"What though I be King of the Emerald Isle,And my Court in its Castle with beauty be bright,To me it were brighter by far could the smileOf the one I remember but gladden my sight."Ah yes! I remember too faithfully yetThat evening and all its enchantment to me,That silvery wreath I shall never forget,That star-spangled Maiden from over the sea."I had gazed on the snow-mantled vale as it layIn the silence of morning all spotless and white,And I wished that unchanged the fair prospect would stayTo delight me, no sunset, no evening, no night:"But the evening would come, and with evening a glowSo rosy and glorious and delicate shone,Bright Phœbus, I vowed, must be wooing the snow,And I envied the sweet bridal blush he had won."I had gazed on the ocean so calm and serene,The breezes seemed hushed to be watching her sleep:I whispered, could mortal imagine a sceneMore sweet than the peacefully slumbering deep?"But the sun shining forth, on a sudden there grewSuch a change, every ripple seemed laughing and glad,Such a dazzling and glancing of golden and blue,I wondered it e'er could seem slumbering or sad."Sweet, when I had met thee the charms were united,The snow of that morn of that evening the glowOn thy cheek and thy brow,—Oh, I would they were plightedTo me, as they were 'twixt the sun and the snow!"And the laughter of ocean I saw in thine eyes,When a light from within had enkindled the flame,—How I wished I knew what might be worthy the prizeThose fair joyous glances for ever to claim!"Let them boast that the daughters of Erin are bright,Let them sing their wild songs to the maids of Kildare;I'll sing, and I'll sing till they own I am right,There's a maiden in Scotland, a maiden more fair!"
"What though I be King of the Emerald Isle,And my Court in its Castle with beauty be bright,To me it were brighter by far could the smileOf the one I remember but gladden my sight.
"What though I be King of the Emerald Isle,
And my Court in its Castle with beauty be bright,
To me it were brighter by far could the smile
Of the one I remember but gladden my sight.
"Ah yes! I remember too faithfully yetThat evening and all its enchantment to me,That silvery wreath I shall never forget,That star-spangled Maiden from over the sea.
"Ah yes! I remember too faithfully yet
That evening and all its enchantment to me,
That silvery wreath I shall never forget,
That star-spangled Maiden from over the sea.
"I had gazed on the snow-mantled vale as it layIn the silence of morning all spotless and white,And I wished that unchanged the fair prospect would stayTo delight me, no sunset, no evening, no night:
"I had gazed on the snow-mantled vale as it lay
In the silence of morning all spotless and white,
And I wished that unchanged the fair prospect would stay
To delight me, no sunset, no evening, no night:
"But the evening would come, and with evening a glowSo rosy and glorious and delicate shone,Bright Phœbus, I vowed, must be wooing the snow,And I envied the sweet bridal blush he had won.
"But the evening would come, and with evening a glow
So rosy and glorious and delicate shone,
Bright Phœbus, I vowed, must be wooing the snow,
And I envied the sweet bridal blush he had won.
"I had gazed on the ocean so calm and serene,The breezes seemed hushed to be watching her sleep:I whispered, could mortal imagine a sceneMore sweet than the peacefully slumbering deep?
"I had gazed on the ocean so calm and serene,
The breezes seemed hushed to be watching her sleep:
I whispered, could mortal imagine a scene
More sweet than the peacefully slumbering deep?
"But the sun shining forth, on a sudden there grewSuch a change, every ripple seemed laughing and glad,Such a dazzling and glancing of golden and blue,I wondered it e'er could seem slumbering or sad.
"But the sun shining forth, on a sudden there grew
Such a change, every ripple seemed laughing and glad,
Such a dazzling and glancing of golden and blue,
I wondered it e'er could seem slumbering or sad.
"Sweet, when I had met thee the charms were united,The snow of that morn of that evening the glowOn thy cheek and thy brow,—Oh, I would they were plightedTo me, as they were 'twixt the sun and the snow!
"Sweet, when I had met thee the charms were united,
The snow of that morn of that evening the glow
On thy cheek and thy brow,—Oh, I would they were plighted
To me, as they were 'twixt the sun and the snow!
"And the laughter of ocean I saw in thine eyes,When a light from within had enkindled the flame,—How I wished I knew what might be worthy the prizeThose fair joyous glances for ever to claim!
"And the laughter of ocean I saw in thine eyes,
When a light from within had enkindled the flame,—
How I wished I knew what might be worthy the prize
Those fair joyous glances for ever to claim!
"Let them boast that the daughters of Erin are bright,Let them sing their wild songs to the maids of Kildare;I'll sing, and I'll sing till they own I am right,There's a maiden in Scotland, a maiden more fair!"
"Let them boast that the daughters of Erin are bright,
Let them sing their wild songs to the maids of Kildare;
I'll sing, and I'll sing till they own I am right,
There's a maiden in Scotland, a maiden more fair!"
When Miranda received by special messengers these and other similar effusions from the love-sick Eochy, she conjured up before her mind's eye the sandy locks, the unmeaning grey eyes, the ungraceful lounging figure, and the good-natured but facile countenance of the effeminate young Prince. She smiled to herself as she contrasted him with the ideal hero of her imagination, sprung from the well-remembered tales of the dark impetuous sea-kings of the north.
About this time the King and Queen heard of and resolved to consult the oracle at Cumbrae for their afflicted daughter. They hoped to gain from the shrine of the far-famed lion some insight into her dark destiny.
After they had offered the richest gifts, and personally invoked its mysterious aid, the oracle returned the following enigmatical answer to their prayers, nor could the utmost entreaties gain from it any further explanation:—
"The Eagle that soared o'er Kyle Akin's swift strait,Hath wooed and hath won the soft dove for his mate;Affliction hath wearied affection to rest,And cold is the heart in that mother's fond breast."The strange freaks of fate in one web have entwined,What the Eaglet and maiden alone can unbind;By chequered adventure, and music's soft thrill,The compass shall aid in deliverance from ill.Arise and speed northward, the prophet hath spoken,Miranda's long silence by love shall be broken."
"The Eagle that soared o'er Kyle Akin's swift strait,Hath wooed and hath won the soft dove for his mate;Affliction hath wearied affection to rest,And cold is the heart in that mother's fond breast.
"The Eagle that soared o'er Kyle Akin's swift strait,
Hath wooed and hath won the soft dove for his mate;
Affliction hath wearied affection to rest,
And cold is the heart in that mother's fond breast.
"The strange freaks of fate in one web have entwined,What the Eaglet and maiden alone can unbind;By chequered adventure, and music's soft thrill,The compass shall aid in deliverance from ill.Arise and speed northward, the prophet hath spoken,Miranda's long silence by love shall be broken."
"The strange freaks of fate in one web have entwined,
What the Eaglet and maiden alone can unbind;
By chequered adventure, and music's soft thrill,
The compass shall aid in deliverance from ill.
Arise and speed northward, the prophet hath spoken,
Miranda's long silence by love shall be broken."
Enquiries were at once set on foot regarding the mysterious "Eaglet" mentioned by the oracle. It was discovered that a certain Enchanter of the north named Eudæmon, was sometimes called "the Tamer of the Golden Eagle," and was indeed by some supposed to have been reared in an eagle's nest. The hopes of the afflicted parents rose high as they listened to the wondrous tales told of the great Enchanter's power.
A gorgeous galley was forthwith prepared wherein the King and Queen with their daughter embarked, taking with them but a slender retinue, for it was rumoured that the wise man lived secluded from his fellows, and would not brook intrusion. A small flotilla to protect and watch over the royal vessel received orders to hover near, but on no account to come within sight of the wizard's castle, for fear of exciting his displeasure.
The voyage was long and perilous. Autumn had already far advanced. Equinoctial gales lashed the western sea into swelling billows, so that after struggling with difficulty up the stormy sounds of Mull and Sleat, the galley containing the Princess and her parents, at length became separated from all her convoys and stranded on the western coast of Raasay. The King, Queen, and Princess barely escaped with their lives; their attendants also were saved, but the choice treasures intended to propitiate the Enchanter were carried by mermaidens as spoil to the palace of the sea gods.
Drenched and perishing with cold, the unfortunate voyagers were rescued from the bleak shore, and hospitably entertained by the poor islanders, who little imagined that in these storm-beaten mariners they beheld the great King Murdoch, the wise Queen Margaret, and the unfortunate Princess Miranda.
It is true that the Queen, with that prudence and forethought which occasionally guided her smaller actions, had caused her chief dresser to sew their three second-best Crowns into a small package, which was still attached to her belt and concealed by her dress, but with this exception (which seemed of little practical use), nothing remained to mark the exalted station of the royal wanderers.
Great, however, was their satisfaction to find that they were shipwrecked on theveryisland where the Enchanter of the North had his lonely abode. They made many enquiries concerning him, and heard that his actions were beneficent, and his cures almost certain. They were, nevertheless, warned by the islanders that nothing more excited his indignation than the presence of many people at his gate. He had, indeed, been known to refuse aid altogether to their comrades, who, from superstition or folly, had gone in numbers to beset the Castle entrance.
It was now therefore customary among these simple yet considerate people, to convoy the suppliant within a short distance of Castle Brochel. They then remained waiting on the hill above, while their fellow descended and returned. So universal had this practice become, that a small shieling was gradually thrown together stone upon stone by islanders waiting on different occasions for some friend below; exposed for the time being to all the inclemency of that most variable climate.
Here then the King and Queen waited while their beloved daughter (bearing with her the white and silver tablets by means of which she was wont to communicate with others) was told to present herself at the wicket-gate of the Castle. She was moreover given money wherewith to propitiate the much-dreaded Donald—the stern one-eyed guardian of the Enchanter's abode.
It was one of those days in early November when the exquisite "Indian summer" sometimes casts a perfect halo of beauty over the "soft" north-western atmosphere of Scotland. The little group paused on the eminence immediately commanding the tall gaunt building below. In reality, the Castle top was above them; but to gain access to its portals, it was necessary to descend to a considerable depth, and then remount by a narrow cause-way to its frowning door.
The afternoon sun gilded the turrets with golden radiance, beyond slumbered the blue rippling waters, calm and treacherous, giving no sign of their cruel strength. Far in the distance like faint clouds, lay the curving outline of the Highland hills, tipped with snow, and dimly visible as they blushed pink in the parting rays of the monarch of day.
The last farewell spoken, and the afflicted child tenderly pressed to her parents' hearts; the gentle Miranda, with slow footstep, descended the fateful path.
In the meantime Eudæmon, by his consultations with the stars (an art partly taught him by his mother, who had carried away for her child, when she escaped from Valbiorn's terrible dwelling, strange manuscripts of astrological and magic lore), had become aware of the impending visit of a being whose fate was mysteriously connected with his own.
He was absorbed in abstruse calculations when Luachan, suddenly pricking up his ears, and impatiently scratching at the door, gave notice that some stranger approached the castle. On his master's unfastening the latch, the fleet animal made one bound, and disappeared down the narrow staircase, while the magician heard old Donald's querulous quavering tones raised high, as if to refuse admittance. Quick as thought Eudæmon sprang lightly after his dog, and entered the hall, where an astonishing sight greeted his bewildered eyes.
A maiden of surpassing beauty had evidently made her way into the Castle when the seneschal was off his guard. She now stood irresolute in the centre of the apartment. Luachan, contrary to immemorial custom (for, as a rule, he was surly to strangers), gambolled around the beautiful unknown with extravagant gestures of affectionate welcome, while the one-eyed Donald, shaking in his hoary wrath, poured forth an incomprehensible flood of Celtic indignation.
Eudæmon rushed forward, and signed to the old man to hold his peace, then turning to his fair visitant, he gently asked her will. Miranda, amazed to behold in the dreaded Enchanter no ancient, withered seer, no venerable prophet, as she had anticipated, but the dark-haired ideal of her wild dreams about the sea kings of the north, remained rooted to the spot, ashamed of her wilful intrusion and covered with burning blushes.
Eudæmon gazed, like one entranced, on his mysterious guest. Her long golden tresses, and her exquisite beauty of feature and form, startled the recluse of the rock. At first he almost imagined her to be of angelic extraction; but her unmistakeable confusion betrayed mortal birth, and in bolder tones the Enchanter again requested her to make known her wishes.
The Princess, seized with sudden terror, looked towards the door by which she had entered, but it was closed, and Donald stood before it, glaring at her angrily with his solitary orb. In her distress her hand involuntarily sought the tablets, where she now remembered that she herself had written the following explanatory lines, during her long and tedious journey from the south. With a bashful half-smile, therefore, she unclasped the ivory pages from her side, and timidly handed them to the Magician, who there beheld inscribed these lines.
"Hearken mighty seer, Eudæmon,Tamer of the golden Eagle,Aquila the golden Eagle,Hearken, merciful Eudæmon,Measurer of the raging tempest,Of the unseen raging tempest,Hearken to a lowland maiden,To the silent maid MirandaTo the sad Princess Miranda."I am come from Clutha's waters,From its distant tranquil waters,Where through changing isles of sunshine,Looms the ocean, where the west windRustles through the matted foliage,Or, with a delicious shiver,Sweeps along the silver beeches.I am come to sea-girt Raasay,To the wave-washed island Raasay,To the storm-swept, rugged Raasay,I have braved Kintyre's wild headlands—Braved its mountain-rising billows,Braved dark Cory-Vreckan's whirlpool,Braved the fortress of Artornish,Braved the fabled Ardnamurchan,Ship-engulfing Ardnamurchan,Braved the blasts from Scuir-na-gillean,But to plead with thee for succour,Aid against the fell enchantment,Terrible unknown enchantment,Which hath bound my lips to silence—Gloomy unresponsive silence.Maidens' mouths were made for singing,Song and laughter are their sunshine;Cheering thus the world around them,Wakening mirth with voice melodious.Pity, then! oh, great Enchanter!Pity the poor spell-bound Princess,Silent, sorrowful, dumb maiden,And with pity give assistance,Read the tale she cannot tell thee,Charm the woes no sighs can cure."
"Hearken mighty seer, Eudæmon,Tamer of the golden Eagle,Aquila the golden Eagle,Hearken, merciful Eudæmon,Measurer of the raging tempest,Of the unseen raging tempest,Hearken to a lowland maiden,To the silent maid MirandaTo the sad Princess Miranda.
"Hearken mighty seer, Eudæmon,
Tamer of the golden Eagle,
Aquila the golden Eagle,
Hearken, merciful Eudæmon,
Measurer of the raging tempest,
Of the unseen raging tempest,
Hearken to a lowland maiden,
To the silent maid Miranda
To the sad Princess Miranda.
"I am come from Clutha's waters,From its distant tranquil waters,Where through changing isles of sunshine,Looms the ocean, where the west windRustles through the matted foliage,Or, with a delicious shiver,Sweeps along the silver beeches.I am come to sea-girt Raasay,To the wave-washed island Raasay,To the storm-swept, rugged Raasay,I have braved Kintyre's wild headlands—Braved its mountain-rising billows,Braved dark Cory-Vreckan's whirlpool,Braved the fortress of Artornish,Braved the fabled Ardnamurchan,Ship-engulfing Ardnamurchan,Braved the blasts from Scuir-na-gillean,But to plead with thee for succour,Aid against the fell enchantment,Terrible unknown enchantment,Which hath bound my lips to silence—Gloomy unresponsive silence.Maidens' mouths were made for singing,Song and laughter are their sunshine;Cheering thus the world around them,Wakening mirth with voice melodious.Pity, then! oh, great Enchanter!Pity the poor spell-bound Princess,Silent, sorrowful, dumb maiden,And with pity give assistance,Read the tale she cannot tell thee,Charm the woes no sighs can cure."
"I am come from Clutha's waters,
From its distant tranquil waters,
Where through changing isles of sunshine,
Looms the ocean, where the west wind
Rustles through the matted foliage,
Or, with a delicious shiver,
Sweeps along the silver beeches.
I am come to sea-girt Raasay,
To the wave-washed island Raasay,
To the storm-swept, rugged Raasay,
I have braved Kintyre's wild headlands—
Braved its mountain-rising billows,
Braved dark Cory-Vreckan's whirlpool,
Braved the fortress of Artornish,
Braved the fabled Ardnamurchan,
Ship-engulfing Ardnamurchan,
Braved the blasts from Scuir-na-gillean,
But to plead with thee for succour,
Aid against the fell enchantment,
Terrible unknown enchantment,
Which hath bound my lips to silence—
Gloomy unresponsive silence.
Maidens' mouths were made for singing,
Song and laughter are their sunshine;
Cheering thus the world around them,
Wakening mirth with voice melodious.
Pity, then! oh, great Enchanter!
Pity the poor spell-bound Princess,
Silent, sorrowful, dumb maiden,
And with pity give assistance,
Read the tale she cannot tell thee,
Charm the woes no sighs can cure."
Eudæmon perused the tablets with eager attention more than once, then, turning a keen, piercing eye on Miranda, he exclaimed.
"Princess! I do not now hear of your misfortune for the first time. I knew that you and your parents were in search of me and of my castle. During my researches and observations I have discovered that the conjunction of stars at your birth left one unfavourable moment. This was taken advantage of by Valbiorn to avenge upon your innocent lips a grudge he owed to your father, having been, in days gone by, an unsuccessful suitor for your mother's hand.
"By much careful study of the heavens I have ascertained that the enchantment can only be dissolved by my aid and that under very difficult conditions. Rest assured, however, that no effort on my part shall be wanting to set you free. But," continued Eudæmon, bending low before Miranda, "will your parents consent to remain under my humble roof a while, since what we must go through together will take days, if not weeks, to accomplish?"
The Princess joyfully clasped her hands, and while tears of joy ran down her fair cheeks at the prospect of deliverance, she inclined her head over and over again, to intimate that her parents would thankfully accept Eudæmon's welcome invitation.
The Enchanter now offered his hand to Miranda, and while Luachan testified his delight by bounding around them, led her through the Castle gate and accompanied her in search of the King and Queen. With all the unreasonableness of human nature, these potentates advancing to meet them, half expected to hear their daughter already speaking. They graciously accosted Eudæmon, however, and anxiously listened to his explanations.
It was finally arranged that the Queen and her daughter, with their solitary waiting-maid, (much to Donald's disgust), should be installed in a part of the Castle now never used, but where were still to be seen, when the doors were unlocked, the last traces of the gentle Bragela's feminine occupations. The islanders cheerfully lent what aid they could, and King Murdoch with his attendant was permanently fixed in the small shieling on the hill. It was impossible to accommodate him in the Castle, for though lofty, its proportions were narrow and cramped. Except to sleep therefore he very seldom left the precincts of Eudæmon's dwelling.
For several days and nights the Enchanter shut himself up alone in his high turret, examining dusty old volumes, and reading the heavens, by the aid of an instrument he himself had constructed. At the end of that time he emerged from his solitary chamber, descending with eager rapid step to join his guests at their evening meal. He bore under his arm a small box and a piece of board roughly marked in squares of two colours. His dark features wore an expression of anxious excitement.
No sooner had the last traces of the repast been cleared away than Eudæmon placed his board upon the table. Opening the box he then displayed to the Princess's delighted gaze a number of little men of various sizes and shapes. These were in fact neither more nor less than a set of chessmen which he had laboriously carved in wood with his own hands, and stained in two different colours, having ascertained the mode of using them from the careful study of ancient manuscripts.
Long before the Princess Miranda appeared in Raasay, Eudæmon had known and pondered over the mystic answer returned to her parents by the Cumbrae oracle. He diligently sought among his mother's ancient volumes of magic lore for some solution of the phrase "chequered adventure." At length he came upon the description of the ancient game of chess illustrated by rough drawings.
His attention was at once arrested by discovering that this game must be played upon a "chequered" board. After careful research he finally resolved to make the trial. It took him, however, a considerable time to fashion the various pieces from the old pictures he possessed.
The Princess, her countenance lit up with curiosity and interest, was soon seated at the little table opposite the Enchanter. Several evenings were spent in teaching her the various moves of the different pieces, and explaining to her the rules of the game.
Eudæmon was fully aware that only one hour during the twenty-four was available for the purpose of disenchantment.
Some evenings later the King and Queen, already grown somewhat sleepy, nodded drowsily in their chairs. The faithful Luachan lay between his master and the fair young guest, whose bright eyes gleamed with unwonted animation. Then the dark Enchanter arising from his seat trimmed the torch above their heads, and prepared, at midnight, to play in earnest the mystic game, so fraught with meaning to the afflicted Princess.
Miranda sat in an old-fashioned chair of curiously carved wood. Her white dress and her fair tresses reflected the flickering light, thus giving some brightness to the lofty hall, whose gloomy proportions were but partially revealed by the blazing fire and the fitful glare of the torch. The most profound silence reigned in the chamber, only broken by the cheerful crackling of the firewood or an occasional snore from the slumbering King.
Fully instructed in the moves by Eudæmon during the previous nights, the Princess and the Enchanter played an interesting game. He had cast aside his long upper robe of black velvet and showed the tightly fitting red under-suit which set off his active form to greatest advantage. He placed himself on a somewhat ricketty "creepie," for the unwonted number of guests had used up all his available chairs. As he bent eagerly forward the ruddy light fell on his swarthy face, and his small closely cropped, though curly black head. His burning eyes fixed alternately on the game, and on his silent opponent, seemed to pierce through all they surveyed.
The hour wore on, they exchanged several pieces. Eudæmon then moving a bishop, placed his antagonist's king in "check." He uttered the prophetic word. Miranda, thoroughly absorbed, took up her King, and was about to place him within range of her enemy's Queen. The Enchanter gently motioned her hand aside, pointing to his own piece in explanation.
At this moment Miranda broke into such silvery peals of laughter, that Luachan, affrighted, sprang barking from his resting place. Eudæmon in his surprise and delight moved suddenly and upset the whole board incontinently on the floor, ruining the game. Queen Margaret starting up, rushed across the hall. She first held her child at arm's length as if to examine into and convince herself of her identity, then clasping her tightly to her heart, shed tears of gladness over her laughing daughter. It was indeed evident that the "chequered adventure" had fulfilled its mission, and broken the first link in the silent Miranda's chain of enchantment.
The excited parents knew not how to express their feelings of gratitude, but listened in wondering astonishment to Miranda's ringing peals of laughter, as, enraptured with her newly gained accomplishment, she danced round the hall, accompanied by Luachan, who vied with her in gambols of ecstatic joy. Eudæmon had never before beheld anything more graceful than the young Princess appeared to him in all her unconscious beauty of movement.
Inspired by a sudden desire to emulate and join in her mirthful steps, he stretched forth his hand as she passed him; she swiftly caught it, and drew him merrily on; thus maid, master, and dog together paced a wild impromptu measure of delight.
Donald, hastening in to ascertain the cause of this unusual commotion, gazed around, rubbed his solitary eye, and looked again and again. Where was the gloomy Eudæmon, the dreaded Enchanter of the North? The youth heretofore so staid and reserved now flushed and laughing, pirouetted round the bewildered old man with the smiling maiden. Together they clapped their hands at his amazement.
But now the Queen, with the dignity of manner that she well knew how to assume, bade her daughter remember who and what she was. Forgetting her late gratitude to their benefactor, she swept haughtily from the apartment, followed by her husband and her unwilling child. Miranda's pleading eyes, however, gave Eudæmon the thanks he most cared to receive, and entirely obliterated from his mind all thought of resentment against her uncertain parents. At the same time he determined to take no further steps until the King and Queen themselves again spoke of their daughter's affliction.
Several days elapsed. The character of the Castle was completely changed. The hitherto hermit like Eudæmon felt impelled to try and elicit again those silvery peals of laughter that rang on his ear with such a curious thrill of pleasure. Nor was he unsuccessful in his efforts. Again and again the old walls re-echoed with the welcome sound. The Enchanter himself felt once more a boy as he played long games of chess with Miranda, or pointed out to her his numerous pets and their diverse habits. The Princess, however, was admonished to keep carefully within her mother's sight; she wast herefore unable to scramble with him as he wished among the wild hills and cliffs around.
But the time flew swiftly by, and at length one morning the King and Queen craved an audience of their young host. Laying aside all traces of their late assumption of majesty they humbly entreated him to strive to work out still farther their daughter's cure.
Eudæmon listened in silence, fixing on them his piercing dark eye, until they moved uneasily beneath his searching glance. "I am esteemed worthy to aid in your child's disenchantment," he answered sternly, "but am too much beneath her in your eyes to tread with her the mazy measures of the dance, or to join in her everyday pursuits."
King Murdoch and his wife eagerly disclaimed any idea of making so ungenerous a return for his kindness. At length Eudæmon (who completely saw through their shallow minds, and only spoke to obtain more freedom for their daughter) promised to continue his lucubrations.
That evening for the first time since her death, he drew from a deep recess the dust-covered harp that had once quivered in responsive melody beneath the musical touch of his fair young mother. Miranda and the Queen curiously examined the quaint instrument, and helped to disentangle and divest it of its broken strings. Eudæmon, who had often studied its mechanism, brought forth new strings he himself had manufactured, and showed Miranda where and how they should be placed.
Several evenings passed in putting the harp to rights, then the Princess under Eudæmon's magical tuition strove to place aright upon it her slender fingers. Morning, noon, and night Miranda strove to play the melodies that ever floated before her mind's eye as sung to her by Eudæmon, who placed beside her scrolls, on which the words of the songs were written out.
One of them ran thus:
Thou speak'st of to-morrow, yet seemest to sigh,And something there gleams like a tear in thine eye,But though the sweet days of our converse are o'er,The friendship that binds us shall cease nevermore.When music entrancing shall steal on thine ear,And songs shall be sung thee thou lovest to hear,Oh, may one wild note of my harp seem to thrill,And recall to thee one who remembers thee still.And ever amid the dark shadows of life,When faint from the battle or weary with strife,Ah! then shall arise like the sun through a shower,The remembrance of all we have felt in this hour.When moonlight around thee shall flood the pale sea,May thoughts of the north come like visions to thee,And remind thee of hours when we once used to stray,By the ocean's dark verge at the close of the day.Roll onwards, roll onwards, thou swift flowing Clyde,Yet may our loved friends ne'er resemble thy tide,But changeless and steadfast look back through long years,To the parting that left us in silence and tears.
Thou speak'st of to-morrow, yet seemest to sigh,And something there gleams like a tear in thine eye,But though the sweet days of our converse are o'er,The friendship that binds us shall cease nevermore.
Thou speak'st of to-morrow, yet seemest to sigh,
And something there gleams like a tear in thine eye,
But though the sweet days of our converse are o'er,
The friendship that binds us shall cease nevermore.
When music entrancing shall steal on thine ear,And songs shall be sung thee thou lovest to hear,Oh, may one wild note of my harp seem to thrill,And recall to thee one who remembers thee still.
When music entrancing shall steal on thine ear,
And songs shall be sung thee thou lovest to hear,
Oh, may one wild note of my harp seem to thrill,
And recall to thee one who remembers thee still.
And ever amid the dark shadows of life,When faint from the battle or weary with strife,Ah! then shall arise like the sun through a shower,The remembrance of all we have felt in this hour.
And ever amid the dark shadows of life,
When faint from the battle or weary with strife,
Ah! then shall arise like the sun through a shower,
The remembrance of all we have felt in this hour.
When moonlight around thee shall flood the pale sea,May thoughts of the north come like visions to thee,And remind thee of hours when we once used to stray,By the ocean's dark verge at the close of the day.
When moonlight around thee shall flood the pale sea,
May thoughts of the north come like visions to thee,
And remind thee of hours when we once used to stray,
By the ocean's dark verge at the close of the day.
Roll onwards, roll onwards, thou swift flowing Clyde,Yet may our loved friends ne'er resemble thy tide,But changeless and steadfast look back through long years,To the parting that left us in silence and tears.
Roll onwards, roll onwards, thou swift flowing Clyde,
Yet may our loved friends ne'er resemble thy tide,
But changeless and steadfast look back through long years,
To the parting that left us in silence and tears.
This song, which Eudæmon had himself composed, and set to an old tune, was an especial favourite of Miranda's. She made the Enchanter sing it over again and again; though, strange to say, the master who taught her fair hands to stray over the harp, could not himself draw one sound from its capricious chords. The Princess, however, soon became enabled to accompany all his songs, every day she learnt some new, and to her more entrancing, melody. For it will be remembered that her parents had hitherto, through mistaken affection, carefully kept all music from her knowledge.
The black and gold harp, which Eudæmon and Miranda had together tuned and restored, formed a beautiful contrast to the white flowing robes and the fair arms of the young Princess. Her long tresses bound only by the pale blue snood of the Scottish maiden, waved around her. As she raised her eyes to watch every motion of Eudæmon's mouth, she gave one the idea of an inspired being, from whose very finger-tips emanated the soul of melody. Thus they often sat late into the night, drinking in sweet sounds, and poring together over poor Bragela's old manuscripts. Meanwhile Miranda's parents, closely guarding as they thought their precious daughter, hardly suspected that, while engaged in finding a tongue, she might hopelessly lose her heart.
At last, one evening Eudæmon for the hundredth time sang again that verse beginning
When music entrancing shall steal on thine ear.
Just as he reached the end, Miranda suddenly, as if by an irresistible impulse, opened her lips. With wonderful pathos, and in a voice which seemed to the young man the sweetest that could sound on earth, she finished the line:—
Recall to thee one who remembers thee still.
Amazed at her own daring, and astonished by her unwonted power, the fair songstress started blushing from her seat. In an uncontrollable burst of emotion she rushed weeping from the chamber. Queen Margaret, unable to believe it was her dumb child's voice she had heard give utterance to such melodiously thrilling notes, rose also from her chair, and cast an eager inquiring glance upon Eudæmon. Himself overcome with emotion, the Enchanter did not trust his voice to speak, but merely bowed his head; then, filled with yearning sympathy for the strangely-afflicted Princess, he opened the outer door of the hall, and hastily stepped forth on to the turreted court that overhung the shore.
It was a night of exquisite beauty—the water, calm as a mirror, stretched its dark amplitude between the solitary watcher and the far mainland of the Ross-shire hills. Orion, in all his resplendent grandeur, sparkled before him, and seemed in silent majesty to rebuke the feverish turbulence of the Enchanter's too human heart. High and cold above his head the silver crescent moon travelled dreamily across the vaulted heaven, and, as if to remind Eudæmon of her presence, cast her glittering likeness into the deep ocean's embrace, far below his feet. One by one, in gentle crashing cadence, the tiny wavelets broke beneath the Castle wall.
Insensibly soothed and quieted by nature's wondrous charm, the philosopher leant his burning head upon his hands, and absently gazed seawards.
Suddenly the casement above was thrown violently open, and Queen Margaret, in terror-stricken accents, besought his speedy aid.
He re-entered the hall. It was empty and desolate, the torch was extinguished, the fire flickered low upon the hearth. He heard a confused murmur of voices, and recognised Luachan's muffled howl of distress in the distance.
Following the sounds, he hastened up the narrow stair, and found a sorrowful group at the door of the room set apart for the Queen and her daughter. Pressing past Murdoch and Donald, and angrily motioning to Luachan to be silent, the Enchanter himself uttered a cry of anguish as his eye fell upon Miranda's death-like form. Stretched upon the rude bed, with her dishevelled tresses tangled around her pale face, on which were still the traces of tears, the poor Princess looked as if she had for ever closed her eyes to mortal scenes.
On Eudæmon's entrance, the unhappy mother rushed towards him, exclaiming, "Save her, save her! restore our darling; all shall be as you wish, if but you bring her back to life!" A deep red flush mounted to the Enchanter's very temples as the Queen, fervently pressing his hand, whispered these words, fraught with so much meaning, into his willing ear. But he needed no promised guerdon to urge him to his labour of love.
Kneeling beside the low couch, he vainly chafed Miranda's ice-cold hands. He listened over her heart—not even the feeblest flutter rewarded his strained attention. He placed a tiny polished tablet over her parted lips; its surface remained clear and unsullied by mortal breath. A sudden thought struck terror to his soul. He turned a keen glance on the mother's face; her eye fell before his; a guilty blush suffused her cheek. "You have forgotten my earnest charge," he cried, "and now it may be too late to save your child."
At this moment the magic cock was heard through the open casement crowing loudly in the castle yard. Eudæmon flew to the window and anxiously peered into the night. Right above his head, and threateningly suspended directly over the Castle, was a meteor of unwonted size and brilliancy. He fell on his knees where he stood, and stretching forth his arms silently implored Heavenly protection against the powers of evil. Again and again the ball of fire grew lurid and glowing, as though it were about to descend and bury them beneath burning ruins, but each time Chanticleer's warning voice sounded cheerfully near at hand, and at length the red globe, with a loud hissing noise, fell prone and harmless into the dark ocean depths.
Relieved from the pressing danger without, Eudæmon now turned to the sorrow within.
Since the appearance of the Royal wanderers upon the island, he had held many private conversations with the Queen concerning her daughter's disenchantment.
The anxious mother over and over again informed him that the dearest object of their heart, in seeking to free their child from the spell which bound her, was that Miranda should be united in marriage with some powerful monarch, who would aid her, in due time, to rule over her own somewhat troublous kingdom of Clutha.
She little knew that Eudæmon was intimately acquainted with their past history, nor did she suspect that he was aware of the vow made by herself and King Murdoch in bygone days. Wearied by vain endeavours to accomplish their daughter's disenchantment, they had then solemnly bound themselves by an oath to bestow Miranda's hand on the man who should succeed in releasing her spell-bound voice.
During the long years which had elapsed since Bragela's death, Valbiorn's hard heart had gradually softened towards her only child. He knew of the promised reward. From afar he watched with keen suspicion the movements of the King and Queen. He foresaw that Eudæmon would love Miranda, if fate brought them together. For his sake he resolved to help the Princess, but, at the same time, he determined that the gift of speech should only be restored to render her a more fitting bride for his son.
When, therefore, the young Enchanter retired to his turret chamber, he often held secret interviews with his dread father, and succeeded in gaining a pledge of assistance from Valbiorn. But Eudæmon feared that if his vindictive parent once suspected Queen Margaret's intentions, he would not only refuse his aid altogether, but would become her deadliest foe.
Before the King and Queen set sail for the Highlands, she had resolved that their solemn oath should be buried in oblivion. She satisfied her conscience by lading their ship with precious gifts destined for the propitiation of the Enchanter.
Had Eudæmon been the ancient prophet she thought he was, he would probably have accepted golden rewards with delight. The treasures, however, never reached the island; they were engulfed in the stormy ocean.
As soon as Miranda's mother saw Eudæmon, she perceived that his deep interest in her fair daughter might be turned to good account. She persuaded her husband to leave the matter in her hands, priding herself upon her powers of negociation.
Feeling instinctively the young man's innate delicacy of mind, the wily Queen took good care to enlist his sympathies for her afflicted child. At the same time she continually alluded to Miranda's exalted station, tacitly ignoring the possibility of a suitor for her hand whose pretensions were less than royal.
Eudæmon was wont to listen to her words with respectful courtesy, though occasionally his skill in necromancy stood him but in poor stead, when his rebel heart sent a crimson glow over his dark features. Still he invariably replied in measured tones that his own desires perfectly coincided with those of the maiden's parents; that his chief wish was to promote the welfare and happiness of the young Princess, and to render her any assistance in his power.
Latterly, however, during the long hours spent at chess, in rambling about the Castle and its precincts, or in singing and playing over the harp, the good Queen's heart misgave her, and she took the somewhat bold step of directly warning her benefactor and host against engaging her daughter's affections.
Notwithstanding his powers of self-control, Eudæmon had to pause a moment and curb the hasty impulse of anger, ere he answered in low, husky tones,
"Madam, for your child's sake, I have embarked upon the perilous undertaking of striving to free her from the well-woven spell which for nineteen long years has bound her lips to silence, and cast a blight over her young life.
"The Princess Miranda's happiness is at stake. I persevere, therefore, in my endeavours to aid her. Absorbed, however, in a struggle to the death with the dread powers of darkness, I have now little time to regard her in any other light but that of the ill-fated victim of enchantment. I will, nevertheless, warn you that your child is innocence itself. Her spirit must inevitably be sorely tried during coming events, and very little more might serve to unhinge her mind. Take heed, therefore, that you suffer no word of what has passed between us to reach her unsuspecting ears.
"I have no desire to interfere with the brilliant destiny you have mapped out for your daughter, or to tempt her to disobey her parents.
"But though you ignore the vow you took upon yourself in less hopeful days, it is remembered by one who never forgets. Within and around this Castle exists an invisible agency; nor can what passes here be kept from the knowledge of a mightier power than mine.
"More I dare not say. I have no wish to stand before you as a suppliant. For the present, I pray you only to remember that you are my honoured guests, and that my time and my thoughts are alike devoted to your service."
As he spoke, the excited and wounded Enchanter drew himself to his full height. Indignant lightning flashed from his eyes, controlled passion vibrated in his voice.
The Queen, frightened and conscience-stricken, gazed bewildered upon Eudæmon, as, with an abrupt reverence, he turned and quitted her presence. For many hours he disappeared from the neighbourhood of the Castle, and several days elapsed before he regained his wonted equanimity of bearing.
On this eventful night, therefore, the young Seer heard with mingled feelings the terrified mother's significant words. But there was now no time for further explanation. When the threatened attack from without had been warded off, the Enchanter turned from the turret window and exclaimed, "Away with you all; you must quit this chamber and leave me alone with the maiden and her mother, if it be not already too late to attempt to restore her ebbing life."
Thereupon he strode to the threshold, and assuming an air of majesty they had never before remarked, he waved them in silence from the apartment.
No sooner had they all quitted the room, than Eudæmon drew the bolt across the door, and approaching the Queen, who hung weeping over her lifeless daughter, he thus sternly addressed her:—
"You have neglected my warning, and by your heedless words have awakened a fresh struggle in the breast of this sorely tried child. There remains but one chance of recalling her gentle spirit from the Valley of the Shadow of Death. But be assured, proud Queen, that though, for the sake of the Princess herself, I now lay bare before you the inmost secret of my heart; yet she shall never know, until she hears the truth from your lips, that for her alone that heart shall beat through time and through eternity."
So saying, the young Enchanter drew near Miranda's prostrate form. He threw himself on the floor beside her couch, and seizing her resistless hands, wildly pressed them in his own. Tenderly and reverently he addressed the insensible maiden in tones and words of fondest endearment. For long it seemed as though even the electric thrill of mortal love was powerless against the magic swoon into which the Princess had fallen on hearing for the first time her mother's strange accusing words.
At last Eudæmon (who held her hand in his as he fervently prayed for her restoration to life) fancied he perceived a feeble movement. He arose, and earnestly imprinting on his memory those features so sacred to him in their helpless repose, he retired to the window and there continued his prayer.
Meanwhile Miranda, quivering back to consciousness, imagined she heard a familiar voice addressing her in the wild tones of a passionate love hitherto unknown. A strange new pain shot into her innocent soul, and awoke her once more to play her part in this world's theatre.
She slowly opened her eyes, and looked around. By the light of the feeble lamp she gradually became aware of Eudæmon's presence, as he knelt near the open casement, through which faintly glimmered the first signs of approaching dawn. She stirred uneasily on her couch. The Enchanter arose from his answered prayer. Stepping across the chamber, he opened the door to the impatient watchers without. Before Queen Margaret could recover from her astonishment, or could indeed realize that her child was safe, Eudæmon was gone. He went out silently as the others entered. Calling Luachan, he departed thence with his faithful dog, to seek amid the solitudes of nature that peace which at present was denied him by his wildly throbbing bosom.
Many days elapsed before the Princess, shaken and confused by all she had gone through, again descended the stairs and approached once more the fated harp. From the moment in which her feelings had found vent in song, and escaping from the hall she had sought relief from tears in her lonely chamber, all seemed like a dream. Her mother's reproaches on discovering her strange agitation, her deep swoon, and the words she thought she had heard as she woke, each and all were regarded by her as the creatures of her own too vivid imagination.
Queen Margaret, already forgetting her renewed promises, and fondly caressing her child, never recurred to the past. The Enchanter, entering as before with energy into all that concerned Miranda's interests, looked and moved to the awe-struck eyes of the simple Princess an exalted being, free from the weaknesses or restless anxieties of mortal love.
Miranda's new power gave them all exquisite pleasure. She herself found rich stores of unimagined delight, as she poured forth her growing aspirations in floods of song. Strange to say, it was in singing alone that she gave utterance to her feelings. No spoken word as yet could pass the enchanted barrier of her lips.
A visible cloud sat upon Eudæmon's swarthy brow. He foresaw that Miranda's disenchantment could only be accomplished amid real dangers and difficulties, and his heart misgave him as he realized the faint trust that could be placed in the ready promises of the Queen.
Day after day elapsed without further adventure, no allusion was made to the remarkable words that had fallen from Miranda's mother when she was overwhelmed by the immediate danger of her child.
At length, one evening, after Miranda had retired weary to her couch, the young Seer set forth to her parents the only course to be pursued, if the Princess were ever to obtain the power of speech.
He explained to them that far away, in the mysterious halls of Thuisto, there existed a wondrous compass, with which Miranda's fate was closely connected. He told them, moreover, that with the aid of magic he could introduce himself, the Princess, and her mother into the weird abode of the sea-kings.
But to do this, and to escape in safety, silence and obedience were imperatively necessary. Before venturing on so serious a risk, he therefore solemnly entreated the Queen sooner to rest content with the partial disenchantment of her daughter, and to quit in peace his lonely abode, than to enter lightly upon this grave adventure. For when once within the enchanted precincts of Thuisto, if they transgressed ever so slightly, the rules laid down for their observance, they would draw down, not only upon himself—for which he little cared—but perchance upon Miranda, the fatal vengeance of the ever-watchful guardians of those submarine palaces.
Again and again the eager mother promised, nay, even swore to obey his strict injunctions, urging him to make the attempt. At last, with heavy foreboding, Eudæmon prepared to encounter the dangers of the coming expedition.
Miranda was told of the projected scheme. The Enchanter explained to her that in the submerged vaults of Thuisto she would probably first find the use of her voice in speech. He warned her, however, that she must endeavour to speak only when he bade her, and Queen Margaret was once more pledged to maintain strict silence.
The eventful night arrived. The poor forsaken king and the disconsolate dog Luachan (too intelligent to move from the shore where his beloved master bade him remain and guard the stranger), together strained their eyes from the wild beach below Castle Brochel, as the little boat containing the travellers became a faint speck on the starlit sea.
Eudæmon and the one-eyed Donald rowed their precious burden quickly on, until reaching a barren rock, the Enchanter sprang lightly on shore; carefully handing out Queen Margaret and her daughter, he then bade the old man row home to the Castle and return again for them at day-break.
Hardly had the regular plash of Donald's retreating oars died away, before they became conscious that they were gradually sinking through the ocean. The broad, flat surface on which they stood afforded them ample footing, and though they heard, on either side, the swift rushing of the divided waters, not a drop touched them; not an oscillation disturbed their balance, as, supported and cheered by Eudæmon's friendly whispers, and fast clinging together, mother and daughter descended through the sea to unknown regions, enveloped in a darkness that might be felt.
Mindful of her plighted word, the Queen uttered no sound, but she bore very heavily upon the young Enchanter's arm, keeping him in constant uneasiness. At length a blinding flash of light smote on their dazzled eyes; the downward motion ceased, and the stone on which they stood sank to its resting-place with a loud clang.
As they became inured to the brightness, they beheld before, behind, around them on every side, as far as sight could reach, a vast labyrinth of arched and pillared cloisters, stretching into interminable distance, and lit by some mysteriously effulgent ray, which seemed to their bewildered gaze to proceed from the centre of a broader aisle, at one extremity of which they themselves stood.
Eudæmon, motioning them to follow, trod slowly the echoing pavement, and advanced towards the distant focus of light.
Now sounded forth music such as earthly ears have seldom heard. It was as if all the harmonies of water's various movements swelled into one indescribable wave of translucent melody, that penetrated soul and body with its enervating power. Relaxed in every fibre by this weird influence, Eudæmon with difficulty urged forward his drooping comrades. Prepared, however, to resist to the utmost the charms of witchcraft, he drew forth his magic horn, and its reviving fragrance quickly restored energy to their unstrung frames.
Their interest also was freshly aroused by exquisite statues, which, almost endued with life, and perfect in colouring, seemed to smile on them from either side as they proceeded. They reached the circle whence emanated the diverging rays of light. Before them blazed a dazzling but empty throne. From its midst shone those awe-inspiring beams.
Eudæmon uttered a low cry. There, beauteous as he remembered her in his boyhood's early days, but with a calm expression of perfect peace she had never worn during her child's lifetime, in a marble niche close beside the vacant seat, stood the lovely Bragela. Her long golden tresses rippled over her shoulders, her flowing robes half showed, half concealed her matchless shape, while her azure eyes, with their heavily-fringed lids, fell fixed and cold on the eager countenance of her son.
A moment he paused, half expectant, dreaming that her loved spirit must awake and welcome him, but in that instant her last words flashed across his mind. He realized that Valbiorn's skill had only thus been able to immortalize the fair, soulless clay. He remembered once more why he had sought that dread abode, and he noted that Bragela's beautiful motionless hand pointed to a small amber pedestal, which at a few paces distant seemed to glow with lambent flame.
He approached: upon its summit lay the object of his search, the magic compass of the sea-kings, potent to work weal or woe. Turning to Miranda, he gently drew her forward, and placed the timid maiden over against himself on the southern side of the mystic pillar.
The whole of the magic compass quivered and shone with the appearance of red-hot metal, but Eudæmon whispered to the Princess that she must with a firm hand raise the needle from its place, and, turning towards the north, pronounce these words in an audible voice,
"As points the faithful needle to the pole."
Miranda stooped trembling over the flaming altar, but with gentle courage she took the fiery needle in her hand; as she did so, she raised her eyes trustingly towards her guide, and moved a step nearer to him.
Here in the enchanted palace of his fathers, surrounded by mysterious influences, and excited by the anticipated victory over Miranda's spell, the youth for once forgot his careful self-command. He also advanced, and stretched out his eager hands to bound the needle's range.
In a low musical tone the Princess pronounced the fateful words; ere she finished, she leant insensibly forwards, and the needle almost touched the Enchanter's breast. Overcome with mingled emotions, Miranda, while she spoke, swayed visibly to and fro, and as if to support her, Eudæmon's arms fell on either side of her tottering figure.
At this moment the Queen, terribly discomposed, and forgetting in her displeasure every solemn promise she had made, rushed forward, loudly crying, "Misguided girl!" but ere she could continue her sentence, a tremendous peal of thunder shook the ground beneath their feet, and vibrated around them. An intensely lurid ray of light darted athwart the heretofore empty throne. To Queen Margaret's unspeakable dread, she beheld indistinctly amid the dazzling beams an awful form enthroned in fire. A rushing noise filled her ears, she became insensible, and as she did so, she seemed to fall prone through interminable depths.
It was long before she recovered her consciousness, but at last she was aroused by the sound of sweet singing,