Mindful of her plighted word, the Queen uttered no sound, but she bore very heavily upon the young Enchanter's arm, keeping him in constant uneasiness. At length a blinding flash of light smote on their dazzled eyes; the downward motion ceased, and the stone on which they stood sank to its resting-place with a loud clang.
As they became inured to the brightness, they beheld before, behind, around them on every side, as far as sight could reach, a vast labyrinth of arched and pillared cloisters, stretching into interminable distance, and lit by some mysteriously effulgent ray, which seemed to their bewildered gaze to proceed from the centre of a broader aisle, at one extremity of which they themselves stood.
Eudæmon, motioning them to follow, trod slowly the echoing pavement, and advanced towards the distant focus of light.
Now sounded forth music such as earthly ears have seldom heard. It was as if all the harmonies of water's various movements swelled into one indescribable wave of translucent melody, that penetrated soul and body with its enervating power. Relaxed in every fibre by this weird influence, Eudæmon with difficulty urged forward his drooping comrades. Prepared, however, to resist to the utmost the charms of witchcraft, he drew forth his magic horn, and its reviving fragrance quickly restored energy to their unstrung frames.
Their interest also was freshly aroused by exquisite statues, which, almost endued with life, and perfect in colouring, seemed to smile on them from either side as they proceeded. They reached the circle whence emanated the diverging rays of light. Before them blazed a dazzling but empty throne. From its midst shone those awe-inspiring beams.
Eudæmon uttered a low cry. There, beauteous as he remembered her in his boyhood's early days, but with a calm expression of perfect peace she had never worn during her child's lifetime, in a marble niche close beside the vacant seat, stood the lovely Bragela. Her long golden tresses rippled over her shoulders, her flowing robes half showed, half concealed her matchless shape, while her azure eyes, with their heavily-fringed lids, fell fixed and cold on the eager countenance of her son.
A moment he paused, half expectant, dreaming that her loved spirit must awake and welcome him, but in that instant her last words flashed across his mind. He realized that Valbiorn's skill had only thus been able to immortalize the fair, soulless clay. He remembered once more why he had sought that dread abode, and he noted that Bragela's beautiful motionless hand pointed to a small amber pedestal, which at a few paces distant seemed to glow with lambent flame.
He approached: upon its summit lay the object of his search, the magic compass of the sea-kings, potent to work weal or woe. Turning to Miranda, he gently drew her forward, and placed the timid maiden over against himself on the southern side of the mystic pillar.
The whole of the magic compass quivered and shone with the appearance of red-hot metal, but Eudæmon whispered to the Princess that she must with a firm hand raise the needle from its place, and, turning towards the north, pronounce these words in an audible voice,
"As points the faithful needle to the pole."