When his strength returned, he found himself close by an eyrie of sea birds brooding on their nests in shelves and rifts of the rock. With a great clamor of piping and crying the creatures rose startled from their nests, so filling the air with wings that Porphyrio closed his eyes. Suddenly the master of the eyrie, uttering a joyous call, swept down close to the Prince, and with an upward surge of his heart Porphyrio recognized the winged king whose freedom he had purchased at the Fair of the Golden Bear! And now the sea birds gathered about the Prince, some gathering folds of his garments into their talons, others lifting him on broad wings, till presently he was borne from the narrow ledge and the sound of the sea into the splendor and silence of the sky. The end of day was at hand. Unveiled of any wisp of cloud, the fiery sun lay just above the western waters, its lower rim almost resting on the waves. Once again approached the hour of the Magician of the Night. The cloud of sea birds flew inland over the blue isle, and settled to earth at the very doors of the Palace of the Night. And opening his arms to them, Porphyrio cried aloud his thanks as they wheeled and fled. The Prince walked boldly to the great door, and blew a loud blast on the warder’s horn. There came no answer to his call. The Palace of the Night remained silent and dark. The sun’s rim dipped; a little breeze made its way from the sea through the mysterious gardens; the flowers of the night stirred like sleepers in a dream. “O jewel of the sun,” cried Porphyrio, “Give me now your aid!” And with these words he touched the sunbeam to the lock. A crack resounded, then a shattering crash, and the doors swung open wide. Hastening on twixt other and other doors and through heavy tapestries, Porphyrio at length found himself at the thresh-hold of the great hall of the Palace of the Night. Rich hangings of dark blue velvet, strewn with stars of silver and gold, hung from the giant walls; a thousand lamps of pale moon-fire swayed on silver chains from the unseen height o’erhead; there were huge columns, and dark aisles. To one side of the hall, by a silver throne raised upon a dais, stood the Magician of the Night, his arms folded on his breast. Proud and pale by his side, near a second throne, stood the Princess Liria. About them were gathered the people of the Night. As the doors parted, all turned to gaze at Porphyrio. Fixing his dark eyes upon the Prince, the Magician spake a terrible incantation; but his words shattered themselves against the sunbeam as a threatening wave breaks to drift and foam against a crag. “Seize him!” commanded the Magician. At these words a host of dark beings surged about Porphyrio, encircling him, yet afraid to attack. Porphyrio took Liria by the hand, and led her toward the door. But even as he did so, the Magician caused awesome silvery fires to bar the outward way. At the horizon’s edge, the waters were leaping up about the sun.