Part 2

When he woke again, close upon noon, he found that the waves had carried him to the stony beach of a dark and unknown isle. A stately wall of cliffs of the strangest dark-blue stone girdled it about; to the left, to the right, the rampart swept, solemn, unscalable, and huge. One broken mast of the Prince’s ship still rose forlorn above the tumbling waters on the reefs; but of the gallant crew there was never a sign. With a heavy heart Porphyrio trudged off to look for shelter and for aid. Long hours followed he the curving shore, even till the sun, which had been shining in his face, little by little crept to the side and shone behind, yet never a way to the headland’s height stood forth in the sheer and sombre wall.

And now, of a sudden, and by great good fortune,--for the tide was rising,--Porphyrio, turning the base of an advancing crag, found himself close by a noble promontory that sloped from the cliff-top to foundations in the sea. Half climbing, half dragging himself along the stones and terraces of this ridge, the Prince attained at last the height of the blue wall.

A great dark isle lay open before him--a solitary isle of shadowy lands, gloomy woods, and rocks and hillocks of the same dark stone he had marked before. Save for the faint murmur of the encircling sea below and the sighing of the wind, the isle was as silent as a land beneath the deep: indeed, so still and dark it was, that it seemed as if the night reigned there, forever untroubled by the day. In the very heart of the gloom, its mighty walls and blue battlements lifted high against cloud mountains gathered in the west, a stately palace rose.

After a long, winding journey through a wood dark as a leafy cave, Porphyrio arrived at the portals of the dwelling.

The palace was as silent as a stone. Of silver were its massy doors, and they were sealed and barred, and from turret to foundation stone its windows were with silver shutters closed against the day. Not a sign or a memory of living things was there to be seen.

Wondering in his heart at the mystery, Porphyrio presently made his way into a noble garden, wherein were pools and basins of blue water rimmed about with silver, and tall, dark trees stately as night. Again to his wonderment, the Prince beheld that the flowers in the garden were such as opened only in the night--the pale, fragrant jasmine hid there, the moonflower dreamed, and the shy star-daisy gathered her petals before her face.

Suddenly the Prince heard steps behind him, and turning swiftly, beheld a fair Princess gazing at him with eyes in which wonder, alarm, and hope might all be seen.

“Speak! Who are you? What do you here?” said the Princess quickly.

To this Porphyrio replied that he was a prince who had been shipwrecked on a voyage. And he told the Princess of his adventures.

“Alas,” replied the lady, “You have come to the dark land! Know you not into whose power you have fallen? This dark isle is the dwelling of the Magician of the Night, who rules the fairy world from sunset to the morn. When comes the dawn, his mighty power wanes, and he and his people of the night hasten to this locked and shuttered palace, here to lie hidden from the sunlight which is their enemy and deadly fear. I alone go forth, for I, alas, am a mortal. But hearken to my story.

“I am the Princess Liria (Porphyrio started). My father is the Emperor of the Plain. On midsummer eve, as I was walking with my handmaidens in the garden, a messenger from my father arrived bidding me come at once to the great hall of state. I obeyed the message, and going to the hall, found there the Magician of the Night, who had just presented a haughty petition for my hand. Because of his fear of the Magician, my father was very ill at ease. All looked to me for an answer. I replied courteously that, though I felt highly honored at the demand, I nevertheless felt bound to refuse, for I had been affianced since childhood to another. For you must know, good Prince, that my father was long the true friend and ally of the Emperor of the Isles, and had pledged my hand to his only son, the Prince Porphyrio.

“Would that this were all I had to tell! But--woe to me!--scarce had the Magician, with a mocking smile, bowed low and disappeared into the night, when a terrible storm of his contriving descended upon our unfortunate city, overturning our tallest towers and strewing ruin far and wide. Our torches quenched by the rain and wind, my maidens and I took refuge in a great chamber of the north turret. At the height of the storm the wind suddenly burst open the double portals, there came a great flash of lightning and a roar of thunder, and I beheld the Magician standing tall and motionless between the doors, surrounded by a dozen of his creatures of the night. I cried out, but his servants seized me and led me forth; great wings bore me upward through the very torment of the heavens, a darkness fell on me, and I knew no more. When I awoke, I found myself here in the Palace of the Night.

“Farewell, dear land of the Golden Plain, whose harvests I shall never more see! Farewell, dear Prince Porphyrio of the Isles!”

“But I am Porphyrio!” cried the Prince, “and I was on my way to find you, noble Liria, when the storm swept me to this isle.”

You may be sure the heart of the Princess leaped when she heard these tidings!

Forgetting that he was himself but a shipwrecked wanderer much in need of aid, the Prince, like the brave fellow that he was, could think of nothing but of rescuing his lady from the dark magician; as for the Princess, she could think of naught but the plight of Porphyrio, tossed friendless and forlorn upon the isle. But at length she shook her head and smiled.

“To-day,” said she, “is mine, and to-morrow also; but the Magician has bidden me be prepared for the wedding feast by sundown on the following day. But, look, the shield of the sun breaks the storm clouds close above the waters; twilight approaches; the hour of the magician is at hand; you must go. Hide yourself well to-night, and come to the garden to-morrow when the chimes ring thrice. On yon dark wall you will find some strangely shaped fruits growing; fear not to eat of them when you hunger. Liria the Unhappy bids you farewell, Prince Porphyrio.”

“Farewell, Princess,” replied Porphyrio. “Do not despair. We shall yet outwit the dark Magician!”

* * * * *

And now the Prince lay hid in the heart of a great tree, watching the doors and windows of the palace slowly opening in the twilight. Suddenly huge bells swung forth in waves of heavy sound, strange music played, and the thousand windows filled with the magic glow of moon-fire. All night long the people of the night held festival; but at the break of dawn the silver windows closed slowly on their hinges, the music grew faint, and the murmur died away.

On the second afternoon the Prince, in his impatience, came early to the shadowy garden. The Princess Liria was not to be found, so Porphyrio wandered away into the dark alleys by the pools. Suddenly he found himself looking at his own reflection in a huge round mirror which two marble statues supported between them, one at each side. Happening to move a little, the Prince discovered that his reflection did not move! He lifted an arm, the image remained motionless; he shook his head, the mirror gave no sign. Puzzled, Porphyrio left the spot, and saw his reflection remaining behind the glass.

Presently he heard the welcome footsteps of Liria. And as the lovers walked and talked and discussed plans of escape, the Prince chanced to tell of the mirror he had found. Uttering a little gasp of alarm, the Princess cried: “Now we are lost indeed! Yon mirror is a mirror of memory, and reveals to the Magician the faces of those who walk these paths. As soon as he sees your reflection therein,--and he gazes into the glass every eve,--his demons will be sent in search of you. There is one hope and one only.

“Go you once more to the sea; follow the cliff for a league to the west of the promontory, and you will find at its base the opening of an ocean cave. When you arrive there the tide will be at half-flood, and the entrance will still be visible above the waves. Fight your way within and climb to the cavern’s height. Little by little the rising tide will seal the portal and hide you from the search. Make haste, dear Porphyrio, for there is not an instant to lose! Oh, that I had warned you!”

Ragingly angry with himself for being a meddlesome fool, Porphyrio hurried down to the sea and sought out the cave. Twilight was at hand; the tide was rising fast, already the entrance was almost closed by the sea. Buffeted by the breakers and tossed against the cliff as he strode, the Prince at length made his way into the cave and climbed to a shelf of rock above the height of the tide. A few minutes later, the water closed the entrance completely, thus imprisoning Porphyrio in a hollow darkness through which the ebb and flow of the outer sea swept with chuckles and whispering laughter. All night long waited Porphyrio in the cold, watery dark.

Toward the end of the Prince’s vigil, the earth suddenly shook, the waters hushed, and through the silence and the dark Porphyrio heard the long thunder of a mighty overthrow.

“What can that be?” thought he.

When the first red rays of the sun streamed along the rocky floor of the cave, Porphyrio descended from his refuge, and walked out of the cave-mouth to the sea.

Now, as Porphyrio walked along the shore, it came to pass that he discerned, deeply embedded in the bluish sands and lashed about with ropes of matted weed, the splendid painted chest which had lain in his cabin on the ship. Its brazen lock, though tarnished by the waters, was still highly clasped; but sea and stone had broken the wood loose from the hasps, and the Prince had little difficulty in raising the lid. With a rueful smile he gazed down into his robes and fine array lying musty and sand-strewn within. There lay his prince’s circlet of gold, here his jeweled sword of state, here the rich gifts he had meant for the Princess Liria. And among these, tucked away in the very corner of the chest, Porphyrio found the sunbeam he had purchased at the Fair of the Golden Bear.

“Were Liria armed with this,” cried he, “the Magician of the Night could not prevail against her!” At the thought, a new strength leaped in his weary heart, and he hurried along the cliff toward the promontory. The storm had now cleared away, the ocean thundered and broke into silvery white foam at the foot of the blue ramparts, and the Isle of the Night raised itself defiantly against a bright and royal sun.

The Magician, however, had not been idle. The mirror had told its story; a search had been made; a legion of creatures had sought Porphyrio in every corner of the isle. Compelled by the approach of dawn to abandon this pursuit, the Magician resolved to render the island unapproachable from the sea. With a spell of tremendous power he caused the promontory to break from the other cliff and fall in scattered and monstrous ruin to the beach below. It was the thunder of this overthrow which had shaken the earth and sounded through the cave.

As a last precaution, the Magician forbade Liria to leave the Palace of the Night, and locked and sealed the doors and windows, every one.

Presently the Prince, hastening along the beach, came in sight of the ruined headland, and a great fear laid its icy hand on his heart as he beheld the triumph of his enemy. How was he to reach the headland height? The cliff-wall now circled the entire island without a break. League after league he trudged, along the shore, through the tide, searching, searching for some way to scale the overhanging walls. Higher and higher climbed the sun. The shadows fell to the east, the afternoon waned, and still Porphyrio had found no path to the top. Desperate at last, he attempted to scale the steep face of the blue precipice. From ledge to ledge, climbing with torn fingers and aching arms, struggled the Prince, and presently, his further advance barred, fell backward, faint and overcome, on a shelf of rock high above the sea.

When his strength returned, he found himself close by an eyrie of sea birds brooding on their nests in shelves and rifts of the rock. With a great clamor of piping and crying the creatures rose startled from their nests, so filling the air with wings that Porphyrio closed his eyes. Suddenly the master of the eyrie, uttering a joyous call, swept down close to the Prince, and with an upward surge of his heart Porphyrio recognized the winged king whose freedom he had purchased at the Fair of the Golden Bear! And now the sea birds gathered about the Prince, some gathering folds of his garments into their talons, others lifting him on broad wings, till presently he was borne from the narrow ledge and the sound of the sea into the splendor and silence of the sky.

The end of day was at hand. Unveiled of any wisp of cloud, the fiery sun lay just above the western waters, its lower rim almost resting on the waves. Once again approached the hour of the Magician of the Night.

The cloud of sea birds flew inland over the blue isle, and settled to earth at the very doors of the Palace of the Night. And opening his arms to them, Porphyrio cried aloud his thanks as they wheeled and fled.

The Prince walked boldly to the great door, and blew a loud blast on the warder’s horn. There came no answer to his call. The Palace of the Night remained silent and dark. The sun’s rim dipped; a little breeze made its way from the sea through the mysterious gardens; the flowers of the night stirred like sleepers in a dream.

“O jewel of the sun,” cried Porphyrio, “Give me now your aid!” And with these words he touched the sunbeam to the lock. A crack resounded, then a shattering crash, and the doors swung open wide. Hastening on twixt other and other doors and through heavy tapestries, Porphyrio at length found himself at the thresh-hold of the great hall of the Palace of the Night. Rich hangings of dark blue velvet, strewn with stars of silver and gold, hung from the giant walls; a thousand lamps of pale moon-fire swayed on silver chains from the unseen height o’erhead; there were huge columns, and dark aisles. To one side of the hall, by a silver throne raised upon a dais, stood the Magician of the Night, his arms folded on his breast. Proud and pale by his side, near a second throne, stood the Princess Liria. About them were gathered the people of the Night.

As the doors parted, all turned to gaze at Porphyrio.

Fixing his dark eyes upon the Prince, the Magician spake a terrible incantation; but his words shattered themselves against the sunbeam as a threatening wave breaks to drift and foam against a crag.

“Seize him!” commanded the Magician.

At these words a host of dark beings surged about Porphyrio, encircling him, yet afraid to attack. Porphyrio took Liria by the hand, and led her toward the door. But even as he did so, the Magician caused awesome silvery fires to bar the outward way.

At the horizon’s edge, the waters were leaping up about the sun.

Baffled by the flame, Porphyrio, still guarding Liria, fought his way toward a great stair at the very end of the hall. In the wall there, barred with silver and shuttered with stone, a giant circular window faced the west. And now there rose a tumult through the hall, and sounds of magic and thunder. Nothing daunted, Porphyrio touched the sunbeam to the window-bar, and threw the double shutters open wide. The sun was yet above the wave, sky and water were aflame, and the great tide of sunlight swept into the Palace of the Night like the music of many trumpets.

From all within the Palace a great wailing cry arose that presently died away. When Porphyrio and Liria turned to gaze, the Magician and his people had vanished, conquered and forever powerless. And the velvet hangings were but cobwebs clinging to the walls, and the lamps of moon-fire but empty shells.

Then Porphyrio and Liria walked hand in hand to the darkening sea, and beheld there a brave merchant-ship which the sea bird was guiding to the isle. You may be sure it did not take the jolly mariners long to rescue the lovers from the headland! And thus the Prince and Princess fared to Liria’s realm, where there their marriage was celebrated with the greatest ceremony.

In time Porphyrio became a king and Liria a queen, and thus they lived happily ever after.

THE ENCHANTED BABY

Once upon a time the King of a great country had a quarrel with a goblin. Now it chanced that the King had the best of the dispute, and this so angered the goblin that he departed from the realm and cast about for an opportunity to do a mischief to his foe.

Now, as the goblin bided his time, it came to pass that the King and the Queen, who had long been childless, became the proud parents of a bouncing baby boy. From rosy summer morn to the murmuring quiet of a summer night, the whole realm gave itself over to rejoicing. Bells rang from the towers in cities and steeples in the fields, cannon boomed from castle towers, and small cakes, each one iced with the Prince’s monogram in red and white sugar, were distributed by royal command among the children of the realm.

Now it was the custom of the country that the heir to the throne be shown to the assembled nobility of the realm on the first day of his seventh week in this changing world of ours, and presently this day stood at hand upon the calendar.

On the afternoon of the ceremony, the scene within the great hall of the palace was magnificence itself! Assembled by thousands and ten thousands, the magnificoes of the land, all in ceremonial attire, moved or tried to move about; but as the huge hall was crowded to its bulging doors, this was difficult, and there were, I regret to say, the usual faintings from lack of air, cries of protest, bad-tempered pushing, caps knocked awry, crumpled ruffs, and lost jewels.

Suddenly the great bell of the palace set up a ponderous and solemn booming--the ceremony was about to begin! Mercilessly crowding back the already densely jammed magnificoes on the toes of still other magnificoes, a number of gentleman ushers contrived to open an aisle the length of the hall, and when this feat had been accomplished, the two tallest sergeants in the royal army opened the double portals leading forth from the royal drawing-room. And now, heralded by a great ringing peal of golden trumpets, and accompanied by a crash of exultant thunder on the palace organ, a noble procession slowly advanced through the gateway into the hall. The generalissimo of the royal armies came first, marching solemnly and quite alone, for he was marshal of the occasion; then came trumpeters in green and yellow; then a chosen detail of giant grenadiers dressed in rose-red and silver-grey; then pages scattering flowers from golden baskets; then a little space; and then, advancing with the dignity of a cloud; appeared the Lord Chancellor, wheeling in the baby.

Of finest yellow gold were the wheels and push-bar of the perambulator, whilst the carriage part had been hollowed from a single stupendous opal! Amid a deafening din of huzzas and shouts and bell clangs, the procession solemnly advanced to a dais raised at the head of the hall.

Suddenly an invisible shape fluttered in through a window, muttered something beside the baby’s cradle, uttered a mocking goblin laugh, and fled away unperceived and unsuspected.

After wheeling the baby to the centre of the dais, the Lord Chancellor gave a signal to the trumpeters to break into the national anthem, and bent over the cradle to take the infant and show him to the throng. To his horror, the cradle was _empty_! The little Prince’s pillow was there, the coverlet edged with turquoise, and the rattle filled with seed pearls--but no baby.

“The baby! The baby! Where’s the baby?” gulped the Lord Chancellor, scarce able to speak. An awkward pause followed: excited whispers, conjectures, rumors buzzed through the audience. Presently, as the truth began to spread, a growing uproar rocked the hall. Soon everybody was busily looking here and there--lifting up edges of carpets, poking about behind curtains, staring at the ceiling, and examining corners.

All at once a baby’s cry was heard, faint to be sure, but quite unmistakable.

“Search, search, my friends!” cried the King. “The Grand Cross of the Order of the Bluebird to whosoever discovers my child!”

The baby’s cry was heard again! Where could he be?

Suddenly a clever young lady-in-waiting, who had been searching the opal carriage, uttered a piercing shriek. While groping about in the perambulator, she had felt the baby, but had been unable to see him. Like a sudden crumbling of walls, the dreadful truth broke upon everyone present.

_The baby had become invisible!_

Invisible he was, and invisible he remained. You may well believe that his upbringing was indeed a difficult task! To make matters worse, it was soon discovered that not only was the Prince himself totally invisible, but also that such clothes as touched him became invisible, too. One could _feel_ the little Prince, one could _hear_ him--and that was all. Thus, if he crept away on the nursery floor, one had either to grope for him through the clear air, carefully feeling here and feeling there, or wait until he cried. No wonder the poor Queen was forever searching the land for new nurses-in-waiting, and forever sending home nurses whose nerves had proved unequal to the strain! One could never tell what might be happening.

On one occasion, for instance, the child actually managed to escape from his nursery to the sweeping lawns of the royal palace, and the entire national army, working in scout formation, had to spend the whole afternoon creeping about on its hands and knees before the prince was found asleep in the shelter of a plum tree.

Now, when every attempt to undo the spell had failed, it came to pass that the King went to visit the Wise Man of Pansophia, a learned sage who sat in a wing chair beneath a green striped umbrella at the crossroads of the world, giving counsel to all comers. This sage was clad in the stately folds of a full black gown, a round black velvet cap rested on the crown of his snow-white head, a broad white beard lay spread upon his breast, and on his nose were huge round spectacles, over whose edge he looked with an air of solemn authority.

Beginning at the umbrella, an army of questioners, patiently waiting in single file, stretched dozens of miles across the rolling land and disappeared, still unbroken, over the crest of a distant hill. These patient folk, it is a pleasure to relate, courteously gave way to the unhappy King.

When he had heard the King’s story, the Wise Man shook his venerable head, and replied in a voice which sounded like the booming of waves on a resounding shore:--

“The spell which binds your son is a mighty one, and can only be removed by touching him with the spell-dispeller, the all-powerful talisman given your ancestor, King Decimo, by his fairy bride.”

“Alas,” replied the King, “the spell-dispeller was stolen from the royal treasury twenty years ago. Could you not tell us who stole it, or where it may be found?”

“Was it not the only spell-dispeller in the whole wide world?” questioned the Wise Man.

“It was,” replied the King with a sad, assenting nod.

“Then it was stolen from you by the Master Thief of the Adamant Mountains,” boomed the Wise Man.

“And perhaps _you_ can tell us where _he_ can be found,” said the King. The Wise Man shook his head.