As the interpreter repeated this speech, the Christian King lifted up his eyes, and fixed them proudly for an instant on the haughtier face of the young Prince; his nice honour was somewhat shocked by the oblique repetition of an exhortation to act worthily: recollecting however, that perfect amenity of heart is not to be expected where the religion of the Lamb is not practised, he smoothed his feelings, and replied gravely; “Success is in the hand of Heaven, but truth and action are dependent on our own wills: I may fail and fall, but I cannot live and be unworthy. Prince! you must pardon my refusing to accept any other mark of your goodness than that of being permitted to share in the warfare of your troops; as however, the knowledge of your language is important in such a situation, I beg you will order one of your ablest teachers to instruct me in it.” This request was immediately granted, after which Prince Abbas invited the two Christians to return with him to Ispahan. A sumptuous banquet awaited them in the palace of the Sophi, but the aged Xatama himself, did not appear: during the repast music and perfumes flowed around, and at its conclusion the guests were alternately delighted by the recitation of Persian poetry, and the graces of dancing girls. The severe taste of Sebastian received no gratification from the studied and voluptuous attitudes of the latter, but he listened eagerly to the chaster compositions of their poets, whose tender lays were chiefly devoted to eulogise the nightingales, the roses, and the moonlight by which they were surrounded. Having been seated next to the Sophi’s son, he perceived that the noble Persian, though at that age when man’s senses are most awake, did not vouchsafe a glance to the dancers, nor appear to heed the seducing music which custom led him to command: he sat coldly abstracted, evidently revolving matters of great importance. Pleased with the character this dignified seriousness announced, Sebastian won him into conversation; they conversed much together, and although their interpreter did not preserve all the shades of their discourse, it was yet sufficiently charming to delight each other. Prince Abbas gallantly challenged his new friend to a trial of skill the ensuing day, when he meant to draw forth in a sprightly joust the military address of his associates. On the morrow, three hours after sunrise, an equerry entered the court of Sir Anthony Shirley’s habitation, leading a beautiful horse caparisoned with gold and gems: it came from the Abbas, with these words wrought in pearls on a roll of Indian silk. “Accomplished stranger! accept this present from the son of the Sophi:--it is not the Prince but the friend who offers it.” So courteous an act completely effaced from Sebastian’s mind all memory of Abbas’s first reception: he replied with grace, and adjusting his plain armour, proceeded to the field of combat.