Part 12

"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 glow So rosy and glorious and delicate shone, Bright Phoebus, 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 scene More sweet than the peacefully slumbering deep?

"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 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 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!"

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."

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 the _very_ island 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 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."

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.