nay, tears
like these, honor him who sheds them.

Animated by this delightful act of duty, he retired immediately after
the service, and regained the muleteer; they set forward once more
towards Portugal.

Traversing the luxuriant vineyards of Andaluzia, they followed for some
time the course of the Gaudiana, then crossing its stream, they left its
wild rocky banks far behind, entering upon that part of Portugal which
is denominated the kingdom of Algarve.

As Sebastian descended the steep heights that divide the two countries,
the winds sweeping over his native land, came on his sense with
imaginary sweetness: at every gale, the remembrance of former joys
became more vivid, and his heart beat with additional impatience.
Freedom had so intoxicated him, that he hoped even against
probabilities, expecting to find his Gonsalva’s beauty and health
unimpaired, and his uncle willing to resign the sovereign power without
a struggle.

Sometimes grateful thought turned back to Africa, and a blessing on the
gentle Kara Aziek would burst from his lips; but such thoughts were
transient, for love, friendship, and a kingdom, were before him.

Travelling without intermission, only snatching a hasty meal
occasionally at some goatherd’s cabin, or under solitary shades.
Sebastian, with his guide, quickly traversed Algarve, penetrated through
a pass of the Sierras de Caldaraon successively into the provinces of
Alentejo and Estremadura, and at last found himself in the vicinity of
his own capital.

Having dismissed his guide, he now sought some obscure house where he
might make such enquiries as hitherto he had urged in vain: the people
whom he questioned could merely tell him that the prior of Crato had,
indeed, escaped from Barbary very soon after his capture, and that the
cardinal King was declining fast.--Of Donna Gonsalva they knew nothing.

In those days information of court changes did not travel down to the
lower ranks of society, as it does now in these freer times; newspapers
and magazines were then unknown; the titled and the powerful were
considered like so many gods, and their actions were as imperfectly
known and as rarely scrutinized as if they really dwelt above the
clouds.--Sebastian, therefore, was forced to satisfy himself with the
belief, that if she had fallen a sacrifice to grief, her death must have
become public, he consequently concluded that she was still living in
the palace of Xabregas.

To Xabregas hastened the young and impassioned lover. While hurrying
over the road which led to it, his warm fancy pictured in endless
variety the circumstances of their meeting; the well-remembered beauty
and enchantments of Gonsalva agitated him to weakness: “Another moment
and I shall hold her in my arms!” he exclaimed, hastily advancing to the
private gate of her abode. The gate yielded to his hand; he entered, and
treading lightly across an angle of the garden, passed into a pavilion
whence issued a secret passage leading into the state apartments of the
palace.

The springs of every door were known to Sebastian; he pressed one, which
opening, led him into the subterranean gallery: breathless, trembling,
almost flying, he was at the entrance of a favorite room of Donna
Gonsalva’s ere he thought of the alarm his appearance might cause her;
he paused, and for that instant his limbs failed under him; but the
sound of Gonsalva’s voice banished every temperate consideration,
new-strung his nerves, and made him suddenly push open the door.

Donna Gonsalva was standing alone with her back towards him, she turned
round, and Sebastian beheld again that resplendent beauty which had
never for a moment been absent from his thoughts.--He rushed forwards
and fell at her feet.

Overpowered with the violence and the variety of his emotions, her very
name expired in sighs on his lips, and he could only cover her hands
with kisses and with tears.

At sight of a man coarsely habited and obscured with dust, Donna
Gonsalva uttered a cry of terror; but the action of Sebastian, his
emotion, the well-known touch of his lips and hands, the very
circumstance of his entering by a private way, made him apparent to her:
she turned deadly pale, and sunk upon a seat without speaking.

Her impassioned lover hastened to support her in his arms: “Yes,
Gonsalva!” he exclaimed, in a voice broken by excess of joy--“My own
Gonsalva! it is your Sebastian who now presses you to his enraptured
heart.”

Amazement! Donna Gonsalva struggled in his embrace. Still silent, she
endeavoured to escape from his arms, sometimes appearing on the point of
calling for assistance, and then suddenly checking herself.

The young King hastily threw off his hat and pushed aside his hair;
“Look at me, my beloved!” he exclaimed wildly, “look at me and
acknowledge your Sebastian; changed as my person is, surely my voice,
this agitation--”

“Release me!” interrupted Gonsalva, averting her head still more,--“I
know you not: Don Sebastian is dead.”

The King looked at her with surprize, amounting to stupefaction; “Dead!”
he repeated, “you have believed me dead, and yet live on in health and
beauty--Gonsalva, is this reception acted to try me?--O yes, yes,” he
added, again falling passionately at her feet,--“You cannot have
forgotten me,--you cannot have ceased to love the man who has suffered
so long, so much, and so faithfully.” Again he wrapt his arms round her,
and again she struggled and broke away.

As she fled towards one of the doors, her foot struck against a little
couch and awoke an infant that was sleeping there. At the sound of a
child’s cry, Sebastian was transfixed, but instantly recovering, he
sprung forwards and tearing off the covering mantle, beheld a boy whose
features appeared to mingle those of two well-known faces: his eyes
flashed from the couch to Donna Gonsalva. Covered with confusion, and
scarcely conscious of what she was doing, she hurried back, and threw
herself on the bed to conceal the child.

Pale, aghast, speechless, lost in a mist of frightful apprehensions,
Sebastian remained gazing on her; crowds of agonizing recollections, of
vanishing hopes and wishes, floated confusedly before him. Was this the
welcome he had expected? was this the fond Gonsalva whose gratitude and
friendship he had pledged so liberally to Kara Aziek and to Gaspar? was
this she, for whose dear sake he had slighted, afflicted, and abandoned
the tenderest of hearts.

“Gonsalva!” he sternly said, after a long silence, “you know me, and you
are false. Nay, attempt not to fly;” he added, seizing her arm with an
iron grasp, “stay and explain this damned mystery.”

The hitherto-confounded beauty now haughtily raised herself, and making
a bold effort, ordered him to leave her. “Whoever you are, she added,
that dares usurp the name of Don Sebastian, and intrude thus upon my
privacy, I command you to quit me: the King of Portugal, were he indeed
alive would not have presented himself thus before me.”

The air of disdain with which she spoke was yet clouded with terror.
Sebastian’s reason became unsettled: “by the blessed mother of Jesus!”
he cried, “I know not what to think! is it possible that only fourteen
months have so utterly changed my person, my voice, my manner, that
_you_ should doubt my identity? O Gonsalva, bless me but by saying that
Sebastian’s memory still reigns in your heart, and I will soon convince
you that it is he who now stands before you agonized and disappointed.”

Again love and hope, mingled with grief, floated his eyes; Donna
Gonsalva uttered a few inarticulate, evasive words: in astonishment the
King looked wildly at her, then at himself, and seizing the arm he had
let go, he dragged her towards a mirror, where he gazed intently for a
moment upon his own figure, exclaiming in a voice of thunder, “I am
_not_ so changed! you know me, faithless, inhuman woman!”

The fury of his looks made Gonsalva’s frail heart quail within her; fear
banished artifice, and she sunk to the ground, imploring him by name,
not to destroy her.

As self-preservation was now her first object, she besought him to
forgive her infidelity--to allow for the desperation of her present
shame, to be assured that the belief of his death and the unceasing
importunities of Don Antonio de Crato, had alone rendered her untrue. At
the name of her new lover the unfortunate Sebastian staggered a few
paces and fell against the side of the apartment: What a blow, to find
himself at the same instant betrayed by his friend and by his mistress!

Terrified at the consequences of her imprudent disclosure, Gonsalva
began to intercede for her guilty lover and her child: Sebastian ran his
eyes over her without speaking; despair and destruction was in that
devouring look; it increased the terror of Gonsalva, and she clung to
his knees, sobbing out expressions of penitence.--Invincible beauty
still gave an angel’s semblance to her deceptive features; as Sebastian
beheld that heavenly countenance deluged with tears, his head swam, his
heart melted, his convictions were shaken; Gonsalva saw her advantage,
and redoubled her seducing contrition; but at that moment the accidental
disorder of her drapery discovered that she would soon again become a
mother.

Recovered by this sight, he broke away, and hurried to the cradle: for
awhile he stood over it with a terrible countenance; his looks changed
every instant, all his joints shook, he did not speak, but the drops of
agony on his forehead seemed to say, “Live on! thou hast not betrayed
me.”

Hastily he averted his head from the mother and child, and without
having uttered a word, rushed from the apartment.

Darting along the private passages, and then taking the first path that
presented itself, he was soon several miles from the groves of Xabregas.

The mind of Sebastian was now in that tumultuous state which is the very
acme of misery; a state in which every object of suffering is distinctly
perceived, while memory appears sharpened by the very acuteness of
regret: like the waves of a stormy sea, thought urged on thought,
without order or intermission; those hours once spent with Gonsalva and
Antonio, and those expectations, which for fourteen long months had
cheered the gloom of slavery, now thronged on him like spectres. He
traversed hills, valleys, and woods, with the rapidity of madness,
vainly seeking to fly from himself.

Night was far spent, when he heard himself addressed by a stranger; he
stopt, and beheld an honest-looking man standing at the door of a
solitary little inn, where some travellers were just alighting from
their horses.

“What makes you journey through such a night as this?” said the man, “If
you have a mind for a shelter, stay here and welcome; by your garb you
seem a poor fellow and not able to pay for a supper--yet you shall have
something to eat nevertheless.”

Sebastian paused at the voice of kindness, and found that he was indeed
roving about under a dreadful storm: the rain failing in sheets had
wetted him through, and he was without a hat, having left it in the
chamber of Donna Gonsalva.--Bowing silently, he followed the benevolent
innkeeper.

On the threshold of his door the good man paused, and holding a lamp up
to Sebastian’s face, uttered an exclamation of surprise at his haggard
looks, adding, “However, there’s something in that countenance that
tells me I am not going to harbour a robber, so come in poor fellow.”

Sebastian followed him into a large kitchen where the horsemen who
preceded him were already seating themselves near a fire: by their dress
and mien two of them appeared noble, and the remaining four, their
attendants. They took no notice of the King, but called for wine and
omelets, and began discoursing about the weather: meanwhile the humane
landlord offered his humbler looking guest some cheese and onions;
Sebastian in a low voice declined the coarse supper; he wrapt himself up
in his capote and stood remote from the fire, thinking upon the past
scene with Donna Gonsalva.

Of her guilt, and that of his cousin Antonio, he could scarcely doubt;
her own confession, and the existence of the child, were proofs
undeniable, and from the apparent age of the latter it was evident, that
their criminal intercourse must have begun ere the period of his
attachment to Gonsalva: the conduct and conversation of Don Emanuel,
(hitherto so mysterious) then flashed across his mind, and his blood
froze when he thought that, but for his persevering conduct, he might
have become the husband of Antonio’s mistress.

With what piercing regret did he recall the harsh treatment of the
generous De Castro, who had too surely suspected, if not known, the
guilty secret!--A groan now escaped him that made the company start:
fearful of exciting curiosity, he drew his cloak round his face, and
moved further from the light, complaining of a sudden pain.--The
travellers eyed him suspiciously and laid fire-arms on the table.

Of his Crown and his people, Sebastian thought no more; the monstrous
ingratitude of Antonio, the perfidy of Gonsalva, and their mutual
duplicity, (which he vainly endeavoured to trace back to some suspicious
circumstances,) alone occupied him; he did not even glance towards the
measures he should pursue for the recovery of his rights as a sovereign;
but while he sat lost in rumination, the sound of his own name made him
start: it was spoken in a conversation now held in Latin by the two
superior travellers.--Attention completely roused, enabled him to catch
every word, though the men spoke in low tones, and seemed afraid that
not even a learned language was a sufficient guard for their subject.

The moment these travellers laid aside their large feathered hats,
Sebastian recognized two of his own courtiers.

“You will find it difficult to convince me of this,” said the younger.

“What! you don’t doubt the fact?” cried his companion, “do you
disbelieve that a man, arrived from Africa, who asserted it to be true?”

“No, I do not question that;” rejoined the other, “but I believe the
fellow told an impudent lie. Don Sebastian fell at Alcazar, as sure as
yon poor rogue stands shivering in the corner.”

“I am not of your opinion:” answered the elder gentleman, “I was present
when this man from Barbary brought the intelligence to Don Antonio; his
account was so clear and circumstantial that I did not scruple to avow
my faith in it: and though Don Antonio pretended to treat it with
contempt; I saw it alarmed him dreadfully; and well it might, for the
return of Don Sebastian would be a day of awkward reckoning for him.”

“Pshaw!” exclaimed the other cavalier, “had Don Antonio believed the
impostor, policy would have made him stop the news-bringer’s mouth.”

“The Portuguese seemed to guess as much,” returned the former speaker,
“for though he promised to come again on the ensuing day, he posted off
from Crato to the houses of different nobles, telling the same story,
and praying to have it carried to the King.”

“Well! and why were all these persons unbelievers too, if the tale
appeared so true?”

“Why?--because every one of them are either pretenders to the
succession, or friends to the pretenders. Some were partizans of Philip
of Spain, others of the Braganzas, the Prince of Parma, &c. nobles who
knew well that the restoration of their former sovereign would not
afford them such a chance for power, as a scramble amongst numbers. Our
old Cardinal draws to an end, in a few months perhaps the Spaniard will
sit on his throne, (for in my opinion he stands the best chance), and we
all got a hint of the way to please Philip, by hearing how rigorously he
treated every officer who returned from Africa, and ventured to speak
doubtfully of Sebastian’s death. If Don Sebastian could get here by
miracle, he would not find a man in Portugal unbiassed by some faction;
he might return to his chains.”

That Sebastian of whom he spoke, was now kindling into fury; he gnawed
his nether lip, and grasped his cloak with a convulsive action.--The
last speaker resumed.

“Every body concludes that our present monarch relished the first report
of his nephew’s being alive as little as Philip; for I can tell you that
Don Emanuel de Castro would not have got the viceroyalty of Brazil had
it not been deemed politic to send him out of a country which he was
continually agitating by assertions of Sebastian’s existence: nay, the
silence of his ministers on the subject of this last report, and the
disappearance of the poor devil himself, speaks pretty plain; the rope
or the cup has most likely silenced him for ever.”

At this horrible conjecture, the joy of hearing that De Castro lived,
and was in a land of freedom, gave way to anguish, a second groan burst
from the unhappy King, the speakers stopt, and fixed their eyes on him.

“Who is this fellow?” asked one of them: “a sick traveller, I fancy,”
replied the landlord, drawing near and speaking softly, “or rather I
should think a poor youth crossed in love: for he has a noble
countenance, full of grievous wildness, and was roving about under all
that storm without feeling it.”

The good man now approached with a cup of wine, to which Sebastian put
his lips, that he might avoid importunity, acknowledging that he was
sick: the travellers resumed their discourse.

“For my part,” said one, “I would never draw a sword to rescue Don
Sebastian, his court was too moral for me: neither Venus nor Bacchus was
worshipped there, and where they are not worshipped, I beg leave to make
my congé. Besides, he put a public affront upon my cousin, the young
Marquis Cellamare: he happened to carry off the daughter of a merchant;
the old man got her back after one night’s absence only, yet he
complained to the King, and he insisted on Cellamare’s offering her
honourable reparation in presence of her family and his own: the girl
(tutored by Don Sebastian, no doubt), affected to despise such
reparation, preferred taking the veil, and refused him.”

“Refused him!” repeated the other.

“Yes, indeed: the degradation was thus made worse than if she had
polluted his illustrious blood by becoming his wife: you were not in
Portugal then, I know.”

“No, I was in Italy,” rejoined his companion, “now I know your
sentiments, I will frankly confess that I do not pray for the
rash-brained monarch’s return--he was liberal enough, to be sure, but
then he exacted heavy returns.--For instance, he gave me a regiment, but
it was on condition I followed his mad course to Morocco: fortunately
the opportune sickness and death of my wife kept me at home. No, no, Don
Sebastian made away with all his friends, when he led on twenty thousand
Portuguese like himself, to slaughter, at Alcazar.”

Quivering with restrained fury, his eyes striking fire, the young
monarch started from his seat, and half-sprung towards the ungrateful
miscreants--but suddenly recollecting himself, he turned away, and
hastily left the apartment.

As he went through a passage opening into a field, he found the
landlord had followed him: “What is the matter with thee, friend!” said
he, “my guests pronounce thee mad, and recommend my turning thee out: I
have not heart to do that--Lopez Vernara never yet closed his door on
the houseless.”

Sebastian turned round with a look of anguish somewhat sweetened by
grateful feelings; “I am not mad--not quite mad,” he said, “though at
this moment the most wretched of men. Fear nothing from me, honest
Lopez--suffer me only to rest in some place where the sound of human
voice may not reach me. I can reward thee, for I am not so poor as I
seem.”

The good innkeeper pointed to a barn at a little distance. “Go there,”
he said, “you will find plenty of clean straw, and no soul shall disturb
you. Jesu help thee, poor youth, thou lookest at thy wit’s end!” Lopez
turned back into the house as he concluded, and Sebastian wildly trode
the path before him.

The information afforded by the two travellers had thrown his mind into
fresh tumults: to find himself thus blotted out from his subjects’
hearts, hated for his justice, derided by those he had served, betrayed
by those he loved, forgotten almost by the whole world, an outcast even
in his own kingdom--was a consummation to his misery, which not even
misanthropy could have imagined. Murdered for his sake, Gaspar seemed to
cry aloud for vengeance: yet where was he to find the means of
retribution, when the court, the army, and the people, were steeled
against him?

What a return! and how fearful was the spectacle which it presented!--as
if a veil had been torn off by some invisible power, he beheld every
heart in which he fondly thought himself cherished, false to their vows,
and panting for his blood! his sick soul--“sick unto death,”--turned
from object to object with increasing anguish: the only human beings
whose love could be relied on, were out of his reach; De Castro, though
living, was beyond the Atlantic, Gaspar in the grave, and Kara Aziek in
the hateful empire of Morocco.

These convictions half-disordered Sebastian’s brain: he walked with an
irregular pace, sometimes stopping, then darting eagerly forwards;
alternately striking his breast and his forehead, repeating, as their
images shot through his mind, the names of Gaspar, Antonio, and the
perfidious Gonsalva.

Though it was his wish and his interest to remain unknown, the mere
circumstance of having passed unrecognized by two men whom he had so
often noticed, joined to the singular fortune of never having been once
suspected for their King by any of the Portuguese, now completed his
anguish: distempered in mind, he saw not a single exception to the
prevalent forgetfulness; but wild with grief, with indignation, with
blasted expectations, hurried into the barn and cast himself on a heap
of straw: “Leave me my reason, O, God!” he exclaimed, in a voice, the
tone of which proclaimed a reason just tottering on the verge of
madness.

At that sound, a rustling was heard amongst the straw, Sebastian started
up, the next moment a large rough dog sprung towards him, and leaping
against his breast, sent forth a cry of joy: “Barémel! Barémel!--O,
heaven! and art thou then the only one?” Interrupted by a gush of
tenderness, the houseless monarch clasped his dumb friend in his arms;
then recollecting the last time he had seen him, and the words he had
spoken, “Stay and be loved for my sake,” his heart became so subdued
that he burst into tears, and wept with all the vehemence of a woman.

Whining and fawning on him, Barémel lay at his master’s feet, with
upturned eyes, expressive of that instinctive attachment which so often
shames the affection of reasoning man: the King now stood painfully
contemplating this added proof of popular instability; “If thou hadst
become hateful to Antonio’s mistress,” he exclaimed, “was there none of
my court who would take thee in, and cherish thee for my sake!--poor
Barémel! from a palace to a shed!--the favorites of fallen princes can
hope for nothing better.”--He smiled gloomily, and sinking down on the
straw, laid his head upon the body of Barémel.

The happy animal seemed proud of his royal burthen; Sebastian then fell
into a train of less distracted but equally wounding thought, till by
degrees stupor succeeded to frenzy; his feelings became benumbed and “a
waveless calm” spread over them: imperceptibly every agitating image
faded away, till deep sleep, like midnight darkness, buried all things
in profound oblivion.

Early the next day, after seeing his nobler guests on their horses,
Lopez came to learn how the poor traveller had rested; he found him
asleep with Barémel. On advancing to awake them, the dog sprung and
seized the good man by his coat--Sebastian opened his eyes, and at his
command Barémel released old Lopez. “Thou’rt an honest fellow I’ll be
sworn!” exclaimed the latter, “or this dog would not have taken a fancy
to thee.--Come, get up and let me give thee some breakfast.”

Briefly thanking him for his offer, the King enquired how he came to be
in possession of a creature that had once belonged to their sovereign.
Lopez eyed him curiously; “So, thou hast been a courtier, friend! or
mayhap a soldier, and--” Sebastian interrupted him, willing to lull the
curiosity which might otherwise annoy him.

“I am a soldier,” he said, “lately escaped from Africa. After fourteen
months slavery, I have returned to my country to find some friends dead,
many perfidious; my rights usurped by others, and the woman I adored,
false,--false as hell!” he paused, and the before pale gloom of his
countenance, was now changed to the crimson flush of frenzy;--then
recollecting himself, he added, “wonder not that I am half
distracted--the sight of this dog, which I remember to have seen
following the King, has brought back some ideas that ought never again
to agitate this betrayed heart.--How did you get this dog?”

“Why, by good luck,” replied Lopez, “one of my cousins, you see, is
under scullion in the kitchen of the Donna Gonsalva Vimiosa--she that
our last King was to have married. Sorrow on her! what a jade she has
proved! worse, I reckon, than the woman you are raving about--Come, come
man, don’t shake so; women were sad deceiving devils ever since the
fall.--I dare say now, your jilt had not played the harlot with your
cousin, as this Donna Gonsalva has done? all the world cried shame on
her. You see, in less than five months after the King’s sailing for
Africa, she brings into the world a chopping child, at first my lady
tried to make it out the King’s, and said they were privately married;
but on Don Emanuel de Castro’s getting back from Barbary, he disproved
that story somehow, and she would have gone to die in the inquisition,
had not the prior Antonio boldly owned her and the child, procured an
absolution for them both from the Pope, and so forced the present King
to pardon her.

“See the world now!--the other day she was scorned by every body because
both she and her paramour were in disgrace at court, but since the King
gets so infirm and seems so averse to fix the succession, all the world
worships her again. People think, you see, that Don Antonio will have
the throne.”

“Where then are the Braganzas?” exclaimed Sebastian, “What claims can
the bastard Antonio make?”

“Why, you see,” replied Lopez, “this same Antonio would have the best
right if he could prove himself the lawful son of our cardinal King’s
brother, the late duke De Beja; and so since he cannot prove it, he
swears it; that is, he gives out that his father and mother were
secretly married.--As for the Duchess of Braganza, she poor soul
scarcely cares for a throne; her heart is out of this world.”

“Alas!” exclaimed Sebastian, “did she lose both her sons in that fatal
battle? Surely the Duke of Barcelos was only taken prisoner?”

“Only!” repeated Lopez, “Holy Mary defend us! you soldiers think nothing
of such matters. I can tell you, my lady duchess did not make so light
of it when she got her poor boy back again, with a face like a corpse.
He’ll never be the ruddy youth he was.”

“He is returned then?” said Sebastian sighing deeply, “but the noble
Diego, that wondrous child”--

“He never came back,” interrupted the good Vernara, “Alas, what a sad
day was that which brought the disastrous news! My cousin, who has a
sweetheart in the duchess’s family, was there when an officer came who
had received his last breath.--The pretty boy was killed by a cannon
ball: he fell in his place, following the King; and you may be sure then
that he fell in the thick of the battle.”

At this passing tribute to his bravery, the cheek of Sebastian suddenly
glowed; he turned aside to conceal his emotion, and Lopez went on; “the
King’s arm beat back the coward Moors that would have trampled over his
pretty page; so this officer that I was speaking of, had time to stop
and see if he could assist him, but the dear child made a sign that he
would not be taken off the field; he grasped the officer’s hand and
said, ‘tell my mother’--he could not go on, so pointing up to Heaven and
raising his eyes with such a smile as if he would have said he was going
to join angels like himself, he fetched a gentle sigh, and died.”

Lopez put the back of his hand to his eyes as he spoke, and when he
removed it again, it was quite wet with tears: the severer emotion of
his royal companion shook his voice, as he hastily said--“but this dog,
Lopez--you have not told me how it came into your possession.”

“O, aye, the dog--why you see the Donna Gonsalva took an aversion to it,
and ordered her people to put it out of her sight--that you know was
next hand to bidding it be killed--however nobody liked to do that, and
yet they were afraid to give it a courtier in case she should see it
again; so my cousin offers to take it to me, because, as he said, I had
a wonderful knack at gaining dumb creatures’ hearts, and would be sure
to make him stay with me; and sure enough, so it turned out; for Barémel
laid himself down as soon as Garcias brought him in, and never seemed to
want to go back again.”

Sebastian looked at the animal with an expression of piercing pain, for
he could not forbear thinking poor Barémel had had no caresses to
regret when he left Xabregas.

While such thoughts passed through his mind, he was tempted to ask
himself whether he were awake; a groan of bitter conviction followed the
question. “Do you remember Don Sebastian?” he said, abruptly.

“Not I, Lord help you; I never saw him.--Some folks say he’s alive
still, and that he’ll be amongst us when we don’t expect it; but for my
part I wish he may be dead, for he’d find but a dismal welcome in
Portugal. All his young nobles courting the prior of Crato because he
makes one in their lewd courses; the old ones sticking to the cardinal
on account of his peaceableness; the poor folks not knowing which side
to take for fear of their betters; Donna Gonsalva turned into a common
harlot,--mercy on us! I’d rather be a mouldering corpse in the shabbiest
burying-ground that ever was, than the living Don Sebastian with such
vexations to meet him.”

Sebastian suddenly laid his icy hand on the arm of Lopez, with so
convulsive a grasp, and such a ghastly smile, that the innkeeper turned
mortal pale, and began to tremble; he thought himself in the power of a
maniac, whom he pitied and yet feared: the wretched Sebastian seeing his
terror withdrew some steps, saying in a softened tone, “forgive my
strangeness, worthy Lopez: do not wonder that my own sufferings, and
sympathy with those of an unfortunate prince should thus transport me. I
will trouble you no longer, give me some food, for I must be gone.”

Lopez hastened to obey; alarmed by the varying complexion and eyes of
his companion, by his irregular steps and suffocated voice: he led him
into the kitchen, where he placed before him some coarse food, though
the best he possessed. Sebastian ate a few mouthfuls without sitting
down, and with an averted face, for there were soldiers and servants in
the place by whom he feared a discovery: having finished his scanty
meal, he walked quickly out of the kitchen, motioning for Lopez to
follow him.

By the time the corpulent innkeeper overtook him in an adjoining field,
he had drawn from his bosom the treasure of Kara Aziek, and selected
from it a bracelet of gems: this graceful ornament forcibly recalled its
generous wearer, and fixing his eyes on it with a mixture of regret,
tenderness, and consolation, he sighed often and deeply.

The gems sparkling in daylight rivetted the attention of Lopez, and he
ventured to commend their beauty: awakened by this remark, Sebastian
turned round; “Friend!” he said, with an air of gentler sadness, “your
kindness has not been thrown away upon an ungrateful man; I have found
one heart in Portugal worthy of a Portuguese: take this precious
present, turn it into money, and continue, with added means, to succour
the unfortunate. Do not eye me with distrust,” (he added, seeing Lopez
retreat doubtfully,) “I came honestly by it; ’twas the gift of one to
whom I owe my freedom. She is a Moor, Lopez, an infidel, join your
prayers with mine for her conversion and her salvation: promise me that
you will never pray, without soliciting the saints to intercede in
Heaven for her soul.”

Again Lopez thought his companion mad, and gently putting aside the
bracelet, exclaimed, “Poor youth! I would not rob thee for the whole
world; thy brain is disordered, thou knowest not what thou are doing.”

Touched with such uncommon disinterestedness, the amiable monarch
exerted himself to convince Lopez that he was perfectly reasonable and
sincere; after much difficulty he succeeded: Lopez took the jewels, and
gave up his title to Barémel. Sebastian squeezed the hand of his host,
and telling him to remember the Moorish lady in his prayers, plunged
into a neighbouring thicket.

The royal wanderer was now journeying towards the river Zadaon, near the
extremity of which lay the home of Gaspar: he hoped to learn there
something of that humble friend, to have preserved whose life he would
willingly have poured forth all his blood; and hope yet surviving every
shock, began to soothe him with promises of Gaspar’s safety.

On that subject alone, could hope exert her heart-supporting influence,
all others were desperate; and the wretched Sebastian, blasted in every
tender expectation, dishonored by the matchless depravity of her who was
to have shared his throne, wished only to find some gloomy solitude
where he might bury his shame and his despair.

A betrayed lover cannot easily learn to think of the woman who once
entranced him, in any other manner than that to which he has been
accustomed; impressions repeated again and again are not to be
immediately effaced by one impression, however just; the heart retains
its first print of excellence long after a faithless object has ceased
to impress it: we may regret without weakness for a while, what it would
be meanness to love on, for ever; in short, we may lament that the
brightest vision of our days was _but_ a vision!

Sebastian could not revert to his last interview with Donna Gonsalva,
and not find his thoughts hurried away by a multitude of softening
recollections; past looks of tenderness, impassioned replies, tears,
caresses, the touch of her hand, the tone of her voice, thrilled through
his veins with the force of present existence; then returned the
conviction of her baseness, and he cast himself on the ground, bathing
it with tears, and uttering a thousand distracted exclamations.

His devious course was too frequently interrupted by these bursts of
despair; but he quickly recovered himself, for friendship yet claimed a
share in his soul, and whether Gaspar lived or died, his family had
claims on the protection of Sebastian.

Travelling through the wildest, because least frequented roads, the King
procured food at goat-herds’ huts, or from passing muleteers; his
remaining sequins gave him the means of paying these people well, and
the watchfulness of Barémel rendered any precaution for his personal
safety wholly needless: at night they slept together amongst woods, and
in the day journied along, rarely noticed by those who met them.

During his route, Sebastian had more than once taken out the letter
given him by Kara Aziek, but his bleeding heart shrunk from the pain of
reading sentiments so tender and so noble; sentiments which would revive
too forcibly the vanished virtue of Donna Gonsalva. “Another time,” he
exclaimed, as he returned the sealed vellum to his breast, “another
time, matchless angel! for _woman_ I will not call thee. I was to have
read this after my re-union with----,” that perfidious name died upon
his tongue; he started up, called to Barémel, and hastened to lose
thought, in the rapidity of violent motion.

Remembering the directions originally given by Gaspar, Sebastian left
the Zadaon on his right, and entered some beautiful meadows, among which
stood the cottage of his friend’s mother. The mists of morning were but
just beginning to clear away from its low roof, and no sound of man or
cattle came from the fields around. He approached the cottage; its
windows were closed, its garden in ruins: the silence that reigned there
caused his heart to stop; could it be possible, he thought, for the
family of Gaspar to have shared his cruel fate? grief and horror seized
him at this suggestion.

With an unsteady hand he shook the fastened door, calling loudly for
admittance: after several attempts to rouse the inhabitants, if
inhabitants there were, he was preparing to relinquish them in despair,
when a casement was cautiously opened, and a female voice was heard to
ask, in a tone of extreme alarm, who was there; this question was only
answered by a hasty inquiry of whether she belonged to the family of
Gaspar Ribeiro.

At this demand the young woman uttered a faint cry, exclaiming “O, don’t
harm us!--indeed, indeed, he is not here.”

Perceiving that she mistook him for some officer of justice, the King
told her in a tone of convincing gentleness, that he was a friend, not
an enemy; one that had shared captivity with Gaspar, and sought only
the satisfaction of beholding him again.

At this assurance the girl hastened down, and opening the door, admitted
Sebastian into a low, earth-floored room, in which he saw a younger
girl, half clothed, pale, and trembling: their resemblance to Gaspar,
and the desolateness of their situation, struck him so forcibly, that
uttering an expression of concern, in which the name of his friend was
more than once repeated, he sat down to recover himself.

The two young women looked at him fearfully: his habit, indeed, was mean
and shattered, but the nobleness of his countenance, the grandeur of his
mien, awakened a suspicion of his real character. “My brother spoke but
of one companion in slavery,” said Marakita, the eldest, hesitating as
she proceeded, “and to him he gave a pledge at parting, a ring which--”

Without speaking, Sebastian held out his hand, and Marakita recognizing
on it a coarse bauble that had once been her own, hastened to prostrate
herself at the feet of her sovereign: struggling in vain to repress his
extreme emotion, Sebastian raised her and her sister, desiring them to
tell him the fate of their brother. Marakita took out a letter from an
old leather case which she had hidden under a stone of the door-way, and
gave it the King; opening it, he read eagerly as follows.

“Most honoured sovereign, and may I venture to say, dear as honoured!
should these ill-written lines ever come into your hands, (and God alone
knows how to bring that blessed event to pass) I hope they may be given
you on your throne; then you will not forget, sire, the poor orphans who
present it, nor blush to acknowledge their self-exiled brother: but if,
as I fear, it should be given to you after your unassisted return, O!
let it warn you to trust no man in Portugal. Interest and ambition have
corrupted every heart.

“They who should have loved their King most, have injured him most. I
have personally applied to Donna Gonsalva, to Don Antonio, to the Dukes
of Braganza and D’Aveyro, nay, to the Cardinal Regent himself, and all
have pretended to disbelieve me. I have been imprisoned for my zeal, but
thanks to an honest fellow-soldier have escaped, and am at this moment
writing in a vessel bound for the land of Brazil: a man who is leaving
her, and will journey towards the interior, has promised to convey this
packet to my sisters. May the saints guide him on his way!

“I go, sire, to make a last effort for justice. Don Emanuel de Castro,
the most upright of your majesty’s subjects, having been ransomed out of
Barbary, is at present the Viceroy at St. Salvador; his great soul never
yet knew any other ambition than that of being unsurpassed in virtue: he
will hear and credit my story, and assuredly will interest the powers of
Europe in his master’s cause.

“Rely on him, sire, and if he still rule in the new world when your
majesty receives this letter, follow me thither: O! trust not your
precious life amongst a set of traitors, who have thirsted even for the
blood of your humble messenger.

“Obeying the call of a superior duty, I trust my family confidently to
the Holy Spirit: fortunately no one knew more of me than my name, and my
sisters may therefore live without fear of molestation.

“I invoke Jesus, and the Virgin Mother, to hear all those prayers I
daily put up for the good Kara Aziek and for my injured sovereign!--I
throw myself at his august feet, and venture to kiss and to embrace his
sacred hands.--

                                                  “The devoted GASPAR.”

The first emotion of joy which had for some time warmed the frozen heart
of Sebastian, now glowed there; transported out of himself by this
unexpected assurance of his friend’s existence, he exclaimed aloud, “Not
at his feet Gaspar, in your King’s arms!”--

A profound sigh followed these words, and Sebastian’s mind was soon
filled with so many torturing remembrances of the worthlessness of
others, that he forgot both his situation and his companions. Starting
from a reverie at an action of Barémel’s, he addressed the awestruck
girls, enquiring about their condition and their resources.

From the younger he learnt that they obtained a living by working in
vineyards, (their mother having died while Gaspar was in Africa,) and
that the eldest might be married to the son of a wealthy muleteer, did
she possess only a portion of five gold crowns.

How often had the present of Kara Aziek kept Sebastian from feeling the
sharpest sting of misery, an inability to reward services or to bestow
relief! he now took out the Moorish handkerchief in which it was wrapt,
and bidding Marakita advance, put into her hands some ornaments of
precious stones; “Take these,” he said, “they are all that is left an
injured monarch to bestow; they will enrich your husband, and enable you
to give a portion to your young sister when she is of an age to marry:
the remainder I go to share with Gaspar.--Do not shew these gems for
awhile; I may then be far from pursuit--far from a country where love,
loyalty, friendship, the ties of blood, and the closer bond of
affection, exist no more for me.”

Alarmed by the excessive wildness of the young monarch’s looks and
voice, and well informed of his sad story, the two sisters shed tears in
abundance, timidly asking a few questions, and scarce venturing to raise
their eyes, while they invoked blessings on their royal benefactor and
on their brother.

Much affected, the King returned their blessings, adding with a
strangely-frantic smile, “Hear me, ye guardian saints of
Portugal,--unless I am Heaven’s outcast also!”

The sun’s broad light now warned him to begone; and repeating his
injunctions, he bade adieu to Marakita and her sister.




CHAP. V.


Directing his course downwards towards the coast, the King found himself
at night in a mean town six leagues from Setuval; some shops were open,
and at one of them he purchased a homely dress, better calculated for
disguise than the mutilated habit he had brought with him from Africa:
but alas! the unfortunate Sebastian scarcely needed any other disguise
than the alterations wrought on him by hardships and sorrows. The
roundness of health and youth was no more to be seen in his figure,
giving beauty to strength, and proportion to grace: his cheeks were wan
and hollow, his eyes dim, his brow furrowed with the frequent
contraction of thought; that enchanting smile which used to distinguish
him from all mankind, never appeared on his lips; who then was to
recognize Sebastian in this gloomy-looking traveller?

He slept in the town, and the next morning resumed the road to Setuval.

The second night he took up his abode in a cavern on the coast whence
there was a noble view of the town and bay. A radiant moon, brightened
by slight frost, (for it was now November,) illuminated this quiet
retreat; its roof, hung with crystal stalactites, like natural fringes
of diamonds, startled Sebastian on entering, he paused and looked back:
the same resplendent moon was more temperately reflected from a vast
stretch of sea; myriads of stars twinkled around her; the vessels in the
bay, and the buildings in the town were silvered by her light, and only
a faint dashing of waves broke the tranquillity of the scene.

Is there a heart to which moonlight is not hallowed by some association,
or in which it does not awaken devotional feelings? Sebastian felt its
softening, purifying influence, and making the sign of the cross over
his breast and forehead, gently breathed a prayer to the Divine Being
from whom that lovely orb derived her beauty and her light.

He entered the cavern with a calmed spirit: when he beheld its fantastic
interior flashing splendor on him from a thousand tremulous crystals, he
owned with admiration that no mortal palace could surpass the
magnificence of this to which chance had conducted him.

The tumult of indignant emotions that had agitated him incessantly since
his reception from Donna Gonsalva, now gave way for awhile to tenderness
only: he was about to leave his country and his people, he was going to
try the attachment of subjects, who, situated in another quarter of the
globe, knew him solely by his choice of their former governors. Could he
expect to find from them that grateful fidelity which his own court and
familiar friends had failed to shew! and was it from the harshly-treated
De Castro that he was to seek for love and duty?

“Yes, from De Castro!” answered the noble spirit of Sebastian, “I cannot
better recompence his virtue and efface my own injustice than by
voluntarily affording him an opportunity of serving me.”

To the Brazils therefore he determined to go, confidently expecting to
be there recognized and obeyed; he might then dispatch letters to all
the powers of Europe, notifying his existence, and requiring their
assistance for the restoration of his rights; to regain those rights
without bloodshed was his earnest wish: his heart sickened at the
prospect of a civil war, should he, by remaining in Portugal, give the
different parties a hope of securing his person; for if those now in
authority chose to start doubts of his identity, he must call on his
inferior subjects to rise in arms for his support.

This extremity was what he sought to avoid: indeed the wounds inflicted
by the perfidy of his cousin and mistress, bled inwardly, making every
well-known scene hateful to his eyes, and every friend to whom otherwise
he might have revealed himself, an object of suspicion.

While these thoughts were gloomily displacing the serener melancholy
with which he entered his present lodging, he had thrown himself along
the ground, and raising his arm to form a support for his head, struck
it against something, which, on moving out of the way, he found to be a
tablet, with writing on it in discoloured ink. He cast his eyes
incuriously over the writing; the first line struck the chief chord in
his own breast; and with his hand shading the tablet from the dazzling
glare of the cavern, he read the following wild effusion.

    O that it were no sin to ask for death!
    Then would I pray to yield this hateful breath;
    Then from life’s desart vast, its spectred gloom,
    These eyes would turn and rest upon the tomb!
    There griefs approach not, pain and thought are still;
    Nor hope, nor fear, can wake one trembling thrill:
    Smote by the glare of death’s petrific eye,
    Locked in eternal ice, life’s currents lie;
    No more their tides quick-circling through each part,
    Send warm emotions to the eager heart
    No more the gates of sense delighted move;
    No more weak reason yields her throne to love;
    But all things cease; thought, feeling, mem’ry gone,
    And black oblivion broods unmarked alone.
    Whether our souls released, immediate go,
    Or sleep in trance awhile, we ne’er shall know,
    Till as our change begins, experience shews
    The awful secret of the grave’s repose;
    But pardon, Heav’n! a frantic wretch who dares
    To own a heart so torn by rending cares,
    So loathing each remembrance, so possessed,
    As but to groan and pray for _endless rest_!
    If when these vital fires have ceased to burn,
    Thought, or mere consciousness, should e’er return,
    Say, would not _her_ idea rush again
    And stab seraphic bliss with piercing pain?
    Mixed with my being all, for ever mixed,
    Of change incapable, her thought is fixed,
    And here on earth, or there in Heav’n would come
    To render still the same my bitter doom.

           *       *       *       *       *

    O God of mercy! from thy records raze
    This guilty frenzy!--let some pitying rays
    Beam on my madden’d brain, and teach my soul
    To bow submissive to thy wise control!
    Teach me to know, that when I loved too well,
    I gave a mortal in thy place to dwell!
    O teach me then to own thy just decree,
    And bless the thorny path that leads to thee!

Pity, heightened to the poignancy of agony by fatal sympathy with the
situation here described, seized Sebastian; he put down the tablet in
extreme agitation, for love began now to struggle with indignation, and
the tenderness of the unhappy unknown became infectious: a confusion of
fond, delightful recollections, at once entered his soul; some rare
moments of transcendent happiness again re-appeared,--moments in which
the beauty, the accomplishments, the well-acted love and purity of
Gonsalva had exalted him to beatitude. O! how was it possible that this
transport had been deceptive, that this perfection of woman’s charms
was even then immersed in the low gratifications of illicit passion, in
the horrible practice of systematic deceit?

After this hateful idea rapidly followed a recapitulation of her various
arts while urging on a secret marriage, which was too surely destined to
cover the proof of her shameful conduct, as by no difficult manœuvre her
child might have been passed upon him and on his people for the
legitimate heir to the crown of Portugal. Fury flashed from Sebastian’s
eyes at this thought; tenderness fled; and the frenzy of a heart
outraged and betrayed in every point, suddenly succeeded. “No,
perfidious monster!” he exclaimed aloud, “thy crimes murder
regret.--Thou hast not been commonly frail, nor deserted me for another
honorable lover; then I might have lamented thee, pity might have united
with love in regretting that thou wast not perfect, and I might have
still doated on the past, like this fond wretch: but thou hast fallen
into such an abyss of guilt, that even memory sees thee only as thou
art now.”

He closed his eyes as if to shut out her image, and turning to another
part of the cavern, threw himself down once more in the hope of
obtaining repose.

It was long ere his tumultuous feelings and throbbing brain were stilled
by sleep: piercing thoughts, like flashes of lightning quivering by fits
through the blackness of some starless night, frequently shot across the
gloom that gradually succeeded to frenzy: but at length the dumb
caresses of Barémel softened every emotion, and he sunk to rest amid the
calm of rising resignation.

Sebastian dreamt, and he dreamt of Kara Aziek. He fancied himself once
more going through the last interview with Donna Gonsalva, and dragged
by her orders to a loathsome dungeon; there he beheld the gentle Aziek
braving death for the sake of pouring balm upon his wounded spirit: he
felt himself in her arms, he heard her touching voice, her tears dropt
over his face, while bending down she impressed on it a kiss of tender
compassion.

At this instant of his dream, Sebastian awoke; his heart was beating
strongly; the kiss, the breath of Kara Aziek, seemed yet warm upon his
lips: so lively was their impression that he stretched out his arms with
an entranced look, believing he should indeed clasp her within them.--He
leaped from the ground; no one was visible; the moon had set, and
profound silence and darkness reigned throughout the cavern.

“Aziek! angelic Aziek!” he repeated in a voice tender as her
own--“friend, comforter, benefactress! where art thou?” he stopped and
scarcely respired; for as yet his heart and his imagination were
dreaming, and he expected to hear her speak, or at least sigh.

While the echo of his own exclamation murmured along the walls, his
senses gradually recovered from their delusion, and he knew himself to
be alone in a place remote from her he dreamt of: tenderness rapidly
diffused itself over his whole soul, while he supposed his dream
realized, and himself held in the pitying arms of Kara Aziek. Her
artlessness, her sweetness, her mild yet heroic goodness, her trembling
soul-subduing love, her soft beauty, and still softer voice, floated
before him, awaking hopes and wishes which a few hours previous, he
would have deemed it impossible for him to feel.

How naturally does the warm and youthful heart cling to the source of
man’s sweetest emotions! how eagerly does it embrace the hope of finding
its transports renewed; of blessing and being blessed,--of learning
again to behold the world with complacency for the sake of one amiable
object!--Sebastian believed himself solely yielding to friendship,
gratitude, and the desire of atoning to Aziek for the wounds he had
unintentionally given her peace, when he was thus dwelling delighted on
the probability of one day becoming her husband.

“She would share my varying fate without a murmur;” he said to himself,
“if happy, she would exalt and refine my enjoyments; if wretched, she
would alleviate my afflictions. On a throne, or in obscurity, with her
my grateful heart could never know a want; her love, boundless as her
virtues, would satisfy and fill it.”

While he uttered this sentence, a thrill of more genuine affection than
had ever stirred his bosom for Donna Gonsalva, glided through his veins:
perfect esteem, perfect admiration, perfect gratitude,--what are they,
but the purest species of love?

To these sentiments were now added the conviction of no longer
possessing any other source of happiness.

Delicacy gives law to woman’s heart; Honor to that of man: woman blushes
at the idea of entertaining a second passion, yet naturally tender,
adheres too tenaciously sometimes to a changed object. Man, accustomed
to consider the weaker sex as dependent on him for protection, abhors to
exercise his power in proportion as it is easy to do so, and while he
believes himself beloved, refuses to break through ties of which he may
have become weary.

Unconsciously this sentiment of honor had long been Gonsalva’s auxiliary
while Sebastian was in Africa; the transporting emotions caused by Kara
Aziek’s inestimable qualities, and those tenderer ones inspired by her
devotedness, had then been uniformly repressed by remembrance rather
than by anticipation: when he recollected whole days of exquisite
felicity, he paused not to discover, that after having become acquainted
with such a being as Kara Aziek, the less endearing character of Donna
Gonsalva could no longer satisfy him.

Now was the moment for a perusal of the letter: Sebastian drew it from
his vest, and hurried to the mouth of the cavern; but clouds and
darkness had succeeded to the moon’s radiance, and it was impossible for
him to read it. He returned with chagrin, and seated himself on a
projection of rock, holding the precious vellum in his hand.

While thus watching the dawn of day, his mind became busied by a
multitude of new projects to which the conviction of Aziek’s attachment
gave birth; to bestow happiness on her, was now, he thought, an act of
justice: while Gonsalva appeared virtuous and faithful, honour and
inclination retained him in her chains; but since she had shamefully
forfeited those rights, gratitude imperiously demanded him for Kara
Aziek: the disinterestedness of her love had been proved, he had
therefore no circumstance to lament or to dread in an union with her,
except her hateful religion.

To this serious obstacle the ardent character of the King, yet sanguine
and romantic, opposed the delightful hope of becoming Heaven’s
instrument for her conversion: perhaps the fond zeal of a husband might
be destined to remove this only blemish from what otherwise seemed
perfection. He dwelt on so gratifying a conclusion, till expectation
assumed the form of certainty.

Having determined on one day regaining Kara Aziek, he naturally fell
into reflections upon the manner in which such an event was to be
produced: was he to return immediately into Barbary, and under some
disguise endeavour to see, and persuade her to abandon her country? or
was he to pursue his voyage to Brazil, commence and conclude his attempt
at recovering Portugal, honorably negociate for her hand, and wed her
only when he had a throne to share with her? the last project was most
in character with a generous Prince, and he resolved to adopt it.

By the former scheme, he might indeed earlier and more certainly secure
Aziek, but then it would be selfishly tempting her to share exile,
difficulties, dangers, perhaps ultimately disappointment or death: by
the latter, he would merely delay domestic blessings to ensure their
permanence; and reflecting on the delicacy of her character, he felt
assured that years must elapse ere she could yield her heart to any
other affection, or obey the customs of her country by wedding a man to
whom she was indifferent.

These considerations reconciled him to the prospect of removing for a
while yet further from her, and the bliss he hoped hereafter to bestow,
gave him such exquisite delight in contemplation, that even the
guardian angel of Kara Aziek must have smiled with satisfaction on
reading the reveries of Sebastian.

“Yes Aziek!” he tenderly repeated, folding her letter to his breast, “we
shall meet again, even in this faithless world! A time will come when
thou only wilt reign in my heart: to appreciate thy tenderness, to know
thy unrivalled excellence, it has been necessary for me to learn what
dæmons charm under the forms of women. Ah! who is there like thee?”

At this impassioned question Sebastian sunk into a train of thought, in
which he remained absorbed till morning shot her first beam into the
cavern.

No sooner was there light enough to trace the characters made on the
vellum, than he hastened to read what he believed would reanimate all
his hopes and resolutions: who can describe the dismay which seized
upon him when he found this letter contained Kara Aziek’s eternal
farewel?

To procure his freedom and restoration to Donna Gonsalva, this generous
friend had consented to become the wife of a Grandee who had long
solicited her of her father: by this time she was his and living far
from Morocco. Immurred within the walls of a Harem, her noble and
delicate soul had no other enjoyment left than the conviction of having
sacrificed herself for the sake of him she loved.

It was not from passionate complaint or studied explanation of her
feelings, that Sebastian gathered the extent of her generosity--no--her
relation was simple and brief, yet she was forced to tell him, that by
marrying the Basha of Syria she was binding herself to the customs of
his nation, and rendering it impossible for her to retain a male friend.

Sebastian was too well aware of her repugnance to such heartless
connections, not to divine instantly, that his liberty had been offered
only on such cruel terms.

Here then was the explanation of that mysterious sadness which had
overwhelmed Kara Aziek several days before his departure: doubtless she
had then been struggling against that virtuous horror which every woman
ought to feel who meditates yielding her vows and her person to a man
she cannot love.

The lock of her hair was now in the hand of Sebastian, his eyes were
intently fixed on it, without his seeing or thinking of it; the complete
distinction of all his hopes was contained in this fatal letter; the
bright vision of gratitude had vanished, and misery’s last blow stunned
both thought and feeling.

Such a benumbing influence was on him, that he remained nearly on the
same spot from sunrise to sunset without food or sleep, or the
consciousness of wanting either.

It happened that towards evening a sudden storm drove some countrymen
into the cavern for shelter. The noise they made roused Sebastian; on
seeing him, they naturally concluded that he had taken refuge from the
same motive with themselves; and entering into conversation with him, he
learnt that there was then a vessel in the bay of Setuval bound for
Brazil. He no longer contemplated with lively emotions a voyage to the
new world, but he was sick of that which he inhabited; and to the
wretched, change of place seems ever desirable. He accompanied the men
to Setuval, where he fortunately procured a passage in the ship
described, and she sailed at midnight.

While the vessel was tossing among the turbulent waves of the Atlantic,
Portugal’s self-exiled monarch had leisure to arrange those events,
which by their painful rapidity had unsettled his reason: he gave up
the hope of happiness; with a moody smile he gave up the hope of
blessing his benefactress; but still it was not possible for him to
abandon the expectation of regaining his rights, and with them the power
of benefiting others. For him there was no middle station; he must
either mount again to empire, or sink to utter desolation; and it was
only in the active duties of sovereignty that he could lose the
remembrance of his present sufferings.

Since Kara Aziek was lost,--and alas! how sad to think she was
self-condemned for his sake! private affections had no claim on him,
except indeed in the person of Gaspar, (for the worth of Don Emanuel was
yet to be proved.) What a sterile scene did life then present! he
pondered over the present and the future, till his heart took so deep a
print from despair, as to make him wildly doubt whether he had ever
known what happiness was.

In this state he was ill-adapted to share in the noisy garrulity of his
fellow voyagers; he shunned their society, sitting retired in an obscure
part of the vessel, from the deck of which he seemed to be stupidly
watching her track through the waters.

It was on the sixth morning after their departure from Setuval, that the
clearing away the thick mist discovered a Turkish galley which had been
blown out to sea, striving to re-gain her course, and bearing up towards
the straits: the captain of the Brazilman being a fellow of an
adventurous spirit, proposed giving the infidel chase; though his vessel
was inferior in size and weight of metal, the hope of a rich booty
animated his sailors: by general consent their track was altered; they
crowded sail, and soon came alongside the galley, whose heavy
decorations impeded her motion.

The infidel perceiving flight impossible, resigned himself to necessity,
and prepared for action.

At the first broadside, Sebastian, who had hitherto sat desperately
inattentive to the hasty preparations, started up; his brave heart,
roused at the alarm of war, and every nerve was braced; but suddenly
recollecting those reflections in Barbary which had prompted him to vow
he would never wantonly draw the offensive sword, he cast himself again
on the deck, where he lay inactive.

His limbs shook with an internal struggle; the sailors supposed he
trembled from fear; but as the balls showered over him, they changed
their opinion, and pronounced him mad.

Though the Portuguese were lavish of their blood and their ammunition,
they were no match for an experienced enemy: he manœuvred his vessel
with a quickness and dexterity which soon gave him so decided a
superiority, that the Brazilman, in despair, ordered his crew to strike.
At that command Sebastian sprung from the deck, threw himself before
the colours, and exhorted the sailors to defend them from infidel hands;
then seizing a weapon, he rushed forward to the most exposed station.

It was no longer for mere conquest, but for liberty, for the honour of
the Christian name, and the Portuguese flag, that he was about to fight:
his eyes now flashed with their former fire, his figure seemed to
dilate, and his inspiring voice roused and inflamed every heart. Used to
command, and theoretically skilled in naval tactics, he was unconscious
that he alone gave orders, that those orders were instantly approved and
obeyed: the captain had just knowledge sufficient to perceive that he
had got one on board, to whom war was familiar, and he therefore
suffered his people to follow the dictates of their new leader.

The Turk fought ably; his vessel skilfully worked, and favoured by the
wind, for a long time bade defiance to every effort at boarding her; her
shot and fireballs hailed through the rigging of the Brazilman, but
happily the wind fell, and the Portuguese rapidly throwing out their
grappling-irons, succeeded in fastening her along-side.

The remembrance of former combats, and the fire of native valour, now
shone on the brow of Sebastian: like a blaze of lightning he flamed on
the enemy’s deck; his voice, his looks, his gestures, called on others
to follow; in one moment he fell with the force of a thunderbolt amongst
the infidels, whom his powerful arm crushed and scattered in every
direction. After a short, yet desperate resistance, the Turkish captain
cast a gloomy look over the blood and devastation around him, then
dropping the point of his sword, he delivered it to Sebastian.

The King having returned the captain’s sword, flew from place to place
to stop any wanton slaughter; destruction then ceased. The commander of
the Brazilman eyed him with gathering discontent; “What share do you
expect of the booty?” he asked sourly. “None,” returned Sebastian, “I
ask only care and compassion for these wounded men.”

The gentleness of his manner testified sincerity, and well-pleased to be
so cheaply served, the captain promised prompt obedience. While they
were speaking, the shrieks of a woman were heard from below; at that
sound Sebastian sprung over a heap of arms, and leaped down into the
cabin: there he beheld a group of women clinging together, as if seeking
to protect the entrance of an inner room where a lady had fainted. At
his decisive voice, some sailors who had alarmed them, fell back; his
intrepidity had gained their admiration, and admiration is quickly
followed by submission.

“My friends, we do not war with women!” he exclaimed, in a tone of noble
reproof; the men blushed and withdrew. Pleased with the effect of his
ascendancy, the young monarch hastily fastened the door, and advanced
respectfully; sobbing, the ladies prostrated themselves at his feet:
touched with their distress, he tried to re-assure them, while he
approached the one who had fainted, and was lying wrapt up in her shawl
at full length upon the floor of the inner cabin.

Bending one knee to the ground, he raised her gently, and in doing so
discomposed her veil; trembling, agitated, almost transported, he lifted
hastily the long black hair that her fall had disordered, and beheld the
soft features of Kara Aziek. “Gracious God! am I awake?” he exclaimed,
gazing on her, and clasping her to his breast. The consternation of her
attendants at this bold action was painted in their faces; Sebastian
regarded them not, he held Kara Aziek still, calling on her to revive
and behold her protector in him.

Did that voice, so beloved, penetrate the dull ear of insensibility?
Aziek opened her eyes, and they met those of Sebastian fixed tenderly
upon her: doubtful rapture flashed over her countenance, she sprang up,
drew quickly back, looked at him an instant, then uttering a joyful cry,
precipitated herself into the dear arms she had quitted.

This was not the action of one conscious of belonging to another:
Sebastian was exalted to the extremest point of human felicity;
happiness, lost happiness, he now clasped in the form of Kara Aziek, and
enjoyed in the certainty of being able to confer it. “We part no
more--we part no more!” he repeated.

Bewildered in a maze of delight, and merely conscious that the looks and
voice of Sebastian breathed love like her own, Aziek forgot awhile every
obstacle between them; her tears and sighs mingled with his, as she
rested on his bosom with the sweet serenity of a pure heart, sure of
loving and being beloved; his name, coupled with endearing epithets,
breathed repeatedly from her lips, and her soft arms returned the
pressure of his: at length, starting and trembling, she averted her
eyes, and pronounced the name of Donna Gonsalva.

Indignation alone appeared on the brow of Sebastian; in a few words he
detailed her perfidy and his own disappointment, and was about to paint
to the horror-struck Aziek his new wishes, when voices at the door of
the outer cabin called him away.

It was the captain of the Brazilman with his mate: Sebastian hastened to
demand respect for Kara Aziek. He informed them that in their fair
prisoner he had discovered a Moorish lady, to whom he had once been
indebted for liberty; “I owe her my life,” he said, “and I will defend
her with my life: her sex and situation ought to ensure her generous
treatment. I hope and believe they will; but if not, this arm shall
either protect or avenge her.”

“And a rare strong arm it is,” replied the captain, “we’ll keep to
windward of it, be sure. He sha’nt overhaul the lady, only what we find
in the money way is lawful prize; has she no coin nor jewels to pay the
men for civilly treating her and the rest of the women?”

Sebastian had not time to reply before Aziek herself appeared; she came
forth from her cabinet surrounded by her maids: her unsteady step and
tearful eyes were directed towards him, for whom alone she feared when
the voice of what she thought violence reached her ear. Struck with an
apprehension of being discovered, Sebastian hastily told her in Moresco,
that his rank was unknown, and that these men commanded there.

Aziek turned frightfully pale, she trembled, and leaned on him for
support; the captain advanced bowing, his eyes fixed on her glittering
armlets, spoke a language easily understood, she hastened to take them
off and present them to him: at the same time she pointed to some large
chests, the keys of which one of her maids laid at his feet.

During the examination of these chests, Aziek remained leaning on
Sebastian, lost in painful conjectures upon his mysterious disguise:
alas! was he a prisoner also! yet, how then could he have power to
succour her? She turned her eyes on his countenance; the sunny look that
met hers, the smoothed brow, and entrancing smile, promised permanent
protection. What could she dread, when the looks of him she loved bade
her dismiss apprehension?

Satisfied with a casket of jewels and several purses of gold coin, the
mercenary seaman shut the boxes; “We shall leave you and the lady to
yourselves,” said the captain, “that you may try to reconcile her to a
voyage to Brazil; if she don’t like that, she may go to Portugal in the
prize: settle that as she pleases.

“Whoever you are, friend, with your coarse doublet, you’re a strange
brave fellow, and have a right to share our gains, and so if you like
women better than money, there’s a whole lot of ’em for you.”

“I take you at your word,” interrupted the King, “these are my prizes.”

The men withdrew laughing, and Sebastian again alone with Kara Aziek,
(her women having retired into the inner chamber,) proceeded to satisfy
those anxious inquiries which her eloquent eyes had so long been making.
He briefly detailed the circumstances of his return to Portugal, the
conduct of his supposed friends, the intentions with which he was
leaving it when he read her farewel letter; he painted the emotions that
letter excited, with all the force of tender gratitude.

“Such were, such are my feelings, Kara Aziek;” he added, throwing
himself at her feet, “I am again what I was when your generous pity
first succoured me--a beggar, and a fugitive--one who must soon be every
thing or nothing:--it remains for you to decide on the dearest part of
my destiny. Speak your wishes, and they shall be obeyed; if they be to
fulfil your engagement with the Basha, I will myself conduct you to him;
but if a friendship more sacred even than love--a gratitude exalted to
adoration--every sentiment in short, except passion itself; if these may
touch you--if you can condescend to accept a heart yet smarting with a
former wound--a heart that shudders at love, yet where your image is
worshipped and cherished--”

“O say no more!--no more, beloved Sebastian!” interrupted Kara Aziek,
hiding her blushes and tears on his shoulder, “thou knowest too well,
that to be permitted to dwell but on the threshold of that noble heart,
is happiness to Kara Aziek.”

How eloquent was the silence which followed these few words! how did the
blissful sighs breathed by each, seem to incorporate their souls, and
blend their destinies for ever!

It was long ere either of them could recover sufficiently to converse
with calmness; when they did so, Aziek timidly explained her situation.
She informed Sebastian that her hand had been frequently sought by the
Basha of Syria, a relation of her father’s, but having avowed an
invincible repugnance to marriage, (at least to marriage as it exists in
Mahomeddan countries,) her indulgent father had forborne any
importunity: his wishes however, were for the union, and seizing the
opportunity afforded by her zeal for the supposed Fabian, he offered his
liberty as the reward of her compliance.

At first, shocked and terrified, Kara Aziek utterly rejected the terms;
every delicate and tender feeling revolted from the hateful prospect of
submitting to the caresses of a man whom she remembered from her infancy
as one with whom her heart could have no commune; far sooner would she
have laid her head on the block for the dear sake of him she loved: but
when she witnessed the failure of his hopes after the departure of
Gaspar, and beheld his profound, and corroding melancholy; when she
thought of his passion for Donna Gonsalva, and fancied her pining
over his loss, her tender soul shook with irresolution, she
hesitated--reflected--struggled with her repugnance--renewed those
struggles, and at length determined upon the sacrifice.

Ravished with her consent, El Hader did not give her time to retract, he
released the Christian, and immediately dispatched messengers to his
kinsman: the Basha Ibrahim was at that time with the Sultan his master
at Constantinople; he sent from thence a sumptuous galley, laden with
presents for his young bride, and it was on its return with the
self-devoted victim, that Providence threw them into the hands of the
Portuguese.

To Kara Aziek the event did indeed appear an especial act of Providence,
since beyond her fondest hopes it not only restored Sebastian to her,
but re-united them at the very period in which they were priviledged
never to part again. In her secret mind she did not regret the loss of
his throne, for it was with Sebastian divested of power and grandeur,
that her heart had first been woven: accustomed to profound retirement,
her inexperienced nature shrunk from the vast sphere of duties which
surrounded sovereignty; it seemed as if the love of one little heart
would be lost in so wide an ocean: she looked with partial eyes to a
scene of narrower views; to a home, private yet not unuseful, where the
social virtues might have full room to expand and to adorn what they
supported.

It was an amiable weakness in Kara Aziek, yet it was a weakness, to
desire only that situation in which her love would be always felt, and
always necessary; she judged rightly, that power and luxury are not
friendly to the existence of any sentiment which is devoid of
selfishness.--In accompanying Sebastian to Brazil, she hoped that he
might be induced to resign his ungrateful people altogether, endeavour
to forget his former state, and find in the bosoms of Affection and
Friendship those calm delights which are never the companions of high
responsibility.

To dwell with him any where, to see him, to hear him continually,--what
joy did not such a prospect afford! Life seemed too short to her
impassioned heart for the complete enjoyment of so much
happiness.--Never, indeed, did woman love like Kara Aziek: it must be
remembered, however, that her attachment concentrated all the ardour of
her nature; the habits of her country did not suffer the growth even of
friendship; she had no sisters, no brothers--and hitherto she had lived
devoid of any other sentiment than that of duty towards her father.

As Sebastian contemplated the mixed expression of her ever-varying
countenance, his enraptured feelings assured him that in her’s his soul
had met its partner; but he sighed to think they should have met so
late, when _his_ exhausted heart had no longer love to bestow.

Excessive tenderness, admiration and gratitude, contending with as
lively emotions of timidity and apprehension, by turns sparkled in
Aziek’s eyes, or suffused her cheek; the aspen-like tremor of her voice
thrilled the susceptible King: it was now that for the first time he
felt the full sweetness of love, in the perfect conviction of giving
happiness to the beloved object; devoid of this conviction all its other
enjoyments are lifeless.--Cold as ice were the sensations awakened by
the beauty of Gonsalva when compared with this heart-penetrating,
ennobling glow! he looked back on them with amazement, and with
something of that joy with which a man recals a danger from which he has
recently escaped.

These new feelings enabled him to speak of the perfidious woman with
composure; to Kara Aziek this calmness was animating; for though at one
moment she believed herself indeed rewarded by his preference, at
another she trembled lest Sebastian were self-deceived, and might
hereafter find gratitude and esteem but feeble substitutes for love.

Having calmed the fears and satisfied the scruples of his gentle friend,
Sebastian remembered that humanity had other claims upon him; the
ascendancy he had gained over the captain and crew by his valour and
disinterestedness, rendered him in some degree answerable to himself for
the treatment of the Turkish prisoners; he therefore reluctantly quitted
Kara Aziek.

By his advice the Brazil trader consented to send all the Turkish
sailors, with their commander, into the first neutral port, whence they
might easily find a conveyance home, and in that port the prize might be
advantageously sold. It required all the King’s rhetoric to persuade his
companion that it was merciless to push advantage to its uttermost
verge, by insisting upon a ransom for all the prisoners; the man was a
long time in perceiving that there was any merit in being generous to
infidels.

Sebastian’s mingled arguments and persuasions at length succeeded; and
the prize, manned by a few stout sailors, headed by the mate, was
ordered to convey her former owners to Cadiz, in Spain, that country
being then in amity with the Turks.

Concluding that the women were forcibly detained by the captors, the
Turkish commander thought it unwise to contest about such immaterial
objects; so making a profound obeisance to his conqueror, he suffered
him, undisturbed, to lead Kara Aziek and her maids from their cabin to
that of the Portuguese vessel: in a few minutes after, the galley
hoisted sail and bore away before the wind for the shores of Andaluzia.

Anxious to obtain every accommodation for Kara Aziek, Sebastian thought
it needful to inform the captain that he could reward him amply for
every attention he might bestow, and that on landing at Brazil he would
prove his truth by actions: having simply announced himself a Portuguese
officer and a friend of Don Emanuel de Castro, he insured the respect
and submission of all the sailors. His remonstrances had now the force
of commands, and the Moorish ladies were permitted to live as retired in
their cabin, as they might have done in Morocco.

Into their apartments no one intruded except Sebastian and Barémel: that
faithful animal, interesting from the peculiar circumstances under which
he had recognized his master, was constantly fed and caressed by the
gentle Aziek; he formed the amusement of her women, whose simple minds
sought no higher recreation than that of seeing him fetch and
carry:--but to her he was an object of affection.

Often, while looking at Barémel, and pondering on the incidents his
figure recalled, she shuddered at the incomprehensible conduct of Donna
Gonsalva, and had to remember that Sebastian witnessed her depravity ere
she could persuade herself of that depravity’s existence.

From the King’s mind the remembrance of Gonsalva was vanishing like a
confused dream; to the agony of betrayed love had quickly succeeded
indignation, aversion, and finally contempt: the charm of virtue and
tenderness united in the person of Aziek, completed his cure, and his
soul, formed for freedom, eagerly seized again upon its natural right.

How do our desires grow with our hopes! how does the possession of one
blessing, quicken and inflame our thirst after others!--but a little
while before, and Sebastian was indifferent to every thing; now, the
smallest of his expectations was considered with lively interest: he
contemplated his reception at Brazil, and his restoration to Portugal,
with the anxiety of a spirit newly roused to action; and secure of
domestic felicity, felt that no other station than that to which he was
born, could fill the expansion of his large soul.

It is not difficult to communicate our own fire to a heart that lives
only to reflect the feelings of ours. Kara Aziek lent not merely a
docile, but a delighted ear, to the animated discourses of her lover. He
talked to her of the charms of empire, of the sublime privilege of
diffusing comfort and protection throughout nations; he painted the
trials and the triumphs of that virtue which belongs to exalted
stations, its fame here, its immortal reward hereafter; he spoke to her
then of those softer joys which public duties endear and enhance; those
delightful throbbings of the heart, sacred to the names of husband and
of father, which contrasted with the severer virtues of royalty, seem
like the serene beatitude of Heaven.

His voice, his eyes, his smiles, heightened the effect of his eloquence:
Kara Aziek no longer saw before her the captive Fabian, but the powerful
monarch of Portugal and the two Indies, who, in selecting her from all
the world to share his throne and to fill his heart, was yielding the
most delicious proof of his tenderness; she saw in him only a beneficent
(not an ambitious) sovereign, who sought to extend the dominion of
happiness.

At these moments she kindled with congenial enthusiasm, and her soul
soaring after his, left far below its first humble and personal wishes.

But how were these ardours chilled, these transports arrested in their
flight, by the spirit with which Sebastian spoke of his wrongs! he
thirsted for vengeance: with the expectation of one day returning to
take his place amongst the monarchs of Europe, came the fatal belief
that he must wash out his stains in the blood of his injurers.

At mention of Don Antonio, a terrible light flamed on his brow, his
limbs shook, and his articulation became smothered; every look and every
word announced still that imperious and fierce character which had so
often in Barbary blazed before Kara Aziek like sudden earth-fires.

Her soft nature trembled and grieved; for it was to this intemperance of
feeling, this want of self-government, that all his misfortunes were
attributable; while it continued to rule him, there was no security for
his happiness either on a throne or in a cloister.

On the present subject, however, she found it difficult to oppose any
arguments that were not immediately overturned by his impetuous and
irresistible rhetoric: neither her education nor the precepts of her
religion afforded support to the merciful pleadings of her nature; she
could only urge that instinctive feeling which cries aloud from the
depths of every human heart, that forbearance and forgiveness ought to
be the virtues of erring man.

Sebastian’s vehement passions were deaf to the voice of her softer
sentiments; pity and mercy could not make themselves heard, where
insulted honour, love outraged into hatred, wounded pride, and
disappointed confidence, were clamorous for retribution: he sought to
teach her the lesson man learns from his cradle, that to preserve
reputation he must often do violence to his character, and seek revenge
where he would willingly concede pardon.

Ah fatal and monstrous spell, which not even Christianity itself has yet
had power to dissolve!--by thy enchantment the sacred laws of humanity
are disregarded, and murder is enrolled in the catalogue of honourable
deeds!

Aziek had nothing to urge against opinions which she was thus told were
sanctioned by great authorities; she could only repeat her native
abhorrence to whatever was the effect rather of passion than of reason.
To appease justice and to satiate revenge, were in her estimation very
different things, and she strove to convince Sebastian that true dignity
resided with the former.

Sometimes her gentle persuasives conquered: he would listen delighted to
the music of her voice and the tenderness of her sentiments; his heart
would melt under their genial softness, till the perfidious Antonio, his
court, his crown, his wrongs, and his deprivations, all forgotten, he
would remember only that he lived to love and to be loved by her.




CHAP. VI.


Hitherto light airs and cheering suns had accompanied them on their
voyage, but now the weather changed; thick clouds arose, volume after
volume, from the horizon, till the whole heavens were darkened; a hollow
wind muttered among these threatening clouds, and the turbid sea seemed
to labour with an approaching storm.

It was on the sixteenth day of their voyage that the tempest burst
forth. A tremendous gale from the south-west began to blow, accompanied
with lightning and hail; the ship drove before the blast, her rigging
all torn, and the waves washing over her deck: every peal of thunder was
followed by ghastly yelling of shrill winds, a thousand times more
dreary than thunder. The rattling of hail and rain among her cordage,
the flapping of her wet sails, the creaking of her masts, the confused
sound of voices and feet, as the sailors hurried to and fro along the
deck, the tremendous roaring of the sea, all struck terror to Kara
Aziek; she sat trembling in her cabin, listening to every sound, and
sensible to hope only when she saw Sebastian.

Aware of their danger, (for the ship was driving rapidly towards a lee
shore,) the King’s anxiety discovered itself in his pale and disturbed
countenance; he presented himself perpetually at the door of Aziek’s
cabin, as if to see that he had her still, and as often hurried away
again to assist in the labours of the seamen.

Whenever he appeared the devoted Aziek felt her terrors disperse; it
seemed impossible to her that Heaven should abandon him she loved, to a
dreadful death. Her women, drowned in tears, on their knees, and half
distracted, mingled shrieks with their prayers and lamentations; the
soft soul of their mistress became a coward for their sakes, and she
wept more for their apprehensions than from her own.

In the midst of this awful suspense a crash was heard, the next moment
Sebastian entered; his wild look and hurried step transfixed Kara Aziek;
for the first time she believed that they were about to perish together:
without speaking, he snatched her up and bore her in his arms to the
deck; she found he trembled violently: Yes Aziek, but it was for thee he
trembled,--that great soul knew no other fear!

Merciful Heaven! what a sight presented itself! the vessel, with her
masts swept by the board was lying a mere hull upon mountainous waves;
through the blackness of midnight, by repeated sheets of lightning the
whole ocean was momentarily discovered, dark, raging, covered with
horrid foam,--now swelling to the clouds, now sinking as if into the
depths of perdition.

Imprecations, vows, prayers, and cries, mingled with the dreadful roar
of the winds and waters; sometimes the storm made a pause, and then was
heard distinctly the noise of the ship, as she drove furiously towards
the rocks: but again the blast and thunder would unite, till heaven and
earth seemed rocking with the sound.

As the tempest had swept away their boat, and they were driving upon the
perilous coasts of Tarradunt and Suz, every soul on board gave himself
up to destruction. It was at this moment that Sebastian yielded to
despair: he pressed Kara Aziek in his arms with convulsive strength,
while he repeated wildly, “You perish Aziek! and my love cannot save
you.”

“I perish on thy bosom--in thy heart!” she said faintly, fixing on him
her asking eyes, swimming in grief and bliss.

“Yes, in my heart, Aziek!” he exclaimed vehemently, “I call God to
witness at this awful moment, that you only share my thoughts with Him!”

Aziek raised her speaking eyes to Heaven with a look of ineffable
emotion--“O grant,” she cried, “divine prophet, that we may live
together in thy paradise!”

At that expression, mortal pains seized Sebastian, his blood froze, cold
damps stood on his forehead; Aziek, the beloved and generous Aziek, was
a Mahometan, and in the other world they would never be re-united.
Pierced with pious sorrow, he uttered a deep groan, his arms lost their
strength, they slackened their hold, and the sea breaking over them,
carried with it the last earthly blessing of Sebastian.

The next moment the ship struck upon a steep coast; confusion, terror,
despair, followed; the frantic King calling on Kara Aziek, ran, from
side to side, yet hoping to find her he had lost. Some of the crew
clung to the shattered wreck, others threw themselves into the sea on
planks and spars; the women shrieking and invoking their prophet hung
round Sebastian, his heart was wrung with pity, and regardless of his
own situation, he exerted his small remains of strength to succour these
unfortunates.

A sort of raft, hastily constructed, offered the only means of safety;
to that he committed them, while he sprang to the topmost part of the
stern, madly striving to catch a broader view of the ocean amid the
blazes of lightning.

Aziek’s name, coupled with that of the awful God he implored to save
her, were soon the sole human sounds heard mingling with the roaring
elements; alone and hopeless, his eyes were still straining round, when
another shock loosened every plank of the vessel, and scattered her in
fragments upon the waters.

Sebastian sunk; but his guardian angel yet watched over her charge, and
he rose again: cold, motionless, spent with grief and fatigue,
insensible to every thing, he was seized by his watchful dog who kept
hold in defiance of the storm, and at last brought him safely to land.

The chill morning air contributed to awaken Sebastian from that lethargy
into which his senses had fallen; when he unclosed his eyes, they fixed
upon Barémel, who lay shivering at his feet; he turned them from him to
the objects around: nothing was to be seen beyond arid rocks, and a
measureless ocean whose turbid waves sullenly heaved under a leaden sky.

He gazed wistfully, for his thoughts were dim and imperfect, and memory
seemed blotted out from his faculties; the confused idea of Kara Aziek,
alone remained.

He lay some time looking stedfastly before him, while his senses roused
slowly; on a sudden a cry escaped him, he leaped up, and glanced round
with a maniac’s wildness; the perfect recollection of his misfortune
had shot through his brain, enlightening while it maddened him: he tried
to articulate the name of her he lamented, but the sound expired on his
lips, and smiting his breast, he sat down again upon the ground.

It is not at first that our hearts feel the full force of a blow which
breaks them in pieces: we do not easily comprehend how a few hours or
moments can have made us so utterly wretched; ’tis only by degrees that
our thoughts, measuring the extent of an irrevocable calamity, ascertain
its existence and its magnitude: then rush forth regret and lamentation,
then the images of past joys surround us like demons assuming beloved
shapes to torture us more keenly; and those deadly words, _lost, lost
for ever_! resounding perpetually thro’ our souls, fill them with
desolation and despair.

Pale and motionless, Sebastian sat with his head leaning on his hand,
gazing on that wide ocean which had entombed Kara Aziek: even yet, his
senses were not quite awake; nay, they seemed to have fallen back into
that trance out of which they had transiently started.--His dull eyes
saw not the wistful ones of his dumb companion, who sensible to his
master’s grief, lay moaning before him: nothing rouzed him till some
fragments of wreck floating on shore gave birth to hope.

Again the face of Sebastian shone with animation, his nerves were
new-strung, he called to Barémel, and flew rather than ran towards the
sea.--Every where he beheld broken masts and yards, mixed with dead
bodies; some were already washed on shore, others borne in with the
tide: at that afflicting sight he averted his head and groaned heavily.
Alas! it appeared his destiny to be for ever surrounded by
destruction!--

He traversed the sands and shore in vain, he searched the rocks and
their caverns, he sent Barémel into the waves for every object but
faintly discernible; Barémel only brought him Kara Aziek’s shawl: at
this sight his fortitude ceased, he snatched the sad relic, while
burning drops rained from his eyes--she had perished then, she had lost
her life for him!--since but for his unhappy sake she would never have
consented to be the Basha’s wife, never have braved the sea, never have
met so disastrous a death.

Overcome with these convictions, the unfortunate prince held the shawl
to his lips, and remained in the same attitude with his face enveloped
in it, alternately pursuing in thought the body of Aziek to the hideous
depths of ocean, or following with trembling anxiety her pure spirit
into the courts of Heaven.




CHAP. VII.


In this state of abstraction, the King was perceived by a groupe of
natives, who had come to the strand, in hope of plundering such vessels
as they might find wrecked there; it cost them no trouble to make him
their prisoner; the formidable Sebastian had not then any care for
himself.--having explained to them as well as the difference of their
provincial Moresco would permit, that he had been cast on their shore by
the late storm, and was consequently too much enfeebled for great
exertion, they were induced to let him walk slowly.

They led him towards some mean houses, which lay at a distance up the
country; there they left him, and ran off again to the wreck. Barémel,
though beaten away by those surly Africans, had still returned and
followed his master’s steps, but plunged in profound grief, Sebastian
ceased to think of his faithful dog, and entered a hut, unconscious that
clubs and stones were then driving the poor animal far away.

An old woman within offered him some coarse provisions, and pointed to a
miserable bed of dried weeds, where she said he might sleep off his
fatigue: Sebastian threw himself down in silence, and the woman quitting
him, bolted the door on her charge.--

The certainty of being again a slave, made little impression on a heart
already exhausted of its capability of suffering. There are periods in
our existence, when we seem able to refuse any further sacrifices to
grief; in these moments a species of sullen resignation succeeds the
transports of despair, and life or death appears equally a matter of
indifference.

Such were the feelings of Sebastian; he lay on his rude bed, gloomy and
tearless, careless of the passing hours which were to bring back his new
masters.

It was evening when these men returned: they brought with them many
things from the wreck, which they greedily shared. Their captive’s
silent acquiescence in his destiny, moved them to promise that they
would sell him only to a good master, and that in the mean time he
should be well fed and kindly treated.

While tempting him to eat part of their hard fare, some one opened the
outer door, and Barémel rushing in, sprung to his master’s feet: one of
the Moors would have thrust him out, had not Sebastian besought the
comfort of retaining his only friend: after a short demur, consent was
granted; and having devoured some scanty fragments of the supper,
Barémel was suffered to retire to rest in the same corner with his
master.

As the King put aside his doublet and vest, he observed on the back of
them the deep indents of teeth; the miracle of his preservation was
then shewn to him; grief mixed with gratitude, and a sentiment nearly
amounting to tenderness, swelled from his heart to his eyes; it burst
forth in tears, while hastily glancing from his clothes to his mute
friend, he exclaimed, “Ah Barémel, what a life hast thou preserved?”

The feelings once melted are not soon restored to their former state;
Sebastian wept silently a long time; for he thought of Kara Aziek, and
wished that Barémel had saved her only.

Vain were these wishes, these poignant regrets; the hollow blasts
sweeping over the roof which sheltered him, and the hoarse waves
resounding from afar, seemed to repeat again and again that Aziek had
been their victim.

It was now that Sebastian felt conscious of having loved that generous
Being, her loss had torn away the veil of self-delusion, and convinced
him that what he believed but solicitude for her happiness, was in
reality anxiety for his own.--Ah wretched condition of humanity! no
sooner do we begin to feel the full value of our possessions, than they
are wrested from us!--is it the law of our being that we are never to
possess and to enjoy at the same moment?

Providence had consigned the unfortunate monarch to merciful men; they
tried to cheer his melancholy, and did not urge him to any services: if
he would but share their meal and submit to confinement, they were
satisfied.--’Tis true, it was interest they chiefly consulted in this
conduct, (for on his healthful looks depended their expected profit) yet
ignorant men do not often calculate remote advantages.

The first day after a new moon, these people set off with their captive
for the town of Mesa, where repairing to the house of a slave merchant,
they encountered an aged man in want of a servant, who purchased
Sebastian.

Something of his former fierceness blazed in the eyes of the proud King
when he found himself the object of degrading traffic, but the gentle
image of Kara Aziek glided before his fancy, and absorbed every other
sentiment in that of regret; he paused, sighed profoundly, and tears
stole down his cheek.

The old man looked at him with an air of compassion; that look
encouraged Sebastian to ask if Barémel might share his destiny, the
request was granted, and soon after these inseparable companions were
removed to a comfortable abode in the town of Mesa.

Tefza, Sebastian’s master, was a native of the kingdom of Fez, and
having made a pilgrimage to Mecca and Medina, bore the title of Hadgé;
(a religious distinction conferred only on such as have visited the
birth-place, and the tomb of their prophet) far advanced in life, and
naturally averse to domestic cares, the Hadgé had neither wives nor
children, so that all the occupations of Sebastian were to work in a
little garden, and assist in charitable offices.

The latter part of his duty was one to which his benevolent nature
yielded with delight, and by sharing in it, he learned to esteem his
master, and to obey him in other matters without reluctance. Assuredly
there can be no degradation in serving the good.

These humane employments softened the bitterness of Sebastian’s regrets,
but though he complained no more, raved no more, an austere sadness
settled on his character: the virtues and the love of Kara Aziek had
penetrated the utmost depths of his heart, and now devoured with vain
remorse at having ever preferred another to her, he abandoned every
other wish, and every other source of enjoyment.

His docility and his dejection, but above all, that dignity which the
divine hand had stamped upon his lineaments, interested the Hadgé; he
would frequently endeavour to draw him into conversation about his past
life and condition, and would often urge on him what he believed the
only true religion: but Sebastian contrived to elude his questions, and
silence his arguments.

A month had not elapsed, when Tefza informed his slave that they were on
the point of commencing a long journey; he had a brother in Fez, dying
of a lingering disorder, who had sent to beg he would come and close his
eyes; he was therefore about to set forward on the morrow.

What a tumult of sweet and maddening remembrances did not the prospect
of this journey awaken!--Fez had been the scene of Sebastian’s principal
misfortune; it was once the residence of Kara Aziek; he was going again
to tread that ground, bathed in the blood of his bravest warriors, and
sacred to the memory of Stukeley; he was going to revisit as a slave,
the place which he had left only two or three months back, with love
and a kingdom before him!--How would the worthy Tefza have been amazed,
could he have seen all the movements of that heart, which to him was so
mysteriously reserved!

Accompanied by Barémel, sometimes travelling on camels or on mules, the
Hadgé and his companion quitted the territory of Tarradunt, crossed the
range of Atlas, and journeying over the plains of Morocco, penetrated
through the passes of the Green Mountains into the kingdom of Fez;
directing their course westward, they came at length to the dwelling of
the Hadgé’s brother, a solitary house near the town of Riffa.

Death had already sealed the eyes of the sick man; but as his property
devolved to the nearest relative, after providing for his widows, the
good Hadgé resolved upon spending the remnant of his own days in his
native place: they returned therefore no more to Tarradunt.

Days and weeks now revolved in the same wearisome round of trifling
employments and complete retirement; Sebastian almost wished for
laborious tasks which might distract his attention by fatiguing his
body; his attention alas! was occupied with past events. Regret assuming
the form of remorse, preyed on him incessantly, reminding him of the
worthless woman for whose sake he had slighted happiness when he might
have secured it with Kara Aziek.

With this regret was mixed some repining at the hard destiny which had
never presented him to Aziek but under circumstances of humiliation; he
wished she had seen him in his prosperous days, surrounded by pomps and
pleasures, yet disdaining their caresses, and emulous only of fame! he
wished she had beheld the man she loved in the full plenitude of power;
his preference then, might have appeared a distinction!

Fruitless were these wishes! that proud heart could now never be
gratified by laying worldly honours at the feet of one chosen object.
Once a frightful apprehension suddenly sprung out of these meditations;
Kara Aziek might have perished doubting the reality of his rights,
surely their strange rencontre on the ocean might authorize such a
suspicion!

Not even the pang inflicted by her death could equal that which now
wrung Sebastian; he imagined himself to have been suspected an impostor;
the thought was maddening to honour.

It was many moments ere that impatient spirit could calm itself
sufficiently to silence so preposterous a fear: gradually it was
tranquilized by the recollections of Aziek’s ingenuous looks, where
respect ever mixed itself with love.--But the vanquished alarm had left
behind it some thoughts which roused the slumbering energies of
Sebastian: he felt that Kara Aziek’s memory required that he should
endeavour to restore the man she adored to the rank and the duties
allotted him by Providence.

Often when plunged in deep fits of gloom, during which his faculties
seemed benumbed and his feelings callous, an inward voice would cry out
to him, “Awake! arise Sebastian! days of glory yet await thee!” then the
blood would pour in tides of fire through his veins, he would start from
his desponding posture, and look round with an inflamed countenance, as
if on the point of breaking the bonds which held him.

Had they been real bonds how soon would his powerful arm have burst them
asunder! but they were the bonds of gratitude and honour!

The Hadgé confided in him implicitly, treated him like a son, ceased to
exact his attendance; save where humanity demanded their united cares,
evinced the liveliest interest in his salvation, in short, offered him
every thing, granted him every thing except his freedom.--Could he then
basely turn these benefits into engines of ingratitude?

At liberty to go whithersoever he pleased, Sebastian was more a prisoner
than when shut up within the cells of El Hader’s residence: the
generosity of his present master was a wall of adamant in his eyes.

Unable to use stratagem, he tried the effect of entreaties; he combatted
his unsocial melancholy, and spoke unreservedly to Tefza of his desire
to quit Barbary: Tefza’s questions forced him to confess that he had
neither parents nor dear connexions to whom he wished to be re-united,
that he was a solitary wretch going to cross the Atlantic in the forlorn
hope of finding a lost friend.

“I love thee too much poor youth, to grant thy foolish suit,” said the
Hadgé, one day to him; “thou hast owned that death and perfidy have
swept away all thy possessions, where then wouldst thou seek happiness?
believe me it is only placed in piety. Stay contented with me, listen
to my instructions; it will be impossible for such a soul as thine to
remain long in darkness; I shall convert thee at last to the religion of
our holy prophet; then, thou wilt bless thy misfortunes which brought
thee to covet the bread of life. No, no, thou shalt not go; I am
interested for thy soul.”

This vain idea had fixed itself so firmly in the good mussulman’s mind
that no protestations of Sebastian’s could shake it: the more the one
resisted arguments the more the other redoubled them; and when he found
his slave resolute in rejecting every persuasive for him to be present
at one of their religious ceremonies, he merely shook his head, telling
him the time would come when he would look back upon his present
obstinate blindness with shame and compunction.

Neither the indulgence, nor the good intention of Tefza, moderated that
mixture of sorrow and resentment with which the still-impatient monarch
of Portugal received this decision: disdaining further solicitation, and
resolved never again to reveal his rank while it was in the power of
adverse accident to give an air of doubt to such an assertion, he
withdrew once more within himself; and like the proud steed newly
brought under man’s subjection, who champs his bit, and paws the ground
with indignation, he performed the duties of a slave with the haughty
air of a prince.

Adversity hardens some hearts, and melts others: Sebastian’s
unfortunately did not soften from the grasp of calamity: his eyes, not
yet opened to his own character, had not observed how inevitably some
lines of conduct produce certain misery. Had he reflected
dispassionately, he might have been convinced, that to his romantic
wilfulness and contempt of counsel, all the disasters of Alcazar were
attributable; that rash enterprize, together with his blameable
attachment to the betrothed wife of De Castro, had prepared the hearts
of his subjects for future indifference about his fate.

There were times, indeed, when Sebastian severely censured parts of his
own conduct, but for want of steadily tracing actions and their
consequences through the whole of their course, he remained
self-deluded, believing Providence, not himself, responsible for his
heaviest calamities. Often did he exclaim, “What have I done to merit
ruin like this!”

Remote from any social intercourse, (for he abhorred the society of the
Moors) and almost abandoned of hope, his spirit was gradually
contracting a severity bordering upon hardness: that soft being was gone
who alone knew how to melt him into tenderness; that soft being, who
ever possessed a charm capable of awakening him to philanthropy and to
delight.

Deprived of Kara Aziek, he was likely to lose all that was amiable in
his character, and to retain only the sterner virtues: sometimes he
sighed over this changing character, and felt sorrow at the alteration;
but except his faithful dog, whose attachment always affected him, he
possessed no object for tender solicitude. Was it wonderful then, that
he should become cold and unsocial?

The short winter of that sultry climate had now passed away, and the
almond trees were already covered with their bright, rosy blossoms; one
of the Moresco feasts was approaching, at which the Hadgé urged his
slave to be present: from such a proposition Sebastian started with
horror, hastening to redouble his devout prostrations before a wooden
cross which he had shaped for himself, and kept within his own chamber.
The Hadgé left him disappointed.

It was evening when he returned: the captive monarch was alone on one of
those terraces which the Moors raise upon the flat roofs of their
houses, and plant with odorous shrubs; he was stretched out under the
shade of a citron-tree, whose branches enveloped him, and plunged in a
reverie, did not hear the Hadgé utter the following words.

“Fabian, I have brought home a venerable traveller for rest and
refreshment, see that you prevent all his wants; I must go out again,
and trust him awhile to your care.”

The noise Tefza made in closing the door that opened on the terrace,
roused Sebastian, he started round, and beheld with rising emotion, an
aged man clad in a dark-brown garment, whose silver beard descended to
his girdle: the mildly-intellectual look, assured him it was Abensallah.

Uttering an exclamation of joy, Sebastian pressed forward to kiss his
hand; the dervise put his finger on his lip, they were both silent: at
length, venturing to believe Tefza beyond hearing, he stretched out his
arms, and pressing him within them, shed some tears, “We meet at last,
my son,” he said, in a low feeble voice, “the gracious Mahomet has
heard my prayers, and repaid me for this pilgrimage in search of thee.”

“In search of me!” repeated Sebastian, “surely, father, you have not
been wandering throughout Africa in pursuit of me, ever since the day we
parted.”

A benign smile gently moved the old man’s lips. “No, my son, I have not;
for I knew not then, whether thy departure had not been voluntary: since
that period I have heard the whole of thy sufferings; they have been
severe--but I come to thee now with comfort--I bring thee a strange
present from a hand deservedly dear.” As the old man spoke, he put aside
the foldings of his mantle, and drew out of his breast a milk-white dove
which nestled there.

“This bird,” he continued, “is destined to convey intelligence of thy
safety and my success, to one who scarcely values life preserved,
till----”

The violent emotion of Sebastian interrupted him: pale, trembling,
oppressed with sudden hope almost to agony, the King vehemently seized
one of Abensallah’s hands in both his, while his eyes only articulated
the name of Aziek: the dervise hastily replied to them.

“She lives, my son--she sends me to thee.”

At these life-giving words, Sebastian’s transported countenance might be
said to emit visible rays; he dropt the hand of Abensallah abruptly, and
raising his own to heaven, uttered with his heart the acknowledgment his
lips could not pronounce.

When this rapturous disorder of the senses would allow him power, he
exclaimed, “She lives--you say she lives, Abensallah!--how saved?--where
sheltered?--This bird, soft and tender like herself, (ah, fit emblem of
Kara Aziek) why is it sent?--assure me that she lives--you would not
deceive me.”

The impetuous agitation of youth was here gracefully contrasted by the
majestic calmness of age: Abensallah listened with mildness to these
broken and fluctuating sentences, then exhorting him to be composed,
began to detail the circumstances of Kara Aziek’s escape.

At the dreadful moment in which she was swept away from the arms of
Sebastian, Providence ordained that a large wicker basket should be
swept off also; by an instinctive action she snatched at it for support,
and borne up by its elasticity, continued floating forward.

The tide was flowing in, so that every surge impelled the basket, and
its precious freight, nearer shore: one wave stronger than another,
lifted them to a prodigious height, and then precipitated them upon the
land; Aziek had just life enough left to feel the possibility of
preserving life, and the fond idea that perhaps Sebastian was with her,
gave her strength to move among the ledges of the rock on which she was
cast, and to secure herself in a chasm: there she sunk down wholly
exhausted, no longer sensible of danger, though the foaming billows
alternately lashed and receded from the projection which sheltered her.

The same morning air that had revived her distant lover, brought her
back to a sense of existence; but she was incapable of motion, and
remained two whole days undiscovered by any one, even while she heard
people on the shore below, whom her feeble voice could not reach. She
called on Sebastian, but her doleful accents alone returned on the echo.

Some sea-fowl’s eggs deposited in the cleft that hid her, sufficed to
keep nature from perishing; but grief, and the wounds her tender body
had received while beaten against the rocks, had nearly terminated her
short life, when a Moorish child clambering up in search of birds’
nests, descried her, and ran off to tell his parents.

As her complexion, dress, and language, assured them she was a native of
Barbary, these people carried her to their fishing-boat with great
care; she fainted ere they reached it, reviving at last only to a state
more like death than life.

In this situation she was taken to their hut some miles further down the
coast, and remained there many days, almost expiring; at length the hand
of Heaven raised her, and she was able to tell her name and rank.

Deprived of her soul’s treasure, Kara Aziek believed that she should not
tarry after him on earth, but she was willing to die on the bosom of her
parent, and to receive the consolations of religion in her parting hour.
She therefore gave orders for being conveyed to the Alcayde of the
province, who deeming it his duty to forward her to her father, supplied
her with guards and a physician, under whose protection she was moved in
a sort of litter, by easy stages, from the kingdom of Suz to that of
Fez.

At this part of his narrative, the dervise suddenly broke off, “alas my
memory!” he exclaimed, “this bird was to have been dispatched with
tidings if I found thee--I see Tefza approaching along the road--thou
hast no time to write--the sight of her bird will suffice--”

“Stay Abensallah!” cried Sebastian, catching his arm as it was extended
to give the dove liberty;--the dervise paused, while the King hastily
pulled from his head a lock of hair, and pushing aside the loose sleeve
of his habit, untwisted a braid of Kara Aziek’s, which from its length
surrounded his wrist several times.

The sight of that lovely-soft hair, revived the memory of her lovelier
form, and Sebastian’s emotions now assumed a more passionate cast; his
eyes sparkling with vehement wishes, floated in a kind of rapturous
dizziness; half-closing them, he leaned for support against the shoulder
of Abensallah: an ardent sigh burst from his oppressed heart.

“Moderate this transport, my son!” said the dervise gravely, “or turn
it towards that God to whom thou owest so much.”--

Sebastian blushed, and roused himself. “My heart _does_ overflow with
gratitude;” he replied, “Heaven reads it: but surely I may be permitted
to feel the value of what that Heaven restores?”--

As he spoke, he was weaving the locks of hair together, intending them
to convey to Kara Aziek the sentiment of their inseparable union,----the
gentle dove scarcely fluttered in Abensallah’s grasp, while
Sebastian fastened the precious knot under her wing; no sooner was it
fixed, than running to the furthest edge of the terrace, he unloosed the
bird, which shot away with the velocity of light.

Her white pinions, rendered visible by the darkening twilight, enabled
them long to trace her course through air, but at length she diminished
to a mere speck, and the next moment disappeared wholly.

The eyes of the King remained fixed upon that part of the sky where she
had vanished; Abensallah had just time to whisper that he would finish
his story on the morrow, before Tefza joined them.

When the Hadgé found that the stranger had not partaken of any
refreshment, he was going to rebuke his slave, when Abensallah turned
his wrath into pleasure, by assuring him the young man had done better
by attending to his discourse.

Concluding that so pious a personage could only have talked upon one
topic, Tefza smiled graciously, and leading his guest down to a covered
apartment, ordered a dish of kusscason, and dried fruits.

During supper, Sebastian discovered that Abensallah had introduced
himself in the chief mosque to the Hadgé, and proclaiming himself the
hermit of Benzeroel, had immediately received an invitation to rest for
the night under his roof: he was to set off again the ensuing day.

“A charitable errand brought me to Riffa,” he said, addressing Tefza,
“our blessed prophet has allowed me to fulfil it: by sun-rise to-morrow
I must return to my mountain, for many unfortunates are now perhaps
waiting for me there to ask my feeble prayers,--let this Christian
accompany me a little on my way.”

Tefza joyfully consented, and they separated for the night.--There was
no sleep in the breast of Sebastian, agitated by anxiety to learn more
of Aziek’s situation, and thrilling with a multitude of sweet
anticipations, he left his bed, and traversed his room: sometimes he
stopt and embraced Barémel, thanking him for having preserved a life now
unspeakably dear to him; but still oftener he prostrated himself before
the cross, and yielded up his whole soul to the delightful duty of
gratitude.

It was in these moments that the proud spirit which had rebelled against
its trials, and dared to question divine justice, became soft and
malleable, and melted into penitence: how was he touched and overcome
when he reflected, that at the very time he was resisting the almighty
hand, that bounteous hand was preparing for him the most miraculous
blessing!

Struck, penetrated with remorse, he wept his fault; and never was the
imperious monarch of Portugal more humble, more impressed with a sense
of human dependance, than at this period when happiness seemed to woo
his embrace.




CHAP. VIII.


Day dawned over the high top of Atlas, bringing the hour for
Abensallah’s departure; Sebastian was first ready: they set off
together, the former seated on a quiet mule, which Tefza kindly forced
the dervise to accept; the latter walking by his side.

No sooner were they beyond the precincts of Riffa, and passing under the
refreshing shade of trees, than Sebastian besought his companion to
proceed with his narrative: Abensallah hastened to acquiesce.

“My story will not be much longer;” he observed, “it is enough to tell
thee that Kara Aziek reached her home in safety, where the ablest
physicians were employed to restore her health: but her soul languished
for thee, my son, and medicines cannot reach the soul.--her father too,
happy in beholding her again, and moved by her melancholy, though
ignorant of its cause, consented to defer sending information of her
safety to the Basha of Syria, till our prophet should have heard the
prayers of the physicians: this indulgence somewhat revived her, yet her
heart drooped again, for she believed thee lost. Wasted by sorrow and
sickness, every one supposed her fast descending to Hades, when lo, her
looks brightened, her spirit overflowed with joy, and she revived to a
second life. This wonderful change was wrought in her, by one of those
events which Providence orders, but which erring mortals so often
attribute to chance.”

Dost thou not remember, prince, having found a traveller in the road to
Riffa, whom robbers had stripped and left covered with wounds?--thou
did’st carry him in thine arms to the house of thy master, thy pious
cares restored him to life, he sojourned with thee five days, at
parting, thy words were these, “Moor, do not thank _me_, thank Christ,
whose servant I am, and who has taught me to succour even those who deny
his name.”

“Yes--I remember this man, but what had he to do with my fate?”

“Much,” returned Abensallah, “see how good actions bless
themselves!--this man came to Mequinez to visit a brother, who is
married to Kara Aziek’s favorite woman: he spoke of thee, he detailed
thy humanity, described thy person, and thy discourses, but chiefly he
spoke of yon faithful animal, whom he had heard thee call thy preserver
from shipwreck: at this relation Benzaide ran to her mistress,
transfused her own hopes into her bosom, and quickly suggested a mode of
being satisfied.--The Almoçadem El Hader, had been just offered the
government of Benzeroel; Kara Aziek was to persuade him to accept it,
as that step would bring her into a cavila near thee.

“No sooner was she removed thither, than remembering thy accounts of
Abensallah, she dispatched messengers for me, partly that I might teach
her how best to thank the great prophet for restoring her health, partly
to interest me with her own anxiety: the sad story she had to tell of
thy misfortunes, renewed all my affection, I set out, and found thee.”

At these words, Sebastian precipitated himself into the arms of the
benevolent dervise, his excessive emotion deprived him of utterance: “Ah
my son!” resumed Abensallah, “if Providence destines thee to regain thy
rights, thou hast promised to sheathe the sword, which for so many
centuries has desolated Africa;--be true to that promise, and then I
cannot believe myself culpable in seeking to obtain thy freedom, and
preserving for thee the heart of her, whose virtues will prove the best
guarantee of thy good faith. Thou knowest I am no bigot; wherever they
are to be found, sincerity and zeal obtain my respect. Christians are as
yet but walking in darkness, they see not the light that we do, but if
they walk uprightly according to their own laws, may we not hope for
their salvation? Obey _thy_ prophet, prince, and then I trust we shall
meet again, even in the paradise of his superior, Mahomet.”

“Hold, hold, father,” interrupted Sebastian, averting his face with a
look of horror, “I must not listen to such impious words. I acknowledge
no superior to Him under whose banner I fight.”

Abensallah cast on him a glance of pity, but did not answer: Sebastian
for some time preserved a dignified silence, at length suddenly
recollecting the commission he had formerly given the dervise, he
enquired whether he had ever sought out the Portuguese prisoners.

A new source of satisfaction opened to him when he learnt that
Abensallah’s charitable exertions had procured the release of several,
and that amongst them was Don Emanuel de Castro.

Had he then told De Castro of his sovereign’s existence? How had he
received that information? What sentiments had he uttered? These, and a
croud of other questions, followed each other with such impetuosity,
that the dervise scarcely found an opportunity of replying to them.

“When he took the ring thou didst instruct me to display,” said
Abensallah, “his otherwise calm and thoughtful aspect, became suddenly
as changeful my son, as thine own: his cheek alternately reddened and
grew pale, and his eyes bent on the momentous signet, seemed fraught
with past events: once or twice he sighed, but soon brightening into
joy, he put it respectfully to his lips, and devoutly blessed thy
prophet for having preserved thee. Having told him of thy strange
disappearance, he seemed greatly disturbed, although I endeavoured to
make him believe that some hasty impulse had prompted thee to brave thy
fate, without my assistance: he then won from me the ring, assuring me
that shouldst thou not be returned to Portugal, unless he could produce
that, such of the grandees as found it their interest to doubt, might
plausibly suspect him of falsehood. To this reasoning I yielded, and
soon after, journeying to Tangier, made my way to the governor, and
brought back with me a redemption friar, to treat for Don Emanuel’s
ransom.

“Ignorant of his rank, the person to whose lot he had fallen would have
sold him for a trifle, but thy friend refused to take advantage of this
circumstance: he left with him seven purses of gold crowns.”

“How like De Castro!” interrupted his once-intemperate rival, “nobleness
and he were twin-born! Father, it is one of my sins to have used this
man unworthily.”

“What an unworthy passion must that have been which blinded thee!”
exclaimed Abensallah, with an earnestness unusual to him. “Were I to
paint Truth, the majestic portrait should have the lineaments of Emanuel
de Castro.”

“It was an unworthy passion;” returned the King, casting his eyes down,
yet somewhat proudly still--“However, father, I believed the object of
it, what she appeared, an angel!”

This oblique defence produced some observations and admonitions from
Abensallah which carried along with them infinite instruction; Sebastian
listened with profound attention, and many of the exhortations he then
heard, were remembered in after years with solid advantage.

They parted near a village where the good dervise had some charitable
visits to make.

Reflective but happy, Sebastian returned homewards, too much occupied
with Kara Aziek’s safety, and Abensallah’s friendship, to recollect that
he was even now remote from enjoying them; fortunately for human nature,
it is ever inclined to take one good as the earnest of another; and
sweetly cheated by this self-delusion, the King of Portugal already
looked confidently to the ultimate possession of all his wishes.

Tefza welcomed him back with many an encomium upon the pious dervise,
whose discourses he ventured to hope would not be thrown away:
encouraged by the complacency with which his slave heard him, he renewed
his own arguments in favor of Mahomet, promising to make the Christian
his heir, provided he would embrace Islamism. At any other period such
a proposal would have drawn down on him a storm of indignation, but the
harmonized feelings of Sebastian were at present inclined to put the
most amiable construction upon every thing, he therefore saw only zeal
and affection in this weak attempt at bribing him to abandon his
peculiar faith, and answered him temperately yet firmly.

This unusual gentleness on a topic which had hitherto roused fiery
opposition, gave the good Hadgé grounds for believing him not unmoved by
the conversation of Abensallah.

While he was indulging unreal satisfaction during the days which
followed this, his royal slave was impatiently watching the
re-appearance of that winged messenger whose speedy return Abensallah
had led him to expect. The first glow of blissful surprise was now over,
chilling fears began to succeed; and in proportion to the value he set
on Liberty and Love, so increased his doubts of ever obtaining them.

Kara Aziek under the command of her father, and himself in slavery, were
ill able to give a happy change to their mutual destiny: it is true
Abensallah had informed him that she would purchase his freedom through
the medium of Benzaide’s brother-in-law, but observation of the Hadgé’s
character warned him not to rely too much upon his acquiescence, and
while contemplating the blind zeal of that devotee, he trembled to
think, that after all, this bright dawn might darken, and the sun of
felicity sink in clouds.

The fourth day elapsed without bringing any intelligence from Benzeroel:
every hour of those days had the King hurried to the terrace, and
hastily glanced round the whole circle of air; in the evenings when
Tefza was at the mosque, he repaired to his station, gazing with a
throbbing heart, which mistook every cloud for a bird.

The day was done, Tefza had come home and retired to rest, Sebastian
sought the terrace again; he leaned over its railing, and his eyes
wandered round a scene of solemn beauty.

The “moon walking in brightness,” cast her sublime shadow upon the city
below; the minaurets of its mosques, and the flat roofs of its houses
were covered with light as with a mantle; profound repose rested on
these buildings; but a moment before they had been full of hurry and
noise: distant groves of tall palms, and the far-off mountains of Atlas
with their snowy summits, glittered faintly on the horizon, filling the
imagination with yet nobler images, and prompting genius and piety to
awake together. The whole prospect breathed peace, and all nature
appeared to feel in this majestic stillness the immediate presence of
her Almighty Maker.

Sebastian’s heart was touched, a sweet melancholy penetrated and filled
it, never before had he thought of Kara Aziek with so little passion or
so much love; never before had he contemplated eternity with her, with
so much enthusiasm; he repeated her name softly, and some tears stole
down his cheek.

“O beautiful planet!” he exclaimed, fixing his swimming eyes on the orb
above, “Thou alone art like my beloved! perhaps she is looking on thee
at this moment, and thinking of her Sebastian: our souls are then
meeting, Kara Aziek, sympathy unites them, though a hard fate separates
our lives.--Are we not destined to live together in another world?--O
yes, thou wilt abjure thy error, and give thyself to the God I worship.”

He stopt, mused awhile, then recollecting the dove, again looked
wistfully round. Perhaps some disaster had happened to her, some
wandering Alarbe might have shot her as she flew! at so probable an idea
composure vanished, and anxiety blended with pity began to encrease
insupportably.

But at that instant a bright speck is seen on the deep blue of the
Heavens; it increases, approaches! soon the white wings of a bird are
visible, they move swifter, they pause, it is the dove!

She drops from her height and alights beside him: Sebastian seizes her
hastily, but his trembling hand almost fears to grasp his prize; he
covers her head, her wings, with kisses, he feels the letter beneath
them, yet, as if afraid of too much joy, is unable to do more than to
renew those kisses and to call on Heaven as the witness of his
gratitude!

Having at last secured his treasure, neither humanity nor justice would
permit him to enjoy it, till he had rewarded its carrier; he ran with
the little creature in his bosom to his own chamber where he gave it
food and water, caressing it all the time with a fondness which excited
Barémel’s jealousy; he barked, and leaped upon his master as if to
remind him that he too had served him.

“What a change!” exclaimed Sebastian, musing, “from a court and crowds
of serving nobles, to this Moorish hovel; and these two mute creatures!
ah well, they love me, and are faithful.”

He now placed the pigeon in a cage of oziers which he had before
prepared for her, and while her weary eyes closed in sleep, and Barémel
was comforted by licking his master’s hand unchidden, the momentous
letter was opened and read.

All that the tenderest and freeest of hearts could dictate when
addressing the object dearest to it on earth, that letter contained; it
repeated vows of eternal constancy, and assured him that his freedom
would immediately be attempted: but the joy diffused over Sebastian’s
mind by this promise was blighted at once by learning, that a lamentable
disorder had seized El Hader, and that in consequence of it, Aziek
believed herself bound to remain with him.

“Thou wilt quit Barbary,” she wrote, “alas! thou wilt then have to quit
it alone, (for how can I clandestinely desert a dying father who has
indulgently heard my prayer of being released from the Basha?) but
thoughts of Kara Aziek’s love will live in thy generous soul, and thou
wilt claim her after thy return to Portugal.”

“Yet O! think not my beloved, that I will not follow thee to the
remotest corner of the globe, should the angel of death summon away my
kind parent: my soul is inseparable from thine; it is lost, confounded,
mixed with thine for ever. Whatever be thy destiny I have a precious
right to share it: in happiness or in misery art thou not _my_
Sebastian?”

In another part she described in the most affecting language her
emotions on receiving the proof of his preservation Sebastian did not
require so lively a picture of Kara Aziek’s devotedness to be convinced
that she lived only in him, and that while a sacred duty withheld her
from sharing his fate immediately, she was rending her heart to obey its
dictates. Alas! if he were to quit Barbary without her, how many years
might pass ere he could return to claim her!

The joyful tumults excited at first, now sunk into sadness; trouble and
apprehension took possession of that breast which so lately seemed
filled with an eternity of happiness, and reclining his head on his
hand, the sorrowful Sebastian sat thinking away the hours of night in
cheerless solitude.

Aziek had settled that Babec (the dove was so called,) should remain in
his care till after the arrival of Benzaide’s brother-in-law, and that
then the pretty messenger was to be dispatched with news to his
impatient mistress: Sebastian was to journey with his purchaser to the
house of Benzaide, from whence it would not be difficult to manage an
interview with Kara Aziek.

These were all the arrangements Aziek had yet made, at least all that
she had written down; for in her heart were multitudes of contrary
wishes, fantastic plans, seducing hopes, which she meant to communicate
to her lover when they met. She was indeed meditating a full avowal to
her father, whose sanction alone could reconcile such opposite
affections; this project however, required infinite consideration, as El
Hader might not easily give credit to the royal dignity, and base
injuries of his former slave, or if he did, might deem it an act of
conscience to betray him into the hands of his own sovereign: at any
rate a Mussulman’s antipathy to a Christian would cost much pains to
overcome.

After the lapse of a few days, Benzaide’s brother appeared at Riffa;
the Hadgé instantly recollected in him the merchant whom his slave had
succoured, and welcomed him, as he did all strangers, with benevolent
hospitality: but when he proposed purchasing his benefactor, and so
returning his goodness by the gift of freedom, Tefza turned pale,
stammered out some encomiums upon his gratitude, and refused the
request; a look of indignation from Sebastian made him cast down his
eyes.

The traveller ventured to name a decided sum of money, and receiving no
answer, doubled its amount; the Hadgé replied by a short angry negative:
again the traveller redoubled his offer, and again Tefza refused it; the
whole day was wasted in fruitless proposals on the one side, and firm
denials on the other.

Meanwhile Sebastian watched with breathless anxiety the countenances of
each; the letter Kara Aziek had sent him by Benzaide’s brother
increased this anxiety, as it contained an account of her father’s
heightened danger, warning him to prepare for many fresh obstacles if he
were not free at the moment of his death to snatch her from the power of
her relations. Tefza’s obstinacy almost irritated him to utter bitter
invectives against that bigotted religion by which it was dictated:
never before had he expressed himself so violently.

The Hadgé was grieved, somewhat displeased, but not shaken. “Come, come,
no more of this my son, you speak the language of the evil-one, and he
would fain make prey of that well-disposed heart of yours.--I know what
is good for you--my frequent prayers do not arise in vain--some day our
prophet will hear them, and you will feel that he does. What is money to
me?--I have plenty of it--I covet only the treasure of good works;--and
is it not a good work to save a soul?--once for all, I say I will not
part with you.--Traveller you have your answer.”--

Kara Aziek’s agent sorrowfully departed.--

Sebastian hesitated a moment, then remembering that he owed her a
sacrifice, he surmounted his towering spirit, and threw himself at the
old man’s feet: there he implored his generosity, he acknowledged his
obligations, he described his own affection and respect, but then he
painted his passionate longing for freedom in the liveliest colours, and
ventured to touch upon his own fidelity in having so long borne the
weight of servitude, rather than act treacherously to a confiding
master. In short he left no persuasion unapplied.

Tefza shed tears, and raised him tenderly; but he began upon the old
argument, repeating his unjust determination.

Lashed into fury Sebastian now flung away the Hadgé’s hand, and looking
at him with an inflamed countenance, exclaimed--“Take back then, all
your favours;--at least oppress me with them no more---- I here abjure
them, tell you I abhor them--will retain them no longer!--from this hour
I hold myself released from every scruple of honour, and will employ my
whole soul in trying to fly your accursed country! look well to me
then--say not I have basely deceived you, for I tell it you in the face
of Heaven.---- Why do you force me to this ingratitude, old man?--you
_have_ used me most graciously--may God bless you for it”--his voice
faultered as he spoke the last words, but impatient of reply, he rushed
out of the apartment.--

Blinded by passion, his reason did not see the folly of a too hasty
communication to Kara Aziek; he hurried to his own chamber, wrote her a
short detail of his disappointment, ending with an assurance that he
would break his bonds at any rate, and soon hasten to her: having taken
Babec from her cage, and fastened the vellum under her silver wing, he
opened the casement and let her fly.

Scarcely waiting till she should disappear, he left his room and ran
with the quickness of chafed feelings towards the town, where he had
several sick persons to visit, and much alms to distribute: this
occupation, by reminding him of the Hadgé’s best qualities, caused him
to regret having expressed his purpose, however determined, in such
harsh terms: regret increased painfully, and brought him back sooner
than his accustomed hour.--

Tefza was out, and did not re-appear till night was far wasted: on
seeing his slave quietly standing at the gate watching his return, he
uttered an exclamation of joy; Sebastian then found that the Hadgé had
been all these hours in search of him, whom he believed gone to put his
threat of flight into execution.

The garments of Tefza were dripping with wet, for it had rained heavily
after sun-set, and he was too solicitous to get tidings of his runaway,
to think of sheltering himself: he now embraced Sebastian, saying, he
trusted that Alla had made him repent his cruel anger, and disposed him
to continue happily with one who loved him like a father.

Gratitude and compunction did indeed appear in the King’s reply, but he
gently repeated his unaltered determination, even while occupied in
changing the old man’s soaked galebia, with a careful tenderness hostile
to his words. Tefza sighed, squeezed the Christian’s hand, and withdrew
shivering to his chamber.

The night was spent by Sebastian in such disturbance of mind as keeps
sleep far distant: passion and gratitude urged him to fly to Kara Aziek;
gratitude joined by honour forbade him to escape from Tefza. In the
storm raised by those contradictory emotions, reason’s voice was
unheard; what passion wished, she pronounced lawful, what her rival
attempted to say was hastily silenced.

Never before had Sebastian found it difficult to discover the path of
duty; he dreaded his final decision, because it might be influenced by
his desires, and nearly leaned to the erroneous side merely from fearing
himself too much.

The next morning however, found him resolved to regain his rightful
liberty by any means, since he had neither consented to part with it,
nor forfeited his claim by the commission of crimes: accident alone, not
even the chance of War, had brought him into bondage; perhaps, he
thought, they who enlist under her banners bind themselves to abide by
her nicer laws; here, however, no laws exist to chain me.--

Cheered by the serenity which always follows a resolution grounded upon
conscientious deliberation, he lightly left his room, and was proceeding
out of the house with an intent of purchasing in Riffa some coarse
habit to serve as a disguise, when a low groan arrested his steps; he
listened,--another, and another followed,--they came from the
sleeping-room of his master.

Forgetful of all those anxieties which but a moment before had engrossed
him, he pushed open the door, and cautiously entered; the sound of his
tread startled Tefza, he faintly unclosed his eyes, exclaiming “ah! is
it you, my son!--give me some drink--I am very ill.”

Sebastian hastened to his bed-side, on touching Tefza’s hand he found it
dry and burning; his eyes were heavy, his breath short--every symptom
announced one of those malignant fevers which so frequently ravage
Barbary, and are produced by excessive moisture after intense heats.

Struck with the conviction that it was to the search for him that Tefza
owed his malady, Sebastian’s heart smote him more powerfully than
justice required; he hurried to rouse the household slaves, and have
the physician sent for, then he returned to the old man, and sat
watching and soothing him by turns.

The Moorish doctor was just skilful enough to perceive his patient’s
extreme danger, and to prescribe a few innoxious useless simples; he
repeated his visit at night, by which time the Hadgé was delirious, and
his fever alarmingly increased.

Observing the ignorance of this practitioner, and remembering the
remedies resorted to by the Portuguese, Sebastian assumed some command,
and ventured to act according to the suggestions of his own
understanding; the medicines he administered were in some degree
successful: but a fierce disease must have its course; the fever raged
for one-and twenty days, till it had spent its fires, and then they went
out of themselves.

During this tedious period Sebastian was agitated by the greatest
inquietude for Kara Aziek; Benzaide’s brother-in-law (having delayed
his return a few days,) had been the bearer of a letter describing the
tie which now bound him to Riffa, and Babec had afterwards appeared with
the information of El Hader’s death, and the removal of Aziek to the
neighbouring house of an uncle.

Plunged in filial sorrow, she had scarcely said more than that her sad
heart needed the consolation of its dearest object, though at the same
time she urged him by every sacred law of gratitude and humanity not to
desert the Hadgé till death had released him, or health returned.

As Sebastian sat by the old man’s pillow, contemplating his wasted
figure while it lay composed in sleep, (for the fever had left him,) he
could not refrain from heaving deep and repeated sighs; a tedious
convalescence must follow such a violent disorder: Tefza, reduced to
infantine feebleness, would long require the tenderest care--who would
bestow it in the absence of Sebastian?--Alas, even goodness cannot
always insure to itself a comforter in the time of need! most men are
capable of making _one_ great sacrifice to their benefactor, but how few
are disposed to yield without murmuring, their time, their enjoyments,
nay their rest and personal liberty, in a continued round of privations!

“Poor childless old man!” said Sebastian, looking tenderly on him, “thou
hast thy wish, I remain with thee.”

At this virtuous resolution, some sweetness mingled with the pain of
regret: O delightful emotion of self-approval, how amply dost thou repay
the soul for any sacrifice!

Sebastian’s heart was calmed yet elevated, and he added devoutly--“This
is Heaven’s will.”

It was his purpose to stay at Riffa, till Tefza should be sufficiently
recovered, and then he hoped to obtain freedom from his gratitude,
without having recourse to violent measures. Kara Aziek, shut up in her
uncle’s house with the privacy of mourning, would be almost
inaccessible, were he near her abode, and it was therefore as well,
perhaps, for them to be thus far asunder, till her grief was enough
abated for them to concert together a mode of flight: two or three weeks
longer, and he hoped to be with Benzaide in the cavila of Benzeroel.

Tefza’s recovery was tryingly slow; and though he felt and acknowledged
his obligation to the heroic faithfulness of Sebastian, he had not the
heroism himself to repay it instantly by freedom:--he would only promise
freedom hereafter, but no intreaties could prevail on him to fix the
period.

The sickly state of his body and mind pleaded so powerfully for
indulgence, that Sebastian forbore to press the subject, secretly making
up his mind to a decisive step, should the old man’s wearying
irresolution render it necessary.

In the midst of these inquietudes, another billet arrived from Kara
Aziek, it was written hastily, and with a trembling hand: “Alas!” she
said, “we are lost, my beloved! my uncle has just informed me, that the
Basha of Syria, acquainted with my existence, has reclaimed my
person--he is set out to receive me--light of my soul! am I again to be
torn from thee? art thou to be lost to me at last?--despair and love
change my whole nature; I am no longer thy timid, starting Aziek. I
meditate a rash, ah me! perhaps an immodest step: I am going, disguised
like one of thy sex, to seek refuge in flight; Benzaide and her husband
will accompany me: we will bend our course to the dwelling of
Abensallah, his piety will be our protection and our guide, wilt thou
not meet me there, Sebastian? at least when gratitude and humanity have
no longer claims on thee, wilt thou not hasten to her, whom the most
passionate wishes, the wildest fears, consume hourly?--but oh! how
sweet it is, to feel life burning out for thee!

“Providence opens to me the door of liberty, this night perhaps, this
night, ah! haste my beloved.”

The most frightful pangs seized Sebastian on reading this letter, in
their first paroxysm he was on the point of hastening to Tefza, casting
himself at his feet, declaring his situation, and imploring permission
to depart; but the next moment he trembled at the rash suggestion,
confident that Tefza’s bigotry, would never pardon a Mahometan woman for
loving a Christian.

He then sought to allay his apprehensions by reflecting on the safe
asylum Kara Aziek had chosen; yet how would she arrive there? she, so
delicate, so timid, so inexperienced! was her tender frame made for the
haste and fatigue of flight! and that flight too, performed under
burning skies, upon uneasy animals, and exposed to numberless accidents!
were her sex discovered in that relentless country, (where women are
deemed impious if they believe themselves created without roots) shame
and punishment would follow.

At that thought the devoted lover fancied himself ready to pay any price
for her safety,--nay, even that of wholly resigning her; he thought so
only an instant; her soft beauties in the arms of another, was an idea
so abhorrent, that it maddened him as it passed, and banished all wish
for her delay.

He now hurried out in search of Tefza, and found him stretched along a
paillasse in his garden, enjoying the evening air; as he approached, the
infirm old man eyed him with an expression of thanking kindliness, which
pained while it pleased Sebastian: having uttered several assurances of
reviving health, and eaten heartily of some dish brought by a servant,
he afforded the impatient King an opportunity of remarking upon his
convalescence, and consequently of re-urging his suit.

The subject was once more discussed with vehement importunity by the
one, and useless arguments by the other; Sebastian was again inflamed to
passion, and again the weak Tefza became sick, and tearful, and
relenting.

“But one trial more!” he cried, detaining the King by his mantle, “thou
knowest how my heart yearns for thy conversion--gratitude for thy late
goodness encreases this desire, and makes me seem cruel to thee, when I
mean to be most kind. Only accompany me to Mecca; with the first
caravan, I go thither to bless the prophet for my life, and to implore
him for thee: should he not hear my unworthy prayers, should thy soul
remain unconverted by the piety thou wilt behold there, I swear to thee
by Mahomet himself, that in three days after our arrival, thou shalt be
free!”

Sebastian turned quickly round, and fixed his eyes on him with a look
that searched his soul: “Swear it to me!” he exclaimed, then as suddenly
stopping, he added, “Tefza I cannot consent, it will be too late.”

His fate at this period depended on the chance of a single moment; a
day, an hour, might ravish Kara Aziek from him, and with her all hope of
future happiness from the attainment of minor objects. Tefza’s repeated
refusal and desolate ill health, by turns maddened and melted him; yet
was he just enough to respect the old man’s motive, even while suffering
under its pernicious effects.

A new thought struck him: “we are not many leagues from Benzeroel,” he
cried, “let us go thither Tefza! you venerate the worthy dervise who
dwells among its mountains: we will state our case--you shall urge every
argument suggested by this fruitless wish of converting me,--I will
simply state the mode by which I became a slave, my desire of freedom,
my dutiful care of you in illness, and your indefinite promise:--if he
bid me go with you to Arabia, I will comply,--if he exhort you to
torture me no longer, but fulfil your promise, may I not expect that you
will obey him?”

Transported out of himself, Tefza caught the ardent King in his arms,
exclaiming--“I consent--we set out to-morrow.”

Leaving him no time for consideration, Sebastian hastily obtained
permission, and left the garden to order preparations for their journey:
while doing so, he reflected with some confusion upon the stratagem he
had used: his ingenuous nature abhorred even the appearance of artifice,
and this was not the first time in his life that he had given that name
to prudence.

To conceal any thing from another, interested in the subject of that
concealment, had uniformly seemed to him a species of insincerity,
which he never practised without extreme repugnance: this noble
prejudice now covered his brow with the colouring of shame: he paused
and considered “But what advantage do I mean to make of this artifice?
none that the Hadgé will not himself sanction; we shall both gain the
benefit of Abensallah’s counsel; he will perhaps convince Tefza, that
equity demands my freedom, and that not even their religion authorizes
unjust actions; he will persuade him, possibly, from this perilous
journey into Arabia,--if not, I do not mean to take sanctuary with
Abensallah, I will perform my engagement, and hasten back from Mecca to
Benzeroel; alas! all the good this stratagem may bestow, will be only
the satisfaction of seeing my beloved, of knowing that she is safe, and
can wait securely for me.”

Sebastian’s heart said all this sincerely, and he endeavoured to think,
that by withholding the principal motive of his present conduct from
Tefza, he was not deceiving, though he was not confiding in him.

By day-break on the morrow the travellers set forth: Tefza on a camel,
attended by two trusty servants, Sebastian on a stout mule, guarded by
the faithful Barémel, and cherishing in his bosom Kara Aziek’s dove.

This tender little creature, seemed in her lover’s eyes, a part of Aziek
herself: whenever he softly kissed its warm plumage, delightful emotions
thrilled through his veins; the balmy breath of its gentle mistress
appeared to be yet there, and he could fancy a thousand fond caresses
lavished on Babec, meant for him, and so rendered to him at last.

As he now mounted his mule, he lightly smoothed the bird’s silver wings,
pressed them yet lighter with his lips, and carefully laid her to rest
next his heart: the look he gave her, was such as a mother bestows on
her first born and only child!

Tefza smiled at his favorite slave’s _playthings_, as he called Barémel
and Babec, half inclined to think his wits disordered from such unmanly
solicitude about a bird; but too indulgent to say so, he waited till
Sebastian had safely adjusted his charge, and then ordered the camels,
&c. to proceed.

Travelling instead of exhausting, revived the Hadgé, for he rested
during the hot hours of noon, and only moved when the air was tempered
by morning or evening breezes: Sebastian had a thousand times to
recollect that Tefza was old and sick ere he could prevent himself from
impatiently urging a quicker method; his soul was already at the cave of
Abensallah. Imagination had placed him in the embrace of Kara Aziek;
that timid, ardent embrace, to which Love at one moment gave the most
transporting character, and the next instant changed it into tremors of
apprehension and shame: he fancied her pitying tears over the grave of
his friend; at that sad image, passion’s intoxicating reveries suddenly
fled, Sebastian’s thoughts assumed a severer cast, and many were the
pangs of self-reproach which now tyrannised over him.

Reflections like these happily abstracted some portion of his anxiety
about Aziek, and the attentions required by his feeble companion
completed their effect.

They reached the extremity of Mounts Benzeroel on the evening of the
ninth day.

At sight of Abensallah’s tranquil abode, where Sebastian had experienced
so much goodness, where he had performed the last melancholy duties to
Stukeley, where so many hopes and wishes (now annihilated,) had once
agitated his heart, where at length he was come to seek the most
faithful and tender of women, he was inexpressibly moved; a variety of
feelings melted him; he stopt, gazed wistfully on the rock, and
precipitately concealed his face in his garment.

He was roused by the well-remembered voice of Ismael, now at the mouth
of the cave, who was praying the travellers to alight: as the Hadgé
entered first, Sebastian had an opportunity of discovering himself to
Ismael, and charging him not to mention their former acquaintance before
Tefza or his servants; after this precaution, he entered.

On passing the threshold he cast a trembling glance round the narrow
cell; no one was there but Tefza and Abensallah: his heart died away;
yet, did he expect to behold Kara Aziek? no, she must be secured in the
interior apartment which Abensallah reserved as an asylum for persecuted
persons.

Occupied with the most frightful anxiety (for his inconsistent heart
could not recover from its first shock,) he scarcely saw the reverend
dervise who was folding him to his breast and saving; him his
benediction; an observation from Tefza roused him, and faultering out a
few grateful words, he sat down opposite to the chamber he longed to
penetrate.

His eyes now searched those of Abensallah, but extreme earnestness
blunted his perception, for he knew not whether it was comfort or
commiseration he read in that gently-expressive face: his own looks were
only too distinct a transcript of his disturbed soul: the alternate
flushings and mortal paleness of his cheeks, could not escape the notice
of Tefza, he believed that they were occasioned by the workings of a
mind which began to feel the true religion.

In fact the Hadgé was now diffusely detailing his errand to Benzeroel,
and calling upon Abensallah to assist the great work he had humbly taken
in hand: Abensallah bestowed many sincere encomiums upon his pious
intention of visiting Mecca, but required to hear the Christian’s
sentiments ere he could properly pronounce his own opinion.

“Speak to him alone if thou wilt; said the triumphant Tefza, I will
yield him every advantage, he shall confess at least, that I am solely
actuated by affection for his soul.”

At this acceptable proposal, Ismael was called to lead the Hadgé up a
flight of steps cut in the rock which led to another cell where lay the
Koran and other holy books, and which the dervise denominated his
mosque.

Sebastian started up on their departure, and stood trembling with
repressed eagerness, till the echo of their feet above, was no longer
distinct, he then grasped Abensallah’s arm with one hand, while he
stretched out the other towards the spring of the secret door.--“She is
here? my father?” he said, in a voice that half-demined and half asked
the question.

“No my son, she is not: prepare thy spirit for still further trials:
she is with the servants of the Basha, on the road to Syria.”

Abensallah’s first words were sufficient for Sebastian; his soul,
already enfeebled by an extreme indulgence of delightful anticipations,
had not strength to bear this shock, he staggered a few paces, and fell
apparently lifeless against the wall of the cell.

On loosening his unhappy friend’s vest, Abensallah perceived Babec, whom
he hastily shut into a basket, then returned to the King, and sprinkled
his face with water: he revived at length; but with every breath he
drew, repeated sighs seemed rending life a second time away.

Abensallah meanwhile gently spoke of resignation to Heaven’s decrees, of
those unexpected turns in our destiny which so often make light spring
out of darkness; Sebastian smiled sadly, and again sighed heavily: the
dervise then pressed upon him the peculiar mercies which had already
been shewn him by the Great Being who thought fit to cloud his sunshine
awhile. The young Monarch at that moment despised thrones and courts,
too certain, that with Kara Aziek would go all his happiness; ashamed of
his weakness he looked aside with a flushed cheek; “O my father!” he
said, “think not that I am thus vanquished by selfish regret, no, I call
Heaven to witness it is for _her_ my heart is wrung so sorely.”

The compassionate Abensallah hastened to alleviate this pain, he
informed him that Kara Aziek had but just dispatched her last letter to
Riffa, when a numerous cavalcade of camels, horsemen, and presents,
headed by an officer of the Basha’s army, had arrived at El Hader’s
mansion: the Basha himself was in Syria, where he was detained by a war
with the Persians, and having learned from the uncle of Aziek that she
still lived, had sent his people to claim her.

Callous to her tears, intreaties, and protestations of being released by
her father from this hated engagement, her relentless uncle insisted
upon her immediate departure; she could not doubt that he was actuated
by avarice, as he would inherit that fortune the proud Basha refused to
accept, were she to quit Barbary, and she therefore offered to resign
every thing into his hands: but her kinsman persisted in his commands,
for he mistrusted her sincerity.

Narrowly watched, and so precluded from escaping, the unhappy victim
could only steal into Benzaide’s hand as she embraced her at parting, a
letter for Abensallah, and some directions for her own conduct; the
latter enjoined her to dispatch her brother-in-law to Benzeroel with the
billet for Abensallah, and the young brood of Babec. Aziek’s tender
heart could not disregard even the instincts of a bird; and she well
knew that if Sebastian believed her journeying towards the cave of the
dervise, he would not release the dove, nor lose sight of it, till he
had brought it thither. Babec therefore would come to Benzeroel; to
whom then could she bequeath her pretty favorite with its little
nestlings, so cheerfully as to Abensallah?

She wrote to tell him so, and to intreat that he would soften to
Sebastian the dreadful blow which her forced departure must inflict. In
the most solemn manner she besought her lover to believe that she would
perish rather than yield herself to the Basha; that wherever she might
be conveyed, however oppressed or threatened, she would consider her
heart and her person equally the property of her absent Sebastian, and
that he might be certain, that whether Aziek lived or died, she lived or
died worthy of his love. She coupled this declaration with an earnest
entreaty that he would follow her into Syria, where during the months
sacred to mourning in those countries, she might find some mode of
escaping to him, were he near enough to aid and to receive her.

Many tears had blotted the characters traced by her hand, but the
feelings of Sebastian instructed him in hers, and he was obliged to turn
away from Abensallah, that his weakness might not again be visible: when
he came to that passage which announced her future intention, and
required him to follow her, his emotions were suddenly changed; the
Phœnix hope sprung from her own ashes, and made him now as impatient to
fly with Tefza into the vicinity of Syria, as he had before been
solicitous to avoid it.

Strange vicissitude of human affairs! how often do the changes of a
single hour convert events from curses into blessings! Sebastian had
considered the Hadgé’s pilgrimage as the most fatal mischance that could
have arisen, now it seemed only a kind interposition of Providence in
his favour.

The re-appearance of Tefza abruptly terminated the discourse which his
absence had permitted: Abensallah then pronounced the decision required
of him, and became the witness of that compact which bound Tefza to give
his slave freedom in three days after their arrival at Mecca, should he
still require it.

The lively satisfaction which this decision afforded to Sebastian’s
master, was somewhat damped by hearing sentiments from Abensallah
different from his own: that excellent old man mildly tried to moderate
the other’s flaming zeal, and at last convinced him that it is not given
to fallible man to tyrannise over the consciences of his brethren.

But see the inconsistency of human nature! Tefza had not resolution to
act conformably with this conviction; he still adhered to the plan of
leading his slave over desolate and dangerous tracts of country for the
mere chance of converting him by the imposing spectacle of Mahomet’s
crouded tomb. The piety and wisdom of Abensallah he could not doubt, but
he secretly complimented himself upon greater fervour in the same
faith.

While the two Mussulmen were earnestly conversing on the life and
doctrines of their prophet, Sebastian went out to visit the grave of
Stukeley. He found it piously adorned with evergreens, which the dervise
had planted round it: nearly two years had now elapsed since that
period, and the myrtles and box were expanded into perfect luxuriance.

The old cluster of locust-trees still cast its deep shadow along the
solitary mound; but the ground about it, was thickly set with flowers,
whose balmy breath incensed the honoured clay, and whose charming
colours gave beauty to the bed of death.

Night was approaching, and so gloomily, that the lanthorn Sebastian
carried, scarcely threw light enough around to discover more than
detached parts of the scene: soon however, flashes of pale lightning,
which begun to quiver at distant intervals among the clouds,
momentarily illuminated every object, and distinctly shewed the
fearfully-steep rocks, the grave at their feet, and the moss-grown
crucifix which surmounted it.

Sebastian’s heart was heavily oppressed; a mortal sadness weighed it
down, but he shed no tears; he knelt before the cross, and there poured
out his regrets, lamented his errors, prayed for Stukeley’s soul, and
implored a blessing on the desperate enterprize he was about to attempt.

What was that enterprize? he knew not--he considered not;--it must grow
out of circumstances: all he felt assured of was, that to rescue Kara
Aziek, he would attempt impossibilities, and meet destruction in any
shape.

Again his thoughts reverted to Stukeley, and again they retraced with
anguish, that happy period in which the gallant Englishman had become
known to him. O happy period indeed! for then the youth of Sebastian was
in its first gloss; then, he looked round upon nature, and saw in it
only the reflection of his own sweet and ingenuous spirit; all men
appeared to him just, benevolent, and faithful, and every thing he
possessed, secure and permanent: now, experience had swept away these
vain pageants; security was no more, doubt and apprehension had
succeeded.

As he leaned sadly against the cross, his reflections imperceptibly
assumed that form which a poetical mind so naturally gives to melancholy
subjects: as the ideas flowed, he cut them with the point of a moorish
knife upon the wooden base of the crucifix.

      Rest, rest, ye ashes dear!
      I come not here
    Your peace to alter, nor remove you where
      Honor and Pomp attend,
      To wait the buried friend,
    And yield his hov’ring shade, the choral prayer.

    Singly I come, alas! with tears alone,
    To mourn youth’s trusting hour, for ever flown!
    O friend beloved! O brother of my soul!
    How long shall time and fortune various roll,
      Yet bear no pang away,
      With which this honored clay,
    Now rives the heart, that wrongs have turned to stone?

    I think of thee--and with that dear-lov’d thought,
      Comes many a melting thrill for human kind:
      Thou wast of mortal make, yet I did find
    Each grace celestial in thy fabric wrought.

    O Genius! Friendship! Heav’n-attaining worth!
    Ye once were joined on earth;
    In Stukeley’s soul, by God’s own purpose fixed,
      Ye once did dwell and grow,
      Breathing e’en here below
    The air of Eden pure, with dross unmixed.

    Ah little understood!
      That soul refined,
      That ardent heart, that piercing mind,
      Those views etherial, which his purer eye
      Read in their native sky,
    Were deem’d but fancies vain, by souls of grosser mood.

    He lived to suffer, and to give
    A noble lesson how to live;
    On Glory’s bed, his latest sigh,
    Was breathed to teach us how to die!--

At this sentiment, so long associated with all his feelings, Sebastian’s
imagination suddenly checked itself: troubled and confused doubts, as to
so general an application of the sentiment (however just, when applied
to him who acted from a strong impulse of conscience) succeeded to his
more passionate regrets: in the midst of them, Ismael appeared.

He came to say that his master was going to retire for the night, and
waited his Christian guest.

Sebastian arose, fixed a long look on the earth which covered the brave
Englishman, and turned away. He never saw it again.


                       END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.


                         J. M‘CREERY, Printer,
               Black-Horse-Court, Fleet-Street, London.


Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:


Many minor punctuation errors have been corrected.

first vist to Barbary=> first visit to Barbary {pg 17}

you may not not hereafter call me a base=> you may not hereafter call me
a base {pg 25}

she unconsciouly weave=> she unconsciously weave {pg 28}

scuccour for those=> succour for those {pg 37}

journey in desart regions=> journey in desert regions {pg 51}

from a side eminnence=> from a side eminence {pg 53}

rendered him speechles=> rendered him speechless {pg 104}

he was a Portugueze office=> he was a Portuguese office {pg 126}

figure, exclaming in a=> figure, exclaiming in a {pg 136}

aukward reckoning=> awkward reckoning {pg 144}

have shared his thone=> have shared his throne {pg 164}

fellow of an adverturous=> fellow of an adventurous {pg 197}

when addressing the the object=> when addressing the object {pg 275}