“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!”
The image in the mirror stood still
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.