Part 16 (2/2)
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 c.u.mbrae 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, ”G.o.d 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 s.h.i.+eling 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.
Break gently, ye wavelets, on Raasay's lone sh.o.r.e, Eudaemon shall roam on your mountains no more.
As fragrance distilled by the cold air of night, So Absence and Time shall bring forth to the light, The deeds and the virtues of one without guile, Whose genius and wisdom shed light o'er your isle.
Mourn wildly, ye seabirds!--all nature make moan!
His chamber is empty--his footsteps are gone.
He toiled unrewarded--no guerdon he sought, As soothing relief to the weary he brought; But the mother's soft tear, and the infant's glad cry, The blessings of grat.i.tude garnered on high, Shall, e'en in his Home, 'mid the Regions of Light, Add l.u.s.tre untold to his coronal bright.
THE END.
LONDON R. CLAY, SONS, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, BREAD STREET HILL.
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