The serene dignity of Sir Anthony now gave way to a variety of emotions: perplexity and concern were painted on his face while he successively read a description of his countrywoman’s widowed state, her sickness, her slavery, and lastly, her hope of reaching Persia only to die under a Christian roof. Tears gathered in his eyes, which he turned aside to conceal. After some moments’ silence he addressed the King. “By what name am I to address the noble gentleman of whom this unfortunate lady writes so impressively?” “By what name!” repeated the young monarch, regarding him with the estranged air of a man whom that question had swiftly hurried to other thoughts:--an interval of abstraction was followed by one of extreme agitation. Sebastian evidently felt an impulse to confide in the Englishman; he saw in him the representative of a sovereign, and his imperious spirit revolted from the supposition of inferiority: stepping back with an air of dignity, he was about to pronounce the words “Sebastian of Portugal,” when recollecting himself, and remembering the prudent resolution he had formerly taken, as well as the difficulties into which Sir Anthony’s political views might plunge him, he smiled, shook his head, and replied only by a bright flush of emotion. The courteous ambassador did not repeat his question; he remained thoughtfully silent: Sebastian spoke at length. “Let my name be forgotten in that of Knight of the Cross; I have suffered much for that title, have forsaken much to deserve it: let me then be known only as a Christian soldier.--You behold in me, Sir Anthony, a Portuguese nobly born, not destined to the profession of arms, but embracing it from inclination. I was one in the fatally-memorable expedition of Don Sebastian!--After many hardships, and more sorrows, I am come hither to offer my services to the Sophi; a Christian knight _may_ war by the side of infidels when their cause is just, for then, he sees in them only men and brethren.--Have you confidence enough in this countenance to believe me what I profess myself? dare you pledge your faith for my integrity while presenting me to the Persian?” The young monarch advanced as he spoke, and putting aside the hair which darkened his forehead, fixed his eyes on Sir Anthony with a look that courted scrutiny. Shirley regarded him attentively; for Shirley was past that age in which men’s hearts wait not for the sanction of their judgments: he still looked steadily at him; at last stretching out his hand with an aspect changed from consideration to confidence, he exclaimed, “I _will_ pledge myself for your worthiness.” It was not the aim of Sebastian to conceal more than was necessary; though evidently delighted in making mystery indispensible to him, it was abhorrent to a soul that loved to walk unveiled before men and angels.