Shirley had lived, alas! too long in courts, not to be justified in this apprehensiveness. Struck with amiable remorse, he was going to drew a valuable gem from his finger and proffer it to the Christian Knight, as a type of friendship, when he was checked by perceiving no ring on his hand which he might give him in exchange: awed by that sensitive delicacy which had appeared in all the stranger’s actions, Shirley relinquished the intention. Tefza’s parting gift had enabled the King to preserve himself independent of every pecuniary obligation; and though he accepted a lodging from the hospitality of Sir Anthony, that gentleman’s domestics had tasted liberally of his bounty: no one indeed served him without being recompensed beyond the value of their services. Never could Sebastian forget that he was a King: happily fortune had not yet reminded him that even a monarch must shape his largesses to his means. In the quality of a commander it was necessary for him to use the Sophi’s treasures, but it was only for the purposes of that situation, and for public service, that he destined to employ them; his own fund was, or he determined it should be, sufficient for his own personal wants. By the new plan of the night, the two generals, instead of marching forward together, as if the whole army meant to attack the Basha, deemed it best to wave the use of a faint intended merely to mislead; for time pressed, and the able conduct of their enemy required a counterpoise in promptitude. The troops divided on the field, and their commanders exchanged adieus: they were on the point of separating, when Prince Abbas said in a low voice, and with a troubled air which he tried to render gay, “There are some bright eyes in Ispahan at this moment dim with tears for you I conjecture.” Sebastian smiled, shook his head, then bowing to Sir Anthony Shirley, rode up to head his division. It was not till after the troops had attained their place of destination by rapid marches, and that Sebastian had reconnoitred the ground and made the requisite dispositions, that he sent for Zaphna into his tent at night to converse with him, and give repose to his mind by recitations of Persian poetry. The King was lying along a mattrass when the boy entered. As only a single light burned in the tent, he could not distinctly observe his lineaments, but he was charmed with the beautiful simplicity of his figure, with which a Persian dress of delicate-coloured silk delightfully harmonized: a turban of the same taffeta heightened the graceful air of his head and throat, which still averted, and a little inclined, indicated a timid and gentle temper.