Baron Bruno Part 14

Long before the Princess Miranda appeared in Raasay, Eudaemon had known and pondered over the mystic answer returned to her parents by the c.u.mbrae 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 ill.u.s.trated 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 ident.i.ty, 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 grat.i.tude, 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 pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sume, bade her daughter remember who and what she was. Forgetting her late grat.i.tude 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 a.s.sumption 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 pa.s.sed 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 ma.n.u.scripts.

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 sh.o.r.e.

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 cas.e.m.e.nt 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 m.u.f.fled 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 c.o.c.k was heard through the open cas.e.m.e.nt 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 p.r.o.ne 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 a.s.sistance 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.

Had Eudaemon been the ancient prophet she thought he was, he would probably have accepted golden rewards with delight. The treasures, however, never reached the island; they were engulfed in the stormy ocean.

As soon as Miranda's mother saw 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.