“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a long train of thought; he was awakened by the sound of the heavy bolts which fastened his prison door; they were withdrawn by feeble hands, for they moved gratingly: at length the door opened, and he beheld two of Kara Aziek’s women.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!”