As the Queen foresaw that so precarious a siege would last for a considerable time, she resolved to accompany the King, and pass the campaign with him. This report being spread, our two lovers were much rejoiced at it, hoping that, in the confusion of the army, they might find an opportunity, with the assistance of Orviedo, to get into Granada. But their ill luck ordained it otherwise; for the Queen, the evening prior to her departure, told Daraxa that she was not to accompany her in this journey. “To have less trouble,” added that Princess, “I shall only take with me those women whose services I shall absolutely require. It is my intention to leave my maids of honour at Seville, with their relations, or under the care of persons of distinction, to whom I shall recommend them. As for you, my dear Daraxa, you will be entrusted to Don Lewis de Padilla. I have made choice of this Nobleman because he is the father of your friend Elvira; besides which, I think you will find yourself more agreeably situated in his family than elsewhere.” The despair of Ozmin knew no bounds when his mistress sent him word of this order of the Queen. He saw that all his plans were frustrated, and his mind, fluctuating amidst a variety of thoughts and undetermined suggestions, inspired alternately by love and glory, was in an inconceivable perplexity. But he received so many tender and moving letters from Daraxa, that she at length succeeded in fixing his irresolute thoughts upon herself alone. The following is one of these letters, which I have selected from among them: “Orviedo has informed me how excessively you lament your absence from Granada. Depart, Ozmin, depart; your heart is more devoted to glory than to love. Let me not detain you here any longer: I well know that your departure will cost me my life; but the severest pangs that I shall suffer will be in dying for an ungrateful man, who abandons me at the very time that I stand most in need of his assistance. I thought myself dearer to you than all the world. How greatly was I mistaken! Of whom am I to complain? Of myself, for having believed you, or of you for having thus beguiled me? If my love for you does not make me blind, your life is mine. You have told me so a hundred times, nay, you have sworn it. Why then, without my consent, do you dispose of what is mine? How can you think of applying it to any other use than that of serving me? Ah! Ozmin, you know but little how to love! How far are you behind me in love’s race! Glory may be every where acquired; and many might be found, if sought for, who would willingly resign all pretensions to glory, and share the distresses of an unfortunate woman, in preference to serving all the monarchs upon earth.”