It was in vain that the Portuguese lords prayed permission to be present at this examination, in order to compare him with their own recollection of the unfortunate Sebastian. The Seigniory alleged that the Portuguese were all too desirous of believing the impostor to give an impartial testimony, and that by questioning him on the events of his life, they were more certain to detect him in contradictions. Venice yet feared and hoped much from Philip, whose ambassador alternately threatened and caressed her; and armed with assertions which Morosini’s communications enabled him to fulminate, he now made one of the assembly, proudly pronouncing himself the umpire, since he had frequently seen the real Don Sebastian in his palace of Ribera. It was midnight, and cold December, when Valdorno came to conduct Sebastian into the presence of the senators: Sebastian wished never more to lose sight of Kara Aziek, and with an air of high authority that would not be denied, he persisted in making her his companion. A solemn expectancy sat on the faces of the numerous senators who with the Doge, habited in their most imposing habits, formed a semi-circle in the grand hall of the senate-house. One massy branch of lights threw a sullen gleam over the more sullen crowd: no sound was heard amongst them, as the great doors were opened, and Don Sebastian appeared, advancing between Kara Aziek and Signor Valdorno. He paused when he had passed the threshold, and cast an undaunted look around the hall. The King of Portugal was now at that period of life, when manly beauty assumes a character of majesty, and awes rather than wins: the bright colours of youth were no longer on his cheek, nor its luxuriant fulness on his limbs, but his countenance was splendid still, for the fire of his eyes was unextinguished. He looked “Not less Than archangel ruined.” By his side stood the gentle Aziek, with loveliness faded, not obliterated; graces so lightly touched by the hand of time, and so interestingly mixed with looks of unresisting sweetness, that she appeared born to contrast the severe dignity of Sebastian. But there was a modest nobleness in her air that seemed as if love had copied the object beloved, and made her worthy of it. At the first sight of these august sufferers, murmurs of shame and admiration ran through the assembly. Sebastian advanced to the Castilian ambassador, whom his eagle glance had singled out, and stopping before him, said in a high voice, “Here is one that should know me. Sir! whom say you I am?” The Spaniard who had half-discredited, half-believed the existence of Don Sebastian, now amazed into perfect conviction, turned pale, and the acknowledgment was bursting from his lips, when recollecting himself, he turned aside, and said coldly, “I know you not.”