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. As a last precaution, the Magician forbade Liria to leave the Palace of the Night, and locked and sealed the doors and windows, every one. Presently the Prince, hastening along the beach, came in sight of the ruined headland, and a great fear laid its icy hand on his heart as he beheld the triumph of his enemy. How was he to reach the headland height? The cliff-wall now circled the entire island without a break. League after league he trudged, along the shore, through the tide, searching, searching for some way to scale the overhanging walls. Higher and higher climbed the sun. The shadows fell to the east, the afternoon waned, and still Porphyrio had found no path to the top. Desperate at last, he attempted to scale the steep face of the blue precipice. From ledge to ledge, climbing with torn fingers and aching arms, struggled the Prince, and presently, his further advance barred, fell backward, faint and overcome, on a shelf of rock high above the sea.