“Come hither, Zaphna,” he said, in a tender accent, for the boy’s age and figure reminded him of young Diego: “come hither! you must not look thus apprehensive. In me you see a master who will indulge you in every thing, except what would make your lady unhappy--cheer up--tell me how you have travelled? if you have had all your little wants attended to? is there any wish of yours that I can gratify.” Zaphna, thanked him, and expressing himself perfectly content, continued still to stand at a distance. “Why do you not come nearer?” asked Sebastian as he kindly held out his hand, while saying this, the bashful youth was obliged to approach and give him his: Sebastian felt that it trembled. “Ah my little friend,” he gaily exclaimed, “this hand was never formed to draw the warrior’s bow.” For the first time, Zaphna hastily turned round and fixed a disturbed look upon his master; the glance of his eyes caused the King to start up. “I have met that glance before!” he was just going to exclaim, but checking himself, he let the hand of his page drop, and continued gazing on him. A face finely-composed, whiter than ivory, unmixed with any shade, except that formed by the arch of two jet-black brows, now remained motionless before him: Sebastian eagerly perused it, with a mixture of admiration, regret, and alarm. After a long silence he took his determination, and said with a serious air. “Perhaps you are surprized, Zaphna, that I do not question you about your mistress, and try to discover some circumstance flattering to my vanity, but I must teach you your master. He would willingly walk for ever in the path of sincerity himself, and therefore he makes it a rule to believe the same of every other person: Your fair lady told me her name and rank, she assured me that in seeking my protection for you, she was doing it for your sake alone, I shall therefore religiously confide on this assurance. Let me, however, take one painful precaution, which is this, to tell you a conversation that passed between me and the Prince of Persia, on the night of the lady Maimuna’s visit; perhaps it may be of consequence for her to know.” The colours of the rose now diffused themselves even to the ivory forehead of Zaphna: the name of Abbas evidently caused this alteration. Faltering and confused, he repeated, “The Prince of Persia!--what then, Sir Knight, have you no reserves from your friend? my lady thought not so, when she confided her reputation and perhaps her life in your honour. Ah me! unhappy wretch that I am,--my mad resolution!”--tears gushed from his eyes as he broke off, and he concealed his face in his drapery.