“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.