At sight of a man coarsely habited and obscured with dust, Donna Gonsalva uttered a cry of terror; but the action of Sebastian, his emotion, the well-known touch of his lips and hands, the very circumstance of his entering by a private way, made him apparent to her: she turned deadly pale, and sunk upon a seat without speaking. Her impassioned lover hastened to support her in his arms: “Yes, Gonsalva!” he exclaimed, in a voice broken by excess of joy--“My own Gonsalva! it is your Sebastian who now presses you to his enraptured heart.” Amazement! Donna Gonsalva struggled in his embrace. Still silent, she endeavoured to escape from his arms, sometimes appearing on the point of calling for assistance, and then suddenly checking herself. The young King hastily threw off his hat and pushed aside his hair; “Look at me, my beloved!” he exclaimed wildly, “look at me and acknowledge your Sebastian; changed as my person is, surely my voice, this agitation--” “Release me!” interrupted Gonsalva, averting her head still more,--“I know you not: Don Sebastian is dead.” The King looked at her with surprize, amounting to stupefaction; “Dead!” he repeated, “you have believed me dead, and yet live on in health and beauty--Gonsalva, is this reception acted to try me?--O yes, yes,” he added, again falling passionately at her feet,--“You cannot have forgotten me,--you cannot have ceased to love the man who has suffered so long, so much, and so faithfully.” Again he wrapt his arms round her, and again she struggled and broke away. As she fled towards one of the doors, her foot struck against a little couch and awoke an infant that was sleeping there. At the sound of a child’s cry, Sebastian was transfixed, but instantly recovering, he sprung forwards and tearing off the covering mantle, beheld a boy whose features appeared to mingle those of two well-known faces: his eyes flashed from the couch to Donna Gonsalva. Covered with confusion, and scarcely conscious of what she was doing, she hurried back, and threw herself on the bed to conceal the child. Pale, aghast, speechless, lost in a mist of frightful apprehensions, Sebastian remained gazing on her; crowds of agonizing recollections, of vanishing hopes and wishes, floated confusedly before him. Was this the welcome he had expected? was this the fond Gonsalva whose gratitude and friendship he had pledged so liberally to Kara Aziek and to Gaspar? was this she, for whose dear sake he had slighted, afflicted, and abandoned the tenderest of hearts. “Gonsalva!” he sternly said, after a long silence, “you know me, and you are false. Nay, attempt not to fly;” he added, seizing her arm with an iron grasp, “stay and explain this damned mystery.”