About thirty years after the period in which Don Sebastian was conveyed into France, a majestic old man was seen to enter the palace of the Braganza’s, at Villa Viciosa; his mourning garments were plain, but not ignoble; his steps were supported by a staff; the hair that parted from his serene, yet time-worn brow, was whiter than silver; in his eye, and on his lips, sat a sort of sweet mournfulness, that added a touching interest to his venerable age; the ashes of that youthful fire which had once blazed there, still remained to say that such fire had been; but the fire itself was extinct. Resignation, peace, and benignity, had taken its place. He enquired for the Duke and Duchess of Braganza: the former was at the village of Almada, but the young Duchess was alone, and the stranger was conducted to her presence. Upon entering a splendid hall, where sculpture, painting, and armorial decorations united to bestow grandeur, the hoary-headed traveller paused, and fixed his eyes upon one object. It was a young and admirably lovely woman, who had just laid her sleeping infant upon a couch, where she stood gazing on him with a mother’s fondness. Her graceful figure owed nothing to the imposing aid of dress; a plain sattin robe, and a cluster of roses knotting up her bright, dark hair, were its only ornaments; but “she was covered with the light of beauty,” and wanted no other decorations. At the sound of a heavy sigh, she turned round, and perceiving a stranger, hastened forward to meet him. The old man continued looking at her as she advanced: “my eyes are somewhat dim,” he said, in a voice broken by emotion rather than by feebleness, “but I think you are the last surviving child of her who is now an angel in heaven!” The young Duchess trembled with sudden emotion, and her fine countenance assumed an expression of veneration, joy, and sorrow, which heightened its charms; she half bent her knee, while exclaiming, “who is it that I behold? O majestic stranger, dare I believe that I see in you--” “The father of your mother!” replied the old man, tears trickling down his cheek, “the widowed, wandering Sebastian.” Luisa sunk at his feet, and devoutly kissed them. “You return then, at last!” she said, weeping with delight, “all who have known or persecuted you, my honoured father, are vanished from the earth. Here in the arms of your remaining race, your old age may now pass in security and honour, and your latest sigh be breathed on the bosom of affectionate children.” As she spoke, she tenderly led him towards a seat, where placing herself beside him, she continued to wait his answer, with both hands clasping one of his. Sebastian fondly regarded her a long time in affecting silence, the tears chasing one another down his venerable face, increasing as they flowed, till he could discern her no longer.