Abbas and Sebastian met now with brows cleared from every cloud; their whole souls were given to action:--they beheld with animated looks the numerous troops passing in review before them. As they filed off in divisions and began their march, the oriental magnificence of their white vestments, their pointed caps covered with gold, their decorated arms and embroidered banners, their horses (covered with purple housings,) tossing their manes like sea-foam lifted by winds, formed a spectacle at once new and splendid. An European warrior saw in this army little more than a gorgeous preparation for some vast tournament, where the mockery of battle is exhibited amidst pomp and gaiety: the light-robed Persians, with their painted quivers and gilded bows, scattered and diffused in various groups, could not excite such an emotion as the deadly sight of phalanxed men ribbed in grim iron, armed with maces and battle-axes, and steadily advancing as if by one movement and with one thought. The King of Portugal at first saw the Persian troops with pleasure, as he would have considered a lively picture, but his reflections soon became graver, and estimating their feebleness, he followed their march with concern: some vain regrets also intruded; past disasters rose to remembrance; and on the boundless plain where the Persians had lately stood, his troubled fancy saw the ghost of his own gallant army. The sudden paleness of his cheek at this mental phantom, attracted the attention of Sir Anthony Shirley, he rode up to him, and fixing his eyes on his face, said, “you appear disturbed brave friend! perhaps your noble mind conceives, that in thus beholding you entrusted with the command my pledge has obtained, I am secretly agitated, and fear that I may have gone too far: not so, I know that my honour, my safety, nay my life, hang upon your fidelity to the Sophi, and it is from that reason I confidently expect fidelity at your hands.” “You might risk your salvation on me, after this!” exclaimed Sebastian, ardently grasping Shirley’s hand in both his, and squeezing it within them, “Generous Englishman! did a man meditate treachery, such heroic reliance would damn him or make him true!--Yes!” he added, after a pause, “I will save Persia, or lose myself! your nobleness renders the recovery of her I love, but a secondary object.” In the bright suffusion that spread over Sebastian’s elevated countenance, in the enthusiasm of his voice, Shirley read the worth he sought to ascertain: a slighter but less pleasing glow, (for it was the blush of shame,) tinted _his_ face; his reliance had been transiently staggered, and the speech Sebastian had understood literally, was meant delicately to convey a renewed exhortation.