Morosini returned from Madrid: his manner was changed, his zeal extinct. Of a character eagerly open to new impressions, which by their vivacity deceived the observer into a belief of their durability, he had been fascinated by the insinuating graces of Philip III. and suddenly chilled by the discovery of Don Sebastian’s altered sentiments on the most important of subjects. Philip had address enough to perceive the unsubstantial character he had to deal with; he affected to lament the affronts offered to Venice, he promised ample reparation, and by the most studied attentions to Morosini, flattered his vanity, and lighted up a transient flame of enthusiasm in his inflammable breast. Morosini yet wavered between the romantic interest which a fugitive King excited, and the vain exultation inspired by a young and prosperous monarch’s caresses, when the Pope’s bull fell like a thunderbolt between him and the fortunes of the former, and severed him from them for ever. He now met Sebastian with confusion and restraint: his discourse was full of abstruse dogmas and church threatenings; he eulogized the unshakable, yet unpersecuting spirit with which Philip III. possessed the faith of Rome; and he reluctantly confessed, that unless the King of Portugal would consent to acknowledge the supremacy of the Papal See, and to accept his crown on her conditions, the Senate of Venice could not openly proclaim, or secretly support him. “What then!” exclaimed Sebastian, with some of his former impetuosity, “do you maintain the impious doctrine that man is more powerful than God? what human hand dare bar my hand to that throne on which the divine hand had placed me at the hour of my birth? Your birth-right is your patrimonial house, your noble name, your rank in the republic--mine is the throne of Portugal and the Indies; and now, by the blessing of God, I will perish ere I renounce it. When Kings are prosperous, then do you make them Gods; when they are in adversity, you reduce them below humanity: what manner of justice is this? Who shall say that aught but crimes can deprive a common individual of his lawful inheritance? and are Princes to be more hardly dealt with than their subjects?--shame on such base conclusions.” “It is a crime, Sir, to abandon the only true faith, and adopt the creed of heretics.” Morosini spoke with a ruffled though hesitating voice. “I dare not league my soul with any Prince who professes enmity to the church of Peter. If this were a mere political matter, we should not scrutinize the opinions of an ally, but it is a question of conscience. Can the Catholic republic of Venice consistently with its character, assist in taking the crown of Portugal from the head of a pious King, to place it on that of an apostate?” Sebastian gave him a lightning glance of proud indignation, but quelling the sudden emotion as it arose, he said deliberately,