my feelings on beholding her, when I had obtained permission from her guards to approach the wagon in which she lay? Ah, my friend! words, at best, do but feebly express the emotions of the heart! But picture to yourself my unhappy mistress, with a chain around her waist, reclining upon a few scanty handfuls of straw and wearily resting her head against the side of the cart, her face pale, and moistened by the tears which forced their way from beneath her lashes, and streamed down her cheeks, although she kept her eyes constantly closed. She had
not even had the curiosity to open them on hearing the commotion among her guards when they expected our attack. Her linen garments were soiled and bedraggled, her delicate hands exposed to the rude air; in short, she, the embodiment of every charm—she, with that face which was lovely enough to lead the whole world back to idolatry—now presented a spectacle of such wretchedness and desolation as no language can describe. For some time I rode beside the cart, gazing at her sadly, and so overcome with anguish at the sight that more than once I all but fell headlong from my horse.
My sighs and repeated ejaculations of grief at length attracted her attention. Glancing up, she recognized me;
