Hafiz had obtained permission to attend his favorite slave to Mequinez: as they mounted their mules at the great gate of the Cassavee, Sebastian recalled the last time he had passed those gates after his fruitless attempt at escape; he was then returning he believed to eternal thraldom; but four months had elapsed since, and as if by miracle his chains were broken! The mules were swift of foot, and well acquainted with their road; when they had conveyed their riders to the top of an eminence leading from the valley, Sebastian turned round to take a farewel look of the habitation that contained Kara Aziek. The gilded pinnacles of her apartment glittered above rows of tall cypress trees; he breathed unnumbered blessings on her, fixed his eyes for some moments upon that quarter of the Cassavee, then spurred his mule down the opposite side of the declivity. An arrangement with the merchants was quickly made by Hafiz, who paid beforehand the charges of his companion’s journey; at parting, the good-natured man shed tears, which Sebastian repaid by sincere expressions of esteem and everlasting sense of obligation: he was preparing to commence his journey, when one of the Syrians brought him a packet which Hafiz had instructed him to deliver when he should be on his return; the King took, and eagerly opened it. Its contents were a purse containing several gold sequins, some valuable jewels, and a number of those small shells which then passed current through Africa, and are still known there by the name of Barbary money; upon them lay a slip of vellum, with these words written on it--“Unforeseen accidents may render this purse of use to the friend of Kara Aziek.” This fragment of her hand-writing made the amiable Moor almost present to Sebastian; he looked intently on the characters, sighed and sighed again, for memory too forcibly told him, that in striving to succour him she had lost her own peace. Closing the packet with a mixture of gratitude and regret, he mounted the animal provided for him, and began his route. The men with whom he travelled, were too much occupied in calculations of profits and losses to interrupt their companion’s reveries; they were furnished with an order from the Almoçadem, purporting that Fabian his slave was going on business to the sea-coast, and therefore not to be detained on suspicion of being a runaway: in consequence of this, their progress was unmolested, and they continued journeying on slowly, but safely. The traveller’s road lay near Alcazar; it crossed that fatal plain, where, above twelvemonths before, the King of Portugal, at the head of a few gallant troops, had rashly braved the whole force of Morocco: what were his emotions when he now entered on it!