her parents' hearts; the gentle Miranda, with slow footstep, descended
the fateful path.
In the meantime Eudaemon, 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 Eudaemon 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.
Eudaemon 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.
Eudaemon 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, Eudaemon,
Tamer of the golden Eagle,
Aquila the golden Eagle,
Hearken, merciful Eudaemon,
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 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."
Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon, 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 Eudaemon'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 Eudaemon, 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
Eudaemon'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
Eudaemon 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, Eudaemon 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.
Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon 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. Eudaemon 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. Eudaemon 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. Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon, 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 Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon 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.
Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon (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. Eudaemon, 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 Eudaemon'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
Eudaemon, 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.
This song, which Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon'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 Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon. 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 Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon'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. Eudaemon 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, Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon 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.