you were most bound to love and to protect. Here is a friend, who
hazarded his prosperity and his existence for your life and your
happiness. And you have made him a mere pander to your lusts, and then
deserted him in his greatest necessities. This maiden was the
companion of your youth, and entitled to your kindest offices. You
have treated her infinitely worse than her Turkish captor. And for
myself, sir, your father was my dearest friend. I endeavoured to repay
his friendship by supplying his place to his orphan child. How I
discharged my duty, it becomes not me to say: how you have discharged
yours, this lady here, my daughter, your late prisoner, sir, can best
prove."

"Oh! spare me, spare me, sir," said the Prince of Athens, turning and
falling upon his knee. "I am most wretched. Every word cuts to my
very core. Just Providence has baffled all my arts, and I am grateful.
Whether this lady can, indeed, forgive me, I hardly dare to think, or
even hope. And yet forgiveness is a heavenly boon. Perhaps the memory
of old days may melt her. As for yourself, sir -- but I'll not speak,
I cannot. Noble Iskander, if I mistake not, you may whisper words in
that fair ear, less grating than my own. May you be happy! I will not
profane your prospects with my vows. And yet I'll say farewell!"

The Prince of Athens turned away with an air of complete wretchedness,
and slowly withdrew. Iskander followed him.

"Nicaeus," said Iskander; but the prince entered the grove, and did not
turn round.

"Dear Nicaeus," said Iskander. The prince hesitated.