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 Eudaemon, 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.
Eudaemon 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, Eudaemon 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
Eudaemon, 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 Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon (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 Eudaemon'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, Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon'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, Eudaemon 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.
Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon'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.
Eudaemon, 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, Eudaemon 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.
Eudaemon 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 Eudaemon 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, Eudaemon'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,
"I would I were a little bird,
To build upon his breast,
Or if I were a nightingale,
To soothe my love to rest.
To gaze upon his tender eyes,
All my reward should be,
For I love, I love, I love my love,
Because my love loves me."
Opening her eyes with a shiver at the wild pathos of these tones, the
Queen, by the chill bright light of the December sun, beheld her
daughter, with Luachan beside her, seated on the beach of Raasay and
twining pieces of damp sea-weed into her long hair.
Queen Margaret raised herself from the ground, and drew her hand across
her brow. What had happened?
She herself lay on the grass close to the sea-shore; and near at hand
Castle Brochel towered frowning into the morning sky. She called to her
daughter. Miranda heeded not.
But now the sound of oars was heard, one-eyed Donald roughly grated his
boat on the shingle, and scrambling out, asked the Queen somewhat
gruffly how she came there.
Confused and distressed, she could give no satisfactory answer. Donald
then recounted to her how he had been rowing for hours round and round
the spot where they had landed the previous night, unable to discover
any trace of the large flat rock on which they had disembarked. At last
in despair he had returned to the Island.
When he observed Miranda and her mother on the shore he expected also
to see Eudaemon near at hand. Disappointed in this hope, he now
continued, pointing inland with his long, skinny finger. "I wadna say
but the maister is in the Castle itsel'."
At this moment, however, the Princess approached them, singing, sadly,
"But should it please the pitying powers,
To call him to the sky,
I'll plead a guardian angel's charge,
Around my love to fly.
To guard him from all danger,
How happy I should be,
For I love, I love, I love my love,
Because my love loves me."
As she sang, Luachan uttered a melancholy howl. The perplexed seneschal
looked from one to another in silent amazement, then muttering to
himself, "It's no unco canny for the beast to howl that gate," he
hastened, as fast as his withered limbs would permit, up the steep
ascent to the Castle gate.
Meantime the Queen gazed fixedly on her daughter. What strange
alteration had taken place in her beloved child? Those gentle blue
eyes, wont to rest so placidly on all they surveyed, now restlessly
turned from side to side, and never looked her straight in the face.
Her busy fingers plucked nervously at the wet garlands she carried on
her arms, and her lips moved ceaselessly, though no audible sound came
from them.
"Miranda, my love," said the anxious mother, "how came we hither?" A
look of unutterable woe troubled the maiden's face. She drew from her
bosom a golden needle, and holding it towards the north, she exclaimed,
"As points the faithful needle to the pole."
Swinging the long slimy sea-weeds around her, she then suddenly gave a
shrill laugh, and rushed up the castle hill, followed by Luachan, whose
drooping ears and limp tail, seemed to the Queen's excited imagination
prophetic of evil.
Stiff and sore in every limb from her unusual exposure, Queen Margaret
raised herself from the ground and toiled slowly up the steep ascent.
Ere she reached the crest of the rocks upon which the Castle stood, the
King came forth to meet her. In a terrible voice he cried--"What have
you done to our child, to my darling Miranda?"
Thoroughly overcome with fatigue and misery, the poor Queen burst into
tears, and Murdoch forgetting for the moment all save his wife's
uncontrollable emotion, soothed her as best he could, and led her into
the Castle hall.
Here she told her husband the strange events of the past night. She
related their various adventures after Donald left them on the rock,
and now, when too late, she bitterly lamented over her own hasty
interference, and her imprudent words. She described how she had only
time to perceive a being of noble and majestic mien seated on the
previously empty throne. As his eye fell upon her she became
unconscious, and could remember nothing more until she found herself on
the beach at Raasay in the early morning.
The hours of this melancholy day wore slowly on, but no Eudaemon
appeared. At last, towards evening, they forced open the door of his
little turret chamber--it was empty. All his books and instruments were
gone; everything belonging to him or his mother had disappeared from
the Castle. Even the harp itself, beside which so many pleasant
evenings had been whiled away, was no longer there.
The only things left, and upon these Miranda flew with eagerness, were
the chess-board, the wooden men he had so patiently carved for her, and
the box to contain them. For long hours the poor child would sit as in
a dream, arranging and re-arranging the motley pieces, softly laughing
to herself the while; for her mind was hopelessly gone.
Eudaemon had never wholly disclosed the fact that when they entered the
enchanted precincts of Thuisto, any infringement of the rules
prescribed must re-act upon himself. In his unselfish devotion, he
imagined that if he alone fell a victim to the powerful sea-kings, his
beloved and her mother would be saved. Freed at last from enchantment,
he trusted that the Princess and her parents would then live on as
happily as if no forfeit had been paid for Miranda's deliverance.
He fathomed not the unchanging love that had of late struggled into
existence in the dreamy maiden's breast. In the terrible moment that by
no fault of his own determined his fate, Eudaemon for once forgot his
careful self-control, and clasped Miranda to his heart. In his dread
father's presence he bade her a long farewell; he knew not that the
sorrow of parting would overwhelm her gentle spirit, and break her
tender heart.
King Murdoch and his wife took their daughter by slow stages to her
native country, hoping to benefit her by the change. But no following
spring should ever re-kindle the roses in those waning cheeks--no
mortal hand arrest the progress of decay. The faithful Luachan could
not be separated from her, he was her constant comfort and playmate.
There was a spot on the little Cumbrae where Miranda loved to sit and
gaze across the Clyde's broad estuary to the blue hills of Arran.
Perhaps their clear outline reminded her of the Cuchullins, as seen
from Raasay. Perhaps being on an island, spoke to her of the halcyon
past.
Be that as it may, one day, towards evening, alarmed by her long
absence, the attendants sought and found her here, cold and motionless.
One arm was clasped around Luachan's neck, the other, faithful in
death, still pointed the golden needle to "the true and tender north."
They buried Miranda where she lay. On that far island you still may see
the lonely tomb, beneath which the weary one is at rest, and drop,
perchance, a tear over her untimely fate.
Yes! They are united at last never more to part! Behold, in the regions
of eternal peace, a youth divinely fair, a maiden serenely beautiful.
Together they bow before the Almighty Ruler they served on earth, and,
as they cast their golden crowns at his feet, the tongue of the dumb
sings sweetly, "God is Love!"
Castle Brochel was never more inhabited. Donald, a sincere mourner for
his kind young master, could not bear to live by himself within its
shadowy portals. He transferred what he needed to the shieling near at
hand, and thence descending every day, kept all in readiness for the
expected return of the youth he loved so well.
But the old man watched in vain. He was gathered at last to his
fathers. The lonely, neglected Castle fell into decay, and still,
through following ages, the well-remembered Enchanter returned not, to
awaken with his light springing footsteps the echoes of that deserted
abode. Desolation and solitude spread their wings around its
time-honoured precincts, and cast a halo of their own over its
crumbling walls.