Much affected by a sensibility as just as it was exquisite, Sebastian strained her to his breast, and lifting up the scattered ringlets from her cheek, he kissed it fondly. That roseate cheek, those eyes now closed with grief, but lovely still from the long lashes which fringed them, the soft arms that twined around his neck, and the beautiful tresses which fell dishevelled over them, all these were so like his Aziek’s, that he repeated his caresses, and abandoned to a moment of weakness, whispered, “Should I not risk all things to go with my child?” At this unexpected dawn of hope, Blanche raised her face, the sunshine of happy youth was on it. “O my father;” she cried, “let us go together!--my mother, my dear mother too--we cannot live without her.” Sebastian had now recovered himself, and sorrowing to destroy the illusion his own words had raised, he proceeded in a calmer tone, to explain to her the weighty reasons which rendered it necessary for him to trust the judgment of De Castro, and to act by his suggestion: he alone could decide on the prudence of measures, which must be influenced by the conduct of those potentates amongst whom he was acting. Blanche had been early taught to yield to the voice of reason: the moment she was convinced that what she wished was hostile to her better interests, or blameable in itself, she ceased to form a wish on the subject. She submitted to the commands of duty, as to the irreversible decrees of Heaven. This valuable habit of moral obedience, now enabled her to acquiesce in the dreary prospect of separating from her parents, and committing herself to a world, of which the history had made her afraid. She wept bitterly; but she frequently repeated, that she saw her father could not in justice to himself and his country, and in gratitude to those friends who were now risking their lives for his sake by secret correspondence with the enemies of Philip, do otherwise than grant them some rallying point like herself. Sebastian contemplated her as she sat struggling against her grief, kissing his hands and looking at him with humid smiles: Sebastian contemplated her with many an admiring thought. He contrasted her character and conduct with what his own had been at a much more forward period of youth: at that period the whole globe was scarce large enough for his tempestuous passions to rage in. Shame and compunction were on his brow. “Blanche,” he exclaimed, “if the certainty that you possess the fullest love, the most perfect approbation of your father, can give comfort to your heart, be assured that you do possess them--never my child, never were you half so dear or so estimable to me, as at this moment.”