A visible cloud sat upon Eudæmon's swarthy brow. He foresaw that Miranda's disenchantment could only be accomplished amid real dangers and difficulties, and his heart misgave him as he realized the faint trust that could be placed in the ready promises of the Queen.
Day after day elapsed without further adventure, no allusion was made to the remarkable words that had fallen from Miranda's mother when she was overwhelmed by the immediate danger of her child.
At length, one evening, after Miranda had retired weary to her couch, the young Seer set forth to her parents the only course to be pursued, if the Princess were ever to obtain the power of speech.
He explained to them that far away, in the mysterious halls of Thuisto, there existed a wondrous compass, with which Miranda's fate was closely connected. He told them, moreover, that with the aid of magic he could introduce himself, the Princess, and her mother into the weird abode of the sea-kings.
But to do this, and to escape in safety, silence and obedience were imperatively necessary. Before venturing on so serious a risk, he therefore solemnly entreated the Queen sooner to rest content with the partial disenchantment of her daughter, and to quit in peace his lonely abode, than to enter lightly upon this grave adventure. For when once within the enchanted precincts of Thuisto, if they transgressed ever so slightly, the rules laid down for their observance, they would draw down, not only upon himself—for which he little cared—but perchance upon Miranda, the fatal vengeance of the ever-watchful guardians of those submarine palaces.
Again and again the eager mother promised, nay, even swore to obey his strict injunctions, urging him to make the attempt. At last, with heavy foreboding, Eudæmon prepared to encounter the dangers of the coming expedition.
Miranda was told of the projected scheme. The Enchanter explained to her that in the submerged vaults of Thuisto she would probably first find the use of her voice in speech. He warned her, however, that she must endeavour to speak only when he bade her, and Queen Margaret was once more pledged to maintain strict silence.
The eventful night arrived. The poor forsaken king and the disconsolate dog Luachan (too intelligent to move from the shore where his beloved master bade him remain and guard the stranger), together strained their eyes from the wild beach below Castle Brochel, as the little boat containing the travellers became a faint speck on the starlit sea.
Eudæmon and the one-eyed Donald rowed their precious burden quickly on, until reaching a barren rock, the Enchanter sprang lightly on shore; carefully handing out Queen Margaret and her daughter, he then bade the old man row home to the Castle and return again for them at day-break.
Hardly had the regular plash of Donald's retreating oars died away, before they became conscious that they were gradually sinking through the ocean. The broad, flat surface on which they stood afforded them ample footing, and though they heard, on either side, the swift rushing of the divided waters, not a drop touched them; not an oscillation disturbed their balance, as, supported and cheered by Eudæmon's friendly whispers, and fast clinging together, mother and daughter descended through the sea to unknown regions, enveloped in a darkness that might be felt.