“As yet, no plan has been formed, no absolute party made for either pretender to the succession. The families D’Avegro, and Villa-Real, plead their affinity to the throne; but my husband’s right is too clear for dispute: your’s alone--and O! how joyfully will he bow to it--may pass before him.” Sebastian smiled, and shook his head, “The world and I, my dear daughter, have long since shaken hands, and said farewel to each other: I have no more to do with its honours or its pleasures: these eyes see but one place of rest, and I am fast hastening to it. Sceptres and crowns, at fourscore years, are the toys and rattles of second childhood, and to desire them is to prove that we are become infants again. To rejoice in the emancipation of Portugal from an oppressive yoke, to rejoice at beholding the reins of her government in young and able hands, is yet permitted me. I would cheerfully devote these grey hairs to the dust, could that effect so blessed an event. “The groans of a people once too dear to me--ever dear to me--reach my heart even yet. O might I live to see them freed from their grievous burthen; to see thee, my child, share thy lawful inheritance with my noble kinsman, how would it cheer, how would it exalt my parting soul.” Luisa was about to answer, when the doors of the saloon opening, discovered a crowd of officers, attendants, and guards, in the midst of whom was the Duke of Braganza. Luisa rose to welcome her husband; and as he dismissed his train, the doors closed again, and he advanced alone into the apartment. Earnest to observe the countenance of Braganza, Sebastian inclined his venerable person, and lifted up the white locks which obscured his sight. His imagination had represented the husband of Luisa, with a mien dignified, but somewhat austere, and a brow armed with the lofty courage of his conduct. On the contrary, he beheld a man in the prime of life, whose elegantly proportioned figure moved with gentle gracefulness; whose face, (seriously sweet) invited love, destroyed apprehension, and spoke a heart warmed with the most amiable affections. The soft tenderness of his eyes as he took and kissed the hand of his wife, was suddenly changed into the brightness of glad surprise, when she hastily told him who was awaiting his embrace: Braganza broke away, and hurried to throw himself at the feet of his illustrious relative. Sebastian bent to raise and to press him in his arms, “I need no other warrant of thy worth, my dear son,” he exclaimed, “than these sweet looks: you are like the noblest child of the Braganza race. My pretty Diego! how freshly I remember him!” “At what a moment, Sire, do I behold you!” exclaimed Braganza, “the time is critical: Portugal stands on the brink of a great revolution: she is resolved to make one glorious effort--to perish or be free.”