Sebastian succeeded in beseeching her to let this agitation subside, ere she mixed in a scene likely to increase it still more; it was long past midnight, and as they entered De Castro’s house, he resigned her into the care of a female domestic, whom they encountered in the hall, desiring her to conduct the exhausted lady to a place where she might take rest. Having disposed of her who demanded all his care, Sebastian preceded the courteous Valdorno into a saloon filled with a numerous concourse of friends and strangers, and glaringly lighted. He advanced with his usual kingly port into the centre of them, and stopped there without speaking: Don Juan De Castro fell back amazed at the figure he saw before him. De Castro retained the vivid image of a young and smiling warrior, gallantly attired, bright with health, and happiness, and conscious power; he now saw a man in the autumn of life, negligently habited, darkened by foreign suns, wasted with many cares, dimmed by long experience of this world’s uncertainty and emptiness. He scarcely knew how to trust his sight: but as Sebastian, observing his trouble, and conjecturing its cause, mournfully smiled, Juan precipitated himself at his feet, exclaiming, “My King, my King!” That well-remembered smile was decisive: at the same instant, several other persons cast themselves on the ground, proclaiming the person they beheld, to be their King. Eyes, that had never wept before, now flowed in sympathy with the Portuguese and their persecuted sovereign: Sebastian’s full heart overflowed at every side; and calling each friend by their name, he turned from one to the other, alternately embracing and raising them to his bosom. When they were standing around him, he cast a look over the circle, and seeing them variously habited, most of them in disguises, which were assumed for the purpose of dispatch on their different missions, some in the fashion of France, some in that of England, some in that of Holland, others as pilgrims, a few as mendicants; he smiled pensively again, and said with a heavy sigh, “So many sorts!”-- The sad grace with which he spoke, once more touched every heart, and renewing their exclamations, the Portuguese crowded about him to kiss his hands and his garments. Amongst this groupe he distinguished the Fathers Texere and Sampayo, De Brito, who had last seen him on the field of Alcazar, when they fought together in defence of the royal standard, Mascaranhas, his favorite attendant, and a tall fair young man, whose countenance was peculiar from its expression. Sebastian fixed his eyes on this last, with extreme earnestness; the colour fluctuated on the young man’s cheek; “Is it not a kinsman I behold in you, young sir!” he said kindly, “Don Christopher of Crato, I think.”