He went up to the narrow window, and as his eye fell on nothing but the dark dwellings of the slaves, faintly lighted by the rays of a watry moon, he looked from them to himself, and sighed profoundly. Not three months back, he had worn the habit, and been surrounded by the glories of a powerful prince; he had been ministered unto like a god, till the most exquisite refinements of polished life had become natural wants; he was now a slave, clad in coarse garments, denied the common necessaries of his poorest subjects, forced to labour without intermission through the day, and at night be immured in a wretched chamber, where solitude was his only comfort! For awhile, thought took so gloomy a cast, that he felt as if all that sunny period of his life had been no more than a dream. The memory of Stukeley appeared but the memory of some brilliant phantom; his rousing eloquence, that had always acted on the soul of Sebastian like the sound of the trumpet, was now passed away, his voice was hushed, his body gone down to dust! Nothing gives such apparent length to any portion of time, as a complete change in outward scenes and inward feelings. Sebastian was scarcely able to persuade himself that all these new emotions had been produced by the events of so short a period as three months; he reviewed the incidents which had happened since his landing in Africa, with a bitterness of regret which was at length dispersed by the idea of Gaspar: in this faithful friend, providence was evidently preparing for him a zealous assistant; at any rate, if his attachment might not aid, it would assuredly console him, and was therefore to be gratefully accepted as a sort of earnest of the divine succour. Elevated by this thought, Sebastian’s feelings changed with their usual rapidity, joy lightened his heart, and pouring out a fervent prayer over the little cross of his order, (which he still preserved,) laid himself to rest with the confidence of pious reliance. CHAP. VI. As Gaspar was sure of learning from the good-natured Moor who had spoken to him of the redemption friars, when father Mansonada would be at Mequinez, he had cautioned the King not to put the absolute question to Hafiz, before the friar’s arrival was actually announced, but to employ the intermediate period in gaining his good will, urging the request at the time when it must be either instantly refused or granted: this precaution would leave no time for repentance. Pursuant to this prudent resolution, the King continued to exert his strength and his talents in every work given him by Hafiz: under his hands the uncouth earthen passage grew into a romantic labyrinth, diversified by spars and mosses, and hung with natural garlands of flowering plants. Often while he was placing a stone or a shrub, he smiled bitterly at what to him seemed womanish employment, and was forced to remember that no occupation is disgraceful which is submitted to for a great and virtuous purpose.