The high dome of green and gold, the tall cypress trees which appeared rising above the gilded railings of the squares, the fountains of white and azure marble, the gay piazzas chequered with coloured tiles, the lofty columns and massy arches, all presented a semblance of regal grandeur, which made his heart spring back to Ribera and Xabregas. The contrast of his situation now, with what it had been when in those beloved places, almost unmanned him; their scenes were so associated with the idea of Donna Gonsalva, that it was impossible for him not to heave some profound sighs as he entered the dwelling of a Moorish nobleman, a prisoner and a slave. Sarhamet, with his brother and their captive, was admitted into a lower hall of the Cassavee, whence they were soon after led into the presence of the Almoçadim. As the young and imperious King of Portugal passed through a crowd of Moors to the audience chamber of El Hader, and reflected that he was going to be sold for a price, like some ignoble animal, his heart might well be said to “grow too big for what contained it;” he was on the point of madly rushing upon all surrounding him, and so purchasing freedom with life. Had he not happily remembered that Portugal claimed a sacrifice at his hands, and that it was his duty to suffer, in the hope of living to repair the unintentional calamity he had caused her, his rashness must have transported him into violence that would have ended in his own destruction. Fervently calling on every saint to endue him with patience, he walked slowly after Sarhamet, with a resolution of no longer observing the minutiæ of his fate: thus influenced, he scarcely noticed the approbation of El Hader and his retainers, but stood silent, wrapped up in his cloak, wilfully inattentive to the long bargaining of the Alarbe, and the enormous price at length paid down for him. When the bargain was concluded, Sarhamet departed; the Almoçadem then addressed his new slave in vile Portuguese, telling him to adore Alla, for having advanced him to so high an honour as that of serving the greatest man throughout the Xeriff’s dominions; promising, in consideration of the christian’s fine appearance, to make him one of his household slaves. The sentence of death would have been more grateful to Sebastian than this degrading favour. What! was he, a christian king, the descendant of kings, to wait upon an accursed infidel, and learn obedience to his nod? No, he would rather perish, he would suffer for his beloved country and for his friends all that pain, sorrow, and want, could inflict, he would for their sakes bend to almost any mortification; but it was impossible for him to yield to base servitude, and become the domestic servant of a Mahometan. Resolute to die in this determination, he calmly repeated it to El Hader, protesting he would only labour in the manly occupation of really useful work, the employments of the field.