What a return! and how fearful was the spectacle which it presented!--as if a veil had been torn off by some invisible power, he beheld every heart in which he fondly thought himself cherished, false to their vows, and panting for his blood! his sick soul--“sick unto death,”--turned from object to object with increasing anguish: the only human beings whose love could be relied on, were out of his reach; De Castro, though living, was beyond the Atlantic, Gaspar in the grave, and Kara Aziek in the hateful empire of Morocco. These convictions half-disordered Sebastian’s brain: he walked with an irregular pace, sometimes stopping, then darting eagerly forwards; alternately striking his breast and his forehead, repeating, as their images shot through his mind, the names of Gaspar, Antonio, and the perfidious Gonsalva. Though it was his wish and his interest to remain unknown, the mere circumstance of having passed unrecognized by two men whom he had so often noticed, joined to the singular fortune of never having been once suspected for their King by any of the Portuguese, now completed his anguish: distempered in mind, he saw not a single exception to the prevalent forgetfulness; but wild with grief, with indignation, with blasted expectations, hurried into the barn and cast himself on a heap of straw: “Leave me my reason, O, God!” he exclaimed, in a voice, the tone of which proclaimed a reason just tottering on the verge of madness. At that sound, a rustling was heard amongst the straw, Sebastian started up, the next moment a large rough dog sprung towards him, and leaping against his breast, sent forth a cry of joy: “Barémel! Barémel!--O, heaven! and art thou then the only one?” Interrupted by a gush of tenderness, the houseless monarch clasped his dumb friend in his arms; then recollecting the last time he had seen him, and the words he had spoken, “Stay and be loved for my sake,” his heart became so subdued that he burst into tears, and wept with all the vehemence of a woman. Whining and fawning on him, Barémel lay at his master’s feet, with upturned eyes, expressive of that instinctive attachment which so often shames the affection of reasoning man: the King now stood painfully contemplating this added proof of popular instability; “If thou hadst become hateful to Antonio’s mistress,” he exclaimed, “was there none of my court who would take thee in, and cherish thee for my sake!--poor Barémel! from a palace to a shed!--the favorites of fallen princes can hope for nothing better.”--He smiled gloomily, and sinking down on the straw, laid his head upon the body of Barémel.