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.