At this detail Sebastian gave himself up for lost: innocent as he was, circumstances had fatally conspired to give an air of falsehood to his conduct, and from whatever motive Maimuna had sought his protection, it was evident his life must pay the forfeit of her indiscretion. Not for himself, he alternately supplicated Heaven’s assistance, or wildly bewailed its hard decree; it was for Kara Aziek that he raved, for her who only lived in the fond hope of obtaining liberty and happiness from his hands. One ray of consolatory expectation beamed on him; it proceeded from a knowledge of Abbas’s naturally noble character: perhaps even outraged love might not be powerful enough to harden so upright a heart against the impression of truth. If Sebastian were frankly to relate the story of his attachment, Abbas might eventually discover, that the friend in whom he had confided, had neither betrayed his mistress nor his King. This expectation was soon destroyed: the first day closed, the second night was already far advanced, when tumultuous sounds were heard in the streets of Ispahan; confusion, consternation, sorrow, evidently reigned throughout the capital; murmurs and lamentations reached even to the dungeon of Sebastian: half-starting from the ground on which he was lying, he listened to catch some articulate sound, nothing was distinct; all was hurry and distress. Divining part of the truth, his agitation became intolerable: Abbas, most likely, had been again defeated.--Mighty God! and Sebastian’s avenging arm was chained down by iron bolts! at this thought, the groan that burst from his great heart shook the wails of his cell: he pulled, he tugged his heavy chain; he essayed to tear up the ponderous staple by which it was rivetted to the stone pavement. Vain were all his efforts; again the noise increased--it approached--it was in the prison! At the echo of several hasty steps passing his door, he demanded loudly what had happened? for a while no one attended to him; at length a person answered sternly, “the Prince is taken, the Sophi is dead--the people call aloud for your head!” the man moved away as he spoke, leaving Sebastian transfixed with an emotion to which no name could be given: it might be hope, it might be despair; Sebastian himself knew not which it was. While yet motionless, he heard his name repeated vehemently without, and re-echoed through all the passages of the vaults; a moment after, the door of his cell flew open. Prepared to meet instant death, the brave and unfortunate King roused himself to breast the torrent of popular fury; his whole soul was collected in his eyes, as he drew back like one who stations himself, and directed a steady look towards his murderers. A croud rushed in; amongst these, he beheld Sir Anthony Shirley, and the still-disguised Maimuna: sinking at his feet, while some soldiers knocked off his fetters, she exclaimed, “you are free! hasten to rescue the Prince!”