They led him towards some mean houses, which lay at a distance up the country; there they left him, and ran off again to the wreck. Barémel, though beaten away by those surly Africans, had still returned and followed his master’s steps, but plunged in profound grief, Sebastian ceased to think of his faithful dog, and entered a hut, unconscious that clubs and stones were then driving the poor animal far away. An old woman within offered him some coarse provisions, and pointed to a miserable bed of dried weeds, where she said he might sleep off his fatigue: Sebastian threw himself down in silence, and the woman quitting him, bolted the door on her charge.-- The certainty of being again a slave, made little impression on a heart already exhausted of its capability of suffering. There are periods in our existence, when we seem able to refuse any further sacrifices to grief; in these moments a species of sullen resignation succeeds the transports of despair, and life or death appears equally a matter of indifference. Such were the feelings of Sebastian; he lay on his rude bed, gloomy and tearless, careless of the passing hours which were to bring back his new masters. It was evening when these men returned: they brought with them many things from the wreck, which they greedily shared. Their captive’s silent acquiescence in his destiny, moved them to promise that they would sell him only to a good master, and that in the mean time he should be well fed and kindly treated. While tempting him to eat part of their hard fare, some one opened the outer door, and Barémel rushing in, sprung to his master’s feet: one of the Moors would have thrust him out, had not Sebastian besought the comfort of retaining his only friend: after a short demur, consent was granted; and having devoured some scanty fragments of the supper, Barémel was suffered to retire to rest in the same corner with his master. As the King put aside his doublet and vest, he observed on the back of them the deep indents of teeth; the miracle of his preservation was then shewn to him; grief mixed with gratitude, and a sentiment nearly amounting to tenderness, swelled from his heart to his eyes; it burst forth in tears, while hastily glancing from his clothes to his mute friend, he exclaimed, “Ah Barémel, what a life hast thou preserved?” The feelings once melted are not soon restored to their former state; Sebastian wept silently a long time; for he thought of Kara Aziek, and wished that Barémel had saved her only. Vain were these wishes, these poignant regrets; the hollow blasts sweeping over the roof which sheltered him, and the hoarse waves resounding from afar, seemed to repeat again and again that Aziek had been their victim.