Deprived of Kara Aziek, he was likely to lose all that was amiable in his character, and to retain only the sterner virtues: sometimes he sighed over this changing character, and felt sorrow at the alteration; but except his faithful dog, whose attachment always affected him, he possessed no object for tender solicitude. Was it wonderful then, that he should become cold and unsocial? The short winter of that sultry climate had now passed away, and the almond trees were already covered with their bright, rosy blossoms; one of the Moresco feasts was approaching, at which the Hadgé urged his slave to be present: from such a proposition Sebastian started with horror, hastening to redouble his devout prostrations before a wooden cross which he had shaped for himself, and kept within his own chamber. The Hadgé left him disappointed. It was evening when he returned: the captive monarch was alone on one of those terraces which the Moors raise upon the flat roofs of their houses, and plant with odorous shrubs; he was stretched out under the shade of a citron-tree, whose branches enveloped him, and plunged in a reverie, did not hear the Hadgé utter the following words. “Fabian, I have brought home a venerable traveller for rest and refreshment, see that you prevent all his wants; I must go out again, and trust him awhile to your care.” The noise Tefza made in closing the door that opened on the terrace, roused Sebastian, he started round, and beheld with rising emotion, an aged man clad in a dark-brown garment, whose silver beard descended to his girdle: the mildly-intellectual look, assured him it was Abensallah. Uttering an exclamation of joy, Sebastian pressed forward to kiss his hand; the dervise put his finger on his lip, they were both silent: at length, venturing to believe Tefza beyond hearing, he stretched out his arms, and pressing him within them, shed some tears, “We meet at last, my son,” he said, in a low feeble voice, “the gracious Mahomet has heard my prayers, and repaid me for this pilgrimage in search of thee.” “In search of me!” repeated Sebastian, “surely, father, you have not been wandering throughout Africa in pursuit of me, ever since the day we parted.” A benign smile gently moved the old man’s lips. “No, my son, I have not; for I knew not then, whether thy departure had not been voluntary: since that period I have heard the whole of thy sufferings; they have been severe--but I come to thee now with comfort--I bring thee a strange present from a hand deservedly dear.” As the old man spoke, he put aside the foldings of his mantle, and drew out of his breast a milk-white dove which nestled there. “This bird,” he continued, “is destined to convey intelligence of thy safety and my success, to one who scarcely values life preserved, till----”