On the mentioning of Donna Gonsalva, whom love painted in the most seducing colours, Kara Aziek’s countenance suddenly changed; it varied at every word, but she listened in silence: those fond hopes which had again sprung up, when she saw him at her feet, those hopes which formerly had been nourished by his tender manner, were now withered; could she preserve his honour and his life, and after that obtain his liberty, she would be doing this only to hasten the moment that would give him to another. Her pure, impassioned heart almost exclaimed aloud, “Ah, it is not thy throne I covet to share; thy love alone would be to me a kingdom: with thee, a desart, or a dungeon, obscurity or poverty would bestow happiness.” But though this regret filled her bosom, it could not displace for one moment, that disinterested generosity which formed the basis of her noblest qualities; whatever might become of herself she resolved to renew her endeavour for procuring his release hereafter, should she succeed in saving him now. Donna Gonsalva’s beauty appeared from the description of Sebastian to be that of a Celestial, and her character delineated by the same partial hand could not fail of impressing Kara Aziek with the conviction that she was worthy to be adored: to such a rival she yielded with the less pain. The King of Portugal was painfully affected by the changes he beheld in the expressive countenance of his gentle friend; it was impossible for him not to find his past fears recur, as he witnessed this ill-concealed emotion: at one moment he repented, at another applauded the disclosure of those dear engagements which must teach Kara Aziek that he was not ungrateful in remaining untouched by her tenderness and charms: but his heart saddened to think what the eventful morrow might prove to her. Benzaide now warned her mistress that day would soon break and expose them to the notice of the Moorish guards; Aziek started, and covered herself with her veil, unwilling to shew Sebastian the extent of her grief at bidding him farewel: incapable of speaking, she timidly held out her hand to him; it was cold and trembling--the King put it to his lips--“adieu matchless creature!” he cried, “may angels benevolent and pure like yourself, watch over all your days!--were not my heart in Portugal with her who is mourning for my sake, this transcendant goodness must either have softened or sharpened the pains of slavery:--I should have forgotten my fallen state, and dared to love the lovely Aziek.”--