“Brave Gaspar!” exclaimed the youthful monarch, animated with similar ardour, “Thou hast the heart of a knight: should we ever reach Portugal, claim knighthood at my hand. But I cannot accept of freedom on such terms; too many gallant soldiers have already been sacrificed by my imprudent reliance on the faith of a traitor: neither the lives nor the properties of my subjects shall be lavished to purchase my liberty. If these wretches knew my real rank, half my kingdom would not satisfy their avarice. No! let us trust to Providence.--I will watch the opportune moment like a lynx. I will try every method to bribe my gaolers--if I escape at last, be assured, Gaspar, I will remember you.” Gaspar was going to press his former petition, when the sound of Ben Tarab’s horrid voice made him stop: “We must part, sire,” he exclaimed, “haste--mix with the crowd--we meet again to-morrow night.” While speaking, he hurried the King out of the house, and they were immediately absorbed by the multitude without. Ben Tarab kept at a distance from Sebastian, who could not help smiling at his mixture of ferocity and meanness: it was soon bed time; and the slaves, separating, the King retired to a scattering of bean-straw in the corner of a brick-room, where he threw himself beside four other captives, and sunk, overpowered with sleep. The break of day awoke him to the same toil, and the hour of supper again allowed him a short conversation with Gaspar. Every day brought with it but fresh causes for regret, while it diminished the delusions of hope. But where is the situation, however desolate, out of which it is impossible for us to extract some consolation? Sebastian found in his present state, a balm for part of that remorse which had so long tormented him. While experiencing the benevolence of Abensallah, he had naturally thought with so much esteem of the Moorish character, that his expedition appeared almost preposterous, and the destruction attendant on it, doubly criminal; but now that he witnessed the real miseries of slavery, and the detestableness of a tyrannical government, which habituates every individual to the exercise of tyranny in his turn, zeal once more assumed the rank of a virtue, and lulled conscience to rest.--In addition to this, his own sufferings were softened by the power he fortunately acquired of alleviating those of others. Among the garden-labourers were two aged men, for whom he frequently procured rest and refreshment, by fulfilling not only his own task, but part of theirs: when he saw them fainting with thirst and exhaustion, he would give them all that he had purposely saved from his scanty breakfast; their blessings were his luxuries, his only luxuries, but such as warmed his heart far beyond all the enjoyments of his former state.