THE STOLEN CHILD.

The boat—bound for the Indies—was well outOn the gulf before they found and liftedHim; nor knew they of the tragedy uponThe dock, or that he was hunted as aMurderer. They finding on his personThe token of a craft which they reveréd,They cared for him and left him safely inAn island city of the Southern Sea.There his brother craftsmen gathering round him,Nursing—raised him—raised him as one from theDead. From the “Valley of the Shadows” broughtHim forth to perfect health and vigor; butAlas! the silken cord that erstwhile boundHim to the past, was broken!MemoryWas gone!Nor, with active mind and clear, couldHe recall the past, tell his name or whenceHe came. He strove to lift the veil and lookBeyond the wall of night that intervened.That cruel blow had caused a lesion ofThe brain—a lapse of memory complete.As the wire that bears the hidden currentBroken, swaying in the breeze, connectingSends a gleam across the night, so at timesBright gleams of memory, almost takingShape, would light his way; then leaving him inGreater darkness, would as quickly fly away.Gradually came before his sight, asDimly seen thro’ nebulae, the outlinesOf a form and face came from the mistyMoonlight of the past. At last, came back toHim, that picture which had made the deepestImprint on his mind—his Lola, as heSaw her standing by her father’s side. ButWhen was this? And where? And who was she?By exercise of all the strength of hisGreat will, her name once more came back to him,And then her father’s; then the city whereThey lived; and then it was borne in on himThat she was his betrothed; that he had goneTo that fair isle to make a home for her.Now, having gained the wherewithal, he couldGo and bring her. With this thought, the flame ofLove rekindled blazed anew, as clearlyHe remembered those six happy days ofLove with her—what she said, his promises;And now—his hot blood leaping to the call,He hastened on his way. Arriving there,He straightway went to find her father’sHome and claim her as he swore to do theDay he left her there. The Colonel met himWith a scornful smile and said: “So you haveCome? You may have her, if you wish for suchAs she.” Breaking forth in rage, he cried—withOaths—“Go! Find her at the hospital”—heTold the driver where—“Go! Find her with herChild of shame; they are good enough for you!I care not if she fills a harlot’s grave.”

Gradually came before his sight, asDimly seen thro’ nebulae, the outlinesOf a form and face came from the mistyMoonlight of the past. At last, came back toHim, that picture which had made the deepestImprint on his mind—his Lola, as heSaw her standing by her father’s side. ButWhen was this? And where? And who was she?By exercise of all the strength of hisGreat will, her name once more came back to him,And then her father’s; then the city whereThey lived; and then it was borne in on himThat she was his betrothed; that he had goneTo that fair isle to make a home for her.Now, having gained the wherewithal, he couldGo and bring her. With this thought, the flame ofLove rekindled blazed anew, as clearlyHe remembered those six happy days ofLove with her—what she said, his promises;And now—his hot blood leaping to the call,He hastened on his way. Arriving there,He straightway went to find her father’sHome and claim her as he swore to do theDay he left her there. The Colonel met himWith a scornful smile and said: “So you haveCome? You may have her, if you wish for suchAs she.” Breaking forth in rage, he cried—withOaths—“Go! Find her at the hospital”—heTold the driver where—“Go! Find her with herChild of shame; they are good enough for you!I care not if she fills a harlot’s grave.”

Cedric, smitten almost to the death, badeThe driver go with haste. He found her andShe, smiling, whispered low: “My Cedric, youHave come to meet me. Is this heaven?” then placedThe baby hand in his and falling back,She wasindeed in heaven. Cedric, tearless,For a moment stood as one struck dumb; thenTook the baby in his arms. She too youngTo understand, or lisp her mother’s nameOr his, as though instinctively, she threwHer rosy arms about his neck and kissedHim. Then confiding, laid her golden curlsUpon his breast. The nurses, thinking himA base deserter, hoping he at leastWould own the child, and seeing him caressIt—placed tenderly its costly wrappings’Round, and quickly packed its ample clothing,Gave it him. He kissed the marble brow andTurning to the one who had the right toSpeak for all, he inquired about the ritesAnd ceremonies of her faith, “Were theyPerformed?” “Yes,” the matron said, “the good priestHas been often by her side, left her justBefore you came; the one who married her.”He paced the hall and pondered, mystified.What he had heard and seen had set his brainAwhirl. So she was married! Then to whom?Her husband might at any moment comeAnd claim his child—claim Lola’s child—he quickResolved to take the babe and give his lifeTo her—to care for her, for Lola’s sake;For she was Lola’s child, if not his own.They must not know that he was not the oneWho married her. He must not see the priest.He, in his frenzy, cast aside all thoughtOf right or wrong—decided he wouldSteal—yea, lie or even die before thatOne who had deserted her should have herChild. He gave them gold, and speaking calmly,(Falsely, too, as he supposed) said: “Tell themHer husband ordered that her last restingPlace shall be a mausoleum grand, andTo him you gave the child—the one to whomIt rightfully belongs; say that he lovedHer to the last, and would that he had died;That she had mourned for him—not he for her.”Then, with a farewell kiss, he took the child,Believing he was stealing it away.The baby clung to him and was content.But for the child his life had ended there;Then there had been no tie to bind, no oneTo love. The past almost a blank, and inThe future no alluring hope, he fainHad snap’d the slender thread of life, to beWith Lola evermore. Or, had he beenOne of the weaker kind, complaining atHis fate, he had perchance by slowerProcess, ended all in low debauchery.

He paced the hall and pondered, mystified.What he had heard and seen had set his brainAwhirl. So she was married! Then to whom?Her husband might at any moment comeAnd claim his child—claim Lola’s child—he quickResolved to take the babe and give his lifeTo her—to care for her, for Lola’s sake;For she was Lola’s child, if not his own.They must not know that he was not the oneWho married her. He must not see the priest.He, in his frenzy, cast aside all thoughtOf right or wrong—decided he wouldSteal—yea, lie or even die before thatOne who had deserted her should have herChild. He gave them gold, and speaking calmly,(Falsely, too, as he supposed) said: “Tell themHer husband ordered that her last restingPlace shall be a mausoleum grand, andTo him you gave the child—the one to whomIt rightfully belongs; say that he lovedHer to the last, and would that he had died;That she had mourned for him—not he for her.”Then, with a farewell kiss, he took the child,Believing he was stealing it away.The baby clung to him and was content.

But for the child his life had ended there;Then there had been no tie to bind, no oneTo love. The past almost a blank, and inThe future no alluring hope, he fainHad snap’d the slender thread of life, to beWith Lola evermore. Or, had he beenOne of the weaker kind, complaining atHis fate, he had perchance by slowerProcess, ended all in low debauchery.

But those confiding arms, that baby kissUpon his cheek, sent thro’ the aisles of hisGreat, generous heart, a flood of newbornLove. To part with her would be indeed toPart with life itself. He, thinking quicklyAnd as quickly acting, fled—took the firstShip that sailed, nor asking whither it wasBound; rejoicing when it cleared the dock andSeaward turned its prow. When learning that itsCourse lay to the north, he changed to one boundFor the South Sea Isles.Sailing to and fro,The changing seasons passed while they uponThe ocean cruised like wanderers withoutA guide; he thinking only of his charge,And where he, in her tender years, theBest could care for her. Willing hands he found—Mothers’ hands outstretched to take the cherubFrom his arms. She, growing, Cedric saw inHer the image of her mother—the sameBlue eyes and wavy hair which fell aboutHer shoulders; high arching brows and lashesLong but darker shaded, like his own. HeHad thought to call her Lola; but when theStranger asked her name, she lisping answered,“Zola,” he left it so.Tho’ long beforeThe day when ox-carts plowed their dusty wayAcross the plains to reach the sun land slopes,The Eldorado of the west, he knewOf that fair land beside the sunset sea—That sunny, southern California.There they would go, where none would ever hearThe story of the stolen, nameless child;And where the recreant father ne’er wouldCome. There would he seek and find in sylvanQuietude, the sweetest spot where MotherNature reigns and in her lap, among theBirds and flowers, would she be reared in spotlessPurity—educated—taught by him—As wise men of the olden times receivedTheir learning from the doctors of the law.Thitherward they sailed; and thro’ the rockyGateways of the cape—tho’ roughly shaken—Safely passed; then to the north thro’ calmerWaters, borne by Etesian winds, oft-timesDelayed by traffic at the ports, or onA glassy sea becalmed. And once their shipWas overtaken by an ugly craftThat bore the pirates’ flag; and every manOn board was called to arms; then they wereWell nigh overwhelmed and taken. Cedric,Joining with the crew, fought valiantly. Thro’The thickest of the battle, Zola clungTo him. When they would have taken her below,She cried, “Let me stay wiz papa; if heGo, zen me go too.” Cedric answered, “BeIt so; we live or die together.” ButTheir fears were turned to great rejoicing whenA shot crashed thro’ the pirate craft. They sailedAway and left it sinking in the deep.Cedric, by his bravery and coolnessIn the time of danger, won respect andFriendship of officers and crew. When theyLeft him at the mission of the holyPadres, on the bay of San Diego,Loaded him with costly presents, forced themOn him, presents for himself and Zola.The angelic child had won the hearts of all.Cedric told the good Franciscan fathersHe was going northward overland, andJoyously he set about preparingFor the journey, she ever at his side,With childish prattle, asking, “What is zis?”“What is zat?” and “What for?” He answeringCheerfully and evermore explaining—Teaching her.In her sweet companionshipAnd the certainty of keeping her, heLaid aside his sadness and became asLight of heart and happy as herself. AtLast they were all ready to begin theirWild and free nomadic life—a dozenGentle burros, packed with all that they mightNeed for months to come; a tent with costlyFurs and rugs, and blankets of bright colorsBo’t from the Indians, with toys and gaudyTrinkets; a snow-white pony, showilyEquip’d with Spanish bit and bridle,Upon its back a basket, sedan-like,With crimson canopy, lined with softestSilken draperies, for his “Gypsy queen.”A princess of the Romany was ne’erProvided with such luxuries as she.In the early morning, long before theRinging of the mission bells, Zola andHer strange retinue set forth; the pony,With its precious burden, led by Cedric’sHand; then came the white milk goats with tinklingBells; to the sound, the meek-faced burros, trainedTo follow, trailed patiently behind; andThen a faithful shepherd dog to keep themAll in line. They moved by easy stages,Stopping often in some shady dell toRest and let their burros feed upon theGrassy slopes. Then would Zola gather flowers,Or chase the yellow butterflies, with shoutsOf childish glee that echoed thro’ the glen;To him a sweeter music than the chimeOf great cathedral bells or orchestra.

Sailing to and fro,The changing seasons passed while they uponThe ocean cruised like wanderers withoutA guide; he thinking only of his charge,And where he, in her tender years, theBest could care for her. Willing hands he found—Mothers’ hands outstretched to take the cherubFrom his arms. She, growing, Cedric saw inHer the image of her mother—the sameBlue eyes and wavy hair which fell aboutHer shoulders; high arching brows and lashesLong but darker shaded, like his own. HeHad thought to call her Lola; but when theStranger asked her name, she lisping answered,“Zola,” he left it so.

Tho’ long beforeThe day when ox-carts plowed their dusty wayAcross the plains to reach the sun land slopes,The Eldorado of the west, he knewOf that fair land beside the sunset sea—That sunny, southern California.There they would go, where none would ever hearThe story of the stolen, nameless child;And where the recreant father ne’er wouldCome. There would he seek and find in sylvanQuietude, the sweetest spot where MotherNature reigns and in her lap, among theBirds and flowers, would she be reared in spotlessPurity—educated—taught by him—As wise men of the olden times receivedTheir learning from the doctors of the law.

Thitherward they sailed; and thro’ the rockyGateways of the cape—tho’ roughly shaken—Safely passed; then to the north thro’ calmerWaters, borne by Etesian winds, oft-timesDelayed by traffic at the ports, or onA glassy sea becalmed. And once their shipWas overtaken by an ugly craftThat bore the pirates’ flag; and every manOn board was called to arms; then they wereWell nigh overwhelmed and taken. Cedric,Joining with the crew, fought valiantly. Thro’The thickest of the battle, Zola clungTo him. When they would have taken her below,She cried, “Let me stay wiz papa; if heGo, zen me go too.” Cedric answered, “BeIt so; we live or die together.” ButTheir fears were turned to great rejoicing whenA shot crashed thro’ the pirate craft. They sailedAway and left it sinking in the deep.

Cedric, by his bravery and coolnessIn the time of danger, won respect andFriendship of officers and crew. When theyLeft him at the mission of the holyPadres, on the bay of San Diego,Loaded him with costly presents, forced themOn him, presents for himself and Zola.The angelic child had won the hearts of all.

Cedric told the good Franciscan fathersHe was going northward overland, andJoyously he set about preparingFor the journey, she ever at his side,With childish prattle, asking, “What is zis?”“What is zat?” and “What for?” He answeringCheerfully and evermore explaining—Teaching her.

In her sweet companionshipAnd the certainty of keeping her, heLaid aside his sadness and became asLight of heart and happy as herself. AtLast they were all ready to begin theirWild and free nomadic life—a dozenGentle burros, packed with all that they mightNeed for months to come; a tent with costlyFurs and rugs, and blankets of bright colorsBo’t from the Indians, with toys and gaudyTrinkets; a snow-white pony, showilyEquip’d with Spanish bit and bridle,Upon its back a basket, sedan-like,With crimson canopy, lined with softestSilken draperies, for his “Gypsy queen.”A princess of the Romany was ne’erProvided with such luxuries as she.

In the early morning, long before theRinging of the mission bells, Zola andHer strange retinue set forth; the pony,With its precious burden, led by Cedric’sHand; then came the white milk goats with tinklingBells; to the sound, the meek-faced burros, trainedTo follow, trailed patiently behind; andThen a faithful shepherd dog to keep themAll in line. They moved by easy stages,Stopping often in some shady dell toRest and let their burros feed upon theGrassy slopes. Then would Zola gather flowers,Or chase the yellow butterflies, with shoutsOf childish glee that echoed thro’ the glen;To him a sweeter music than the chimeOf great cathedral bells or orchestra.

They exploring, crossed the great CuyamacaRange, traversed its broad plateaus, and thro’ theSilence of its lofty domes and canyons;Then beyond, where boiling waters gurglingFlowed thro’ Indian villages. They sawThe waving pines upon the lofty crestOf Palomar; and wandering, vainly soughtAlong its base for passage leading toIts heights. They often reached an eminence,And thought they neared the goal, when overhangingWalls of granite turned them back. At last, byPersevering, came upon its table-Lands; and pressing forward found the place heLong had pictured in his mind—the shelteringBoughs of giant trees, the gushing fountain,Level plot of fertile land below, wellWatered by the rivulets that trickledFrom the springs. Here he sowed the garden seedsAnd grain; and from the chaparral he bro’tThe antlered buck and lesser game. The sweetsThe toiling honey bee had stored away,Drip’d from the boles of sycamore and oak.They happy lived in Nature’s luxury.Lest in their quietude he might becomeIndifferent or wasteful of the time,He took up an ancient system which theyFaithfully observed thro’ all their years ofHermitage—eight hours for labor, eight forRest, and eight for study and improvementOf his mind, and teaching Zola.He wasThe builder of the hidden cabin; forZola it was builded, for her boudoir.With loving hands, he axe and auger plied,Without compass, square or trestle board,But with all the tenderness that everMother bird provided for her nestling.He building, furnished it with draperies—Bright Indian blankets, rugs and robes ofFur, arranging all as beautiful asTho’ her mother’s spirit hands had guidedHis. Perchance they did. If love be spirit,And spirit love—or soul—then such as hersMight overleap the balustrades ofHeaven and find its own; or such unselfishSoul as his might rise and view the palaceOf the skies. He teaching, opened first theBook of Nature, and strolled with her amongThe flowers and botanized. Then to the rocks;He told her of the slow formations ofThe ages. From the books selected inThe days when she was cradled on the sea,He, in learning, carried her beyond herYears.

Lest in their quietude he might becomeIndifferent or wasteful of the time,He took up an ancient system which theyFaithfully observed thro’ all their years ofHermitage—eight hours for labor, eight forRest, and eight for study and improvementOf his mind, and teaching Zola.

He wasThe builder of the hidden cabin; forZola it was builded, for her boudoir.With loving hands, he axe and auger plied,Without compass, square or trestle board,But with all the tenderness that everMother bird provided for her nestling.He building, furnished it with draperies—Bright Indian blankets, rugs and robes ofFur, arranging all as beautiful asTho’ her mother’s spirit hands had guidedHis. Perchance they did. If love be spirit,And spirit love—or soul—then such as hersMight overleap the balustrades ofHeaven and find its own; or such unselfishSoul as his might rise and view the palaceOf the skies. He teaching, opened first theBook of Nature, and strolled with her amongThe flowers and botanized. Then to the rocks;He told her of the slow formations ofThe ages. From the books selected inThe days when she was cradled on the sea,He, in learning, carried her beyond herYears.

They marked the changing moons until aScore had glided by and yet had seen noOther human face save one—and he, anHonest miner whom they found in sorryPlight, with broken limb, where he had fallenFrom an overhanging ledge. They succoredHim until, returned to strength, he rose withOne limb twisted hopelessly. They made—asBest they could—a wooden substitute, andStrap’d with buckskin bandage, he soon learned toUse it cleverly. Jokingly, he calledHimself “Peg-leg, the miner.” He told themOf a mine that out upon the desertHe had found, where three large buttes stood side bySide. Cedric gave him burros from his herd,And packs, and sent him on his way. He cameAgain with well-filled sacks of pellets roundAs shot and black as ebony, which provedTo be pure gold. He left it there, and leaving,Nevermore returned. Miners to this dayIn vain have sought that “Peg-leg Mine,” and thoseThree buttes; and some have left their bones to bleachUpon the desert sand. The miner toldThem of a nearer passage, a hiddenTrail, that led downward to the valley. TheyGoing, tarried there and Cedric sent theIndians to the mission for supplies.Once a cougar sprang across their path withBlazing eyes and crouching for a spring; whenCedric sent a bullet thro’ its brain; andFrom its den he took a pair of babyMountain lions, made orphans by the shot.Zola, pitying, took them home and one,Surviving, grew to monstrous size, becameObedient to her command, and likeA faithful watch dog, followed her. SheCalled him Zimbo. Other pets she had—whiteKids of silken fleece, birds and animals,But Zimbo was the monarch of them all.As the circling years went ’round and she couldSee beyond the golden morning of herSunny life the ripening noonday comingOn, she longed to see the world beyond herMountain home; but named it not to Cedric.With her years she grew more fearless, wild andVenturesome. With Zimbo and her rifle,She scaled the dizzy heights of rock and cragWhere condors built their nests, and knew theDevious windings of the wild doe’s trail,Thro’ manzanita groves and chaparral.In a seat of granite, nature fashioned,Like a throne, shaded by a giant oakUpon a summit looking oceanward,She would sit in dreamy mood and watch theSilvery line of surf that fringed the far-offFading stretch of blue. Once she saw a sailAppear, then slowly vanish in the offing;And in the quiet of an early morn,She heard the low sweet chime of mission bells.

Once a cougar sprang across their path withBlazing eyes and crouching for a spring; whenCedric sent a bullet thro’ its brain; andFrom its den he took a pair of babyMountain lions, made orphans by the shot.Zola, pitying, took them home and one,Surviving, grew to monstrous size, becameObedient to her command, and likeA faithful watch dog, followed her. SheCalled him Zimbo. Other pets she had—whiteKids of silken fleece, birds and animals,But Zimbo was the monarch of them all.

As the circling years went ’round and she couldSee beyond the golden morning of herSunny life the ripening noonday comingOn, she longed to see the world beyond herMountain home; but named it not to Cedric.With her years she grew more fearless, wild andVenturesome. With Zimbo and her rifle,She scaled the dizzy heights of rock and cragWhere condors built their nests, and knew theDevious windings of the wild doe’s trail,Thro’ manzanita groves and chaparral.In a seat of granite, nature fashioned,Like a throne, shaded by a giant oakUpon a summit looking oceanward,She would sit in dreamy mood and watch theSilvery line of surf that fringed the far-offFading stretch of blue. Once she saw a sailAppear, then slowly vanish in the offing;And in the quiet of an early morn,She heard the low sweet chime of mission bells.

To that same port where Cedric landed withHis Zola, others came from distant parts.Some came to seek their fortunes, others cameTo buy and till the soil, some to obeyThe inborn instinct of the pioneer.One family, leaving all behind, had bro’tA sickly child. Rich and prosperous theyHad been, and with children blessed; but a dreadContagion had swept them all away saveOne; and he, left delicate and frail, theIdol of their hopes—no other left toKeep the family name. From those who best couldSpeak, they learned there was no hope unless it beIn taking him to that fair, sunny clime.They hastened there and gave him for his homeA quaint old hacienda of the Dons;With many leagues of land that lay betweenThe mountains and the sea. There amid theOrange groves and vineyards, in the freedomOf the range where roamed his father’s flocks andHerds, young Gilbert soon became a gay youngCaballero—grew as strong and fearlessAs vaqueros of the range—could twirl theLariat or aim the rifle true as they.Sunburned, strong and handsome was Gilbert, inShowy costume of the Dons, with clankingSpurs, gold-mounted trappings on his coal-blackLeo, ambling thro’ the massive archesOf the mission. Señoritas smiled onHim; he returned their loving glances. ThisHis parents seeing, feared their AngeloBlood be mixed with that of darker hue, besoughtHim to return to their old home and thereTo find a bride of his own faith and kind.He quieted their fears and said that heWas wedded to the mesa and the hills.He loved the mountains more than everBridegroom loved his bride, his heart was free;But kind and true and dutiful to them,He promised solemnly that he would doAs they desired before he took a wife;For ne’er could he repay the love and careBy them bestowed on him, their sacrifice.Foremost in all manly sports, he recklessRode along the beach where foaming breakersLashed the cliffs, fleet-footed Leo dashed between.His black horse was known on El CaminoReal—far beyond the shady groves ofMonte Vista. He loved the mountainsAnd on their bosom laid his head beneathThe starlit skies, companion of their silence,Partaker of their rest. In midnight darknessCould he thread the winding Indian trailAcross the high Cuyamacas, and oftenHad he reached the base of Palomar, andLonged to see beyond its frowning graniteWalls. At last, undaunted, came nearly toThe summit—came where a deep-walled canyon heldHim back, there rested. The autumn sun wasSlowly sinking to the sea and bathed theMountain side in flood of rosy-tintedBrilliancy.

Sunburned, strong and handsome was Gilbert, inShowy costume of the Dons, with clankingSpurs, gold-mounted trappings on his coal-blackLeo, ambling thro’ the massive archesOf the mission. Señoritas smiled onHim; he returned their loving glances. ThisHis parents seeing, feared their AngeloBlood be mixed with that of darker hue, besoughtHim to return to their old home and thereTo find a bride of his own faith and kind.He quieted their fears and said that heWas wedded to the mesa and the hills.He loved the mountains more than everBridegroom loved his bride, his heart was free;But kind and true and dutiful to them,He promised solemnly that he would doAs they desired before he took a wife;For ne’er could he repay the love and careBy them bestowed on him, their sacrifice.

Foremost in all manly sports, he recklessRode along the beach where foaming breakersLashed the cliffs, fleet-footed Leo dashed between.His black horse was known on El CaminoReal—far beyond the shady groves ofMonte Vista. He loved the mountainsAnd on their bosom laid his head beneathThe starlit skies, companion of their silence,Partaker of their rest. In midnight darknessCould he thread the winding Indian trailAcross the high Cuyamacas, and oftenHad he reached the base of Palomar, andLonged to see beyond its frowning graniteWalls. At last, undaunted, came nearly toThe summit—came where a deep-walled canyon heldHim back, there rested. The autumn sun wasSlowly sinking to the sea and bathed theMountain side in flood of rosy-tintedBrilliancy.

Upon a shelving rock nearBy, a being of angelic beautyStood; posed statue-like, her eyes fix’t on theDistant sea; one hand spread gracefullyAcross her brow, the other holding backA monster mountain lion that crouchingAt her feet, lay watching him; a robe ofSoftest fabric, yielding to the breeze, revealedThe ample fulness of her shapely form;Caught back by strand of sparkling gems, a massOf golden hair fell nearly to her feet.She unconscious of his presence, GilbertStood in speechless adoration, as oneEntranced,—lost in wonderment. Who was thisPersonage divine? This apparitionCome to him on that lone mountain side? WasShe some fairy elf come to bewitch him?Some mountain sprite? Or angel from the throne?With throbbing temples, arms outstretched, as tho’He fain would leap the chasm that lay between,Pressed slowly to its edge. The lion risingAngrily to spring, she saw him standingThere and vanished from his sight. Then from theRocks, he heard her voice call softly, sternly:“Come, Zimbo, come!Come here!” The spell wasBroken; by those words in his own tongueHe knew that she was of the earth—one likeHimself—and not a native of that land.Day after day did he return to thatSame spot and, waiting patient, watch for her;Once for a moment saw her on the heights,And again, he saw the eyes of that greatLion fixed on him and knew that she wasNear. Like knight of old he scaled the highestPeaks and stood upon the spot her feet hadPressed. With throbbing pulse and palpitatingHeart he followed in pursuit. The kindlyRocks revealed no tell-tale foot prints where herFeet had touched them in her flight. The summerWore away and autumn came again; yetShe cunningly evaded him. GrowingDesperate, he traversed all the length andBreadth of Palomar; at times he heard herVoice in song, heard her speak to Zimbo, sheNear him; for a precious moment saw her,But in finesse she more than equalled him.Gilbert’s parents missed his merry laugh andJest; marvelled at his absence; feared thatHe was ill and questioned him. He told themHe was hunting in the mountains, but heMentioned not the object of his quest; misledThem by tales of condor’s nest and mountainLion he had seen.Likewise was CedricTroubled by the change he saw in Zola.She loved Gilbert—loved him wildly, madly.She had watched him when he knew it not, andKnew that he loved her; but frightened at theThought, was minded to keep the secretLocked in her own breast and fly from him; soTimidly she asked if some day they mightGo away, and sailing o’er the oceanFind another home. Cedric answered, “Yes,Some day.” He had long expected this andUnknown to her, had in a way, preparedHer for the change. From that lone mountain topLetters had been sent to shops and housesOf the east, and yearly in return hadCome by Indian carriers from the portClothing for himself and Zola, made toMeasure sent, and always in their studyHours they dressed resplendently, that she mightGrace a drawing-room and feel at ease—notShow that she in wilderness was reared.She had mastered music and languagesIn travel needed most, and was withalA finished scholar. Not for himself butHer, he feared to take her hence—knew full wellThat one so beautiful would soon be wooed,And he had never told her of the cloudThat hung around her birth—the cloud ofMystery. As for himself, he loved herAll the better for it—she blameless—heIn tenderness postponed the hour; but theLonger left undone, he dreading knew thatOne day it must come; in honor must heSpeak—must tell her, though it break her heart, toKnow that he was not her father. OftenDid he wish that in her childhood had heTold her all. Yet, in his weakness, promisedHer that some day they would go: “Yes; some day.”Gilbert, growing wise in woodcraft and inThe art of making love, on the fartherSide went up the mountain, rode Leo upThe winding trail; Zola watching, waitedDisappointed while he—galloping o’er theTable-land—came on Cedric busy inHis garden. They with kindly greeting met,Conversing, found each the other to hisLiking. He too manly to dissemble,Gilbert came out openly: The one soCoy and beautiful, was she his daughter?Cedric troubled, sternly answered: “She is mine,Indeed, my Zola.” How learned the young man ofHer presence on the mountain? Had he metHer? Had they met clandestinely? Gilbert,Speaking plainly, said: Tho’ strangers,Yet they knew each other well; he long hadWorship’d her afar; well she knew and wellHad she evaded him. Now, at last, hadHe found the one to ask if he might meet andWoo her, would he give consent? Cedric sawHis good intent, sincerity and truth,Looked upon him with the feeling of theFather for the son. Then like a phantomCame that secret terror of his life,—heSpoke unlike himself—severe, unkindly.“She obeys her father’s will and he wouldWill that she remain unseen, unknownTo strange intruder. The young man makes boldIn asking.”Answered Gilbert, manfully:“May not a true heart be emboldened byThe hope of winning one so beautiful?The asking honorable? Perchance theSeñor has himself in days gone by madeLike request?” Spoke of his familyOld and honored, lived on the Gilbert ranchoIn the valley. Would he offer them rebukeUnwittingly? Cedric by his words theMore determined they should never meet, forZola’s sake and his, resolved to fleeWith her, so spoke deceitfully. He mustGo and wait six days and on the seventhCome; if she were there then he might speak withHer. Gilbert said respectfully: “’Tis well!With such a hope I well may add to myLong waiting one more week.” And with a smileOf hopefulness, he rode away. CedricPitying, watched him disappear amongThe ceanothus bloom and drooping boughs.Zola coming, on her face the look ofSadness,—signs of weeping,—Cedric knowingNow the secret of the change in her—theAbsence of the rippling laughter noticedIn the months gone by—his kind heart meltedAnd well-nigh did he repent and tell herAll, tell Gilbert; but the specter hauntingFixed his purpose; she must go or face aDeeper sorrow. So, despite his feeling,Smilingly and cheerful, told her they wouldGo and sail across the ocean—sail toForeign lands. Thus seeking to beguile andTurn her from the tie that bound her heart toPalomar, spake he of the people andThe sights that they would see. Long had theyRemained in Nature’s parlor; now going,Would they view the halls and palaces ofSplendor they had read about. She smilingSadly, kissed and thanked him for his kindness.She daily strolled where she had seen the faceOf Gilbert, vainly waiting with the hopeThat he would come once more—pensively, withTears—and prayed that she might see him onceAgain before she went away. The sunFrom out its saffron-tinted bed burst forthAnd kissed the mountain peaks. She weeping, heardThe matin song of birds and cooing doves,The melody of Nature’s minstrelsy—Heard, and yet not heard, for today must sheDecide among her treasures, which to takeAnd which to leave behind. Came Zimbo andHer pets for breakfast from her hand, the lastBut one, for early on the morrow sheWould go. “Shall we never come again toThis dear spot?” she asked. Cedric feigningCheerfulness, his sadness ill-concealed,—ranOn assuringly: “Of course, we will returnAnd rest from our long journey ’round the world;Come, bring your bric-a-brac, my girl, and weWill pack it snugly in the cabin, barThe doors and leave all safe and sound. We mayFind Zimbo and the other pets all waitingWhen we come. Cheer up, my darling; dry yourTears, for wondrous sights are waiting for thoseEyes to feast upon.” Thus talking, while hePacked her treasures in the hidden cabin.

Day after day did he return to thatSame spot and, waiting patient, watch for her;Once for a moment saw her on the heights,And again, he saw the eyes of that greatLion fixed on him and knew that she wasNear. Like knight of old he scaled the highestPeaks and stood upon the spot her feet hadPressed. With throbbing pulse and palpitatingHeart he followed in pursuit. The kindlyRocks revealed no tell-tale foot prints where herFeet had touched them in her flight. The summerWore away and autumn came again; yetShe cunningly evaded him. GrowingDesperate, he traversed all the length andBreadth of Palomar; at times he heard herVoice in song, heard her speak to Zimbo, sheNear him; for a precious moment saw her,But in finesse she more than equalled him.

Gilbert’s parents missed his merry laugh andJest; marvelled at his absence; feared thatHe was ill and questioned him. He told themHe was hunting in the mountains, but heMentioned not the object of his quest; misledThem by tales of condor’s nest and mountainLion he had seen.

Likewise was CedricTroubled by the change he saw in Zola.She loved Gilbert—loved him wildly, madly.She had watched him when he knew it not, andKnew that he loved her; but frightened at theThought, was minded to keep the secretLocked in her own breast and fly from him; soTimidly she asked if some day they mightGo away, and sailing o’er the oceanFind another home. Cedric answered, “Yes,Some day.” He had long expected this andUnknown to her, had in a way, preparedHer for the change. From that lone mountain topLetters had been sent to shops and housesOf the east, and yearly in return hadCome by Indian carriers from the portClothing for himself and Zola, made toMeasure sent, and always in their studyHours they dressed resplendently, that she mightGrace a drawing-room and feel at ease—notShow that she in wilderness was reared.She had mastered music and languagesIn travel needed most, and was withalA finished scholar. Not for himself butHer, he feared to take her hence—knew full wellThat one so beautiful would soon be wooed,And he had never told her of the cloudThat hung around her birth—the cloud ofMystery. As for himself, he loved herAll the better for it—she blameless—heIn tenderness postponed the hour; but theLonger left undone, he dreading knew thatOne day it must come; in honor must heSpeak—must tell her, though it break her heart, toKnow that he was not her father. OftenDid he wish that in her childhood had heTold her all. Yet, in his weakness, promisedHer that some day they would go: “Yes; some day.”

Gilbert, growing wise in woodcraft and inThe art of making love, on the fartherSide went up the mountain, rode Leo upThe winding trail; Zola watching, waitedDisappointed while he—galloping o’er theTable-land—came on Cedric busy inHis garden. They with kindly greeting met,Conversing, found each the other to hisLiking. He too manly to dissemble,Gilbert came out openly: The one soCoy and beautiful, was she his daughter?Cedric troubled, sternly answered: “She is mine,Indeed, my Zola.” How learned the young man ofHer presence on the mountain? Had he metHer? Had they met clandestinely? Gilbert,Speaking plainly, said: Tho’ strangers,Yet they knew each other well; he long hadWorship’d her afar; well she knew and wellHad she evaded him. Now, at last, hadHe found the one to ask if he might meet andWoo her, would he give consent? Cedric sawHis good intent, sincerity and truth,Looked upon him with the feeling of theFather for the son. Then like a phantomCame that secret terror of his life,—heSpoke unlike himself—severe, unkindly.“She obeys her father’s will and he wouldWill that she remain unseen, unknownTo strange intruder. The young man makes boldIn asking.”

Answered Gilbert, manfully:“May not a true heart be emboldened byThe hope of winning one so beautiful?The asking honorable? Perchance theSeñor has himself in days gone by madeLike request?” Spoke of his familyOld and honored, lived on the Gilbert ranchoIn the valley. Would he offer them rebukeUnwittingly? Cedric by his words theMore determined they should never meet, forZola’s sake and his, resolved to fleeWith her, so spoke deceitfully. He mustGo and wait six days and on the seventhCome; if she were there then he might speak withHer. Gilbert said respectfully: “’Tis well!With such a hope I well may add to myLong waiting one more week.” And with a smileOf hopefulness, he rode away. CedricPitying, watched him disappear amongThe ceanothus bloom and drooping boughs.

Zola coming, on her face the look ofSadness,—signs of weeping,—Cedric knowingNow the secret of the change in her—theAbsence of the rippling laughter noticedIn the months gone by—his kind heart meltedAnd well-nigh did he repent and tell herAll, tell Gilbert; but the specter hauntingFixed his purpose; she must go or face aDeeper sorrow. So, despite his feeling,Smilingly and cheerful, told her they wouldGo and sail across the ocean—sail toForeign lands. Thus seeking to beguile andTurn her from the tie that bound her heart toPalomar, spake he of the people andThe sights that they would see. Long had theyRemained in Nature’s parlor; now going,Would they view the halls and palaces ofSplendor they had read about. She smilingSadly, kissed and thanked him for his kindness.

She daily strolled where she had seen the faceOf Gilbert, vainly waiting with the hopeThat he would come once more—pensively, withTears—and prayed that she might see him onceAgain before she went away. The sunFrom out its saffron-tinted bed burst forthAnd kissed the mountain peaks. She weeping, heardThe matin song of birds and cooing doves,The melody of Nature’s minstrelsy—Heard, and yet not heard, for today must sheDecide among her treasures, which to takeAnd which to leave behind. Came Zimbo andHer pets for breakfast from her hand, the lastBut one, for early on the morrow sheWould go. “Shall we never come again toThis dear spot?” she asked. Cedric feigningCheerfulness, his sadness ill-concealed,—ranOn assuringly: “Of course, we will returnAnd rest from our long journey ’round the world;Come, bring your bric-a-brac, my girl, and weWill pack it snugly in the cabin, barThe doors and leave all safe and sound. We mayFind Zimbo and the other pets all waitingWhen we come. Cheer up, my darling; dry yourTears, for wondrous sights are waiting for thoseEyes to feast upon.” Thus talking, while hePacked her treasures in the hidden cabin.

Gilbert, sleepless, counted yet the slowlyDragging hours—three more days, and thenThe promised one; pondered o’er the words ofThat strange man on Palomar,—words so oftRepeated: “If she be here, then you maySpeak with her.” “If she be here!” Their meaning—His intention—dawned upon him. “She willNot be there!” In frantic haste he rose andThrew his saddle on his fastest horse andSent the spurs along his quivering flanks;His adolescent blood in angry throbs,His eyes ablaze, he wildly flew acrossThe mesa, through the foothills, brave BonitaStag’ring, bore him up the trail. In earlyMorning came to where he spoke with Cedric.On the slope he saw the tethered burros,Well-filled packs and camping equipage nearBy. Then from the curtained maze of trailingVines and boughs, he heard the gurgling watersOf the spring and sound of axe. Pressing thro’He came upon the hidden cabin, CedricPlacing bars before the door, and ZolaBy his side. At sight of him came boundingZimbo, stop’d by Zola’s voice. Then, with headUncovered—bowed, as one in reverentialAttitude before a shrine—addressed her:“We have been acquainted long, if not bySpoken word, then by the cords that bind twoHearts as one. This man who calls you daughter,He may tell you of his promise—explainThe breaking—doubting not his motive, IBelieve him kind and true.”“Calls you daughter!”Smote poor Cedric’s soul; a deadly pallorSwept across his kindly face. The time hadCome when he must speak—must tell the secretOf his life—her life. Then he recitedAll that he remembered,—Zola’s unknownParentage; his stealing her, and fear thatShe be taken; how he had suffered withThe dread of making known to her that heWas not her father. Speaking, the strong manBreaking, wept. Her love and true devotionSetting all aside, she sprang to him andClinging, cried: “He is my own dear father!”Her dazzling beauty now intensified.As one enchanted, Gilbert looked uponThe scene; such filial love revealed a depthOf soul beyond his ken; thought he of thoseWho called him son—what they had done for him—And of the promise he had made to them.Yes, he would die for them; yet in their prideOf name and family might they not spurnThis nameless one? Thus in the balance weighedHis love for her was satisfied; fortune,Name and family were all as naught toHim compared with Zola. He proudly askedAgain to woo the hermit’s daughter andWinning, give to her his name.“No, no,” sheAnswered for the father, “until this cloudIs lifted—mystery solved—my name isZola Vaughn.” With her words, a light broke inOn Gilbert. Joyously he spoke; as heHad promised would he go back to the statesAnd seek a bride, solve the mystery andReturn triumphant, claim her—his Zola—As his bride. Would take the ship now inThe harbor, sail tomorrow. Cedric gaveThe name of Colonel Vail, but his memoryYielded meagerly of informationNeeded. He well remembered all his lifeUp tothe day that he left Lola atHer father’s home, andfromthe day she died,The gap between in mystery wrapt, all blank.Gilbert, taking Cedric’s hand, said: “From thisDay your life shall be a pattern for myOwn. God bless you.” And to Zola: “You areMine whate’er my journey may reveal;” andUnmindful of her sweet rebuke, he heldHer to his breast and kissed her. That life-longFear for her still haunting, Cedric followedHim aside and whispered: “The father, ifHe be found, pray name her not to him.” FromThe mountain top she watched him out of sight;Then, alone on Palomar, the hermit’sDaughter wept.When their only son went forthTo seek a bride—to keep his vow—there wasGreat rejoicing at the Gilbert rancho.

On the slope he saw the tethered burros,Well-filled packs and camping equipage nearBy. Then from the curtained maze of trailingVines and boughs, he heard the gurgling watersOf the spring and sound of axe. Pressing thro’He came upon the hidden cabin, CedricPlacing bars before the door, and ZolaBy his side. At sight of him came boundingZimbo, stop’d by Zola’s voice. Then, with headUncovered—bowed, as one in reverentialAttitude before a shrine—addressed her:“We have been acquainted long, if not bySpoken word, then by the cords that bind twoHearts as one. This man who calls you daughter,He may tell you of his promise—explainThe breaking—doubting not his motive, IBelieve him kind and true.”

“Calls you daughter!”Smote poor Cedric’s soul; a deadly pallorSwept across his kindly face. The time hadCome when he must speak—must tell the secretOf his life—her life. Then he recitedAll that he remembered,—Zola’s unknownParentage; his stealing her, and fear thatShe be taken; how he had suffered withThe dread of making known to her that heWas not her father. Speaking, the strong manBreaking, wept. Her love and true devotionSetting all aside, she sprang to him andClinging, cried: “He is my own dear father!”Her dazzling beauty now intensified.

As one enchanted, Gilbert looked uponThe scene; such filial love revealed a depthOf soul beyond his ken; thought he of thoseWho called him son—what they had done for him—And of the promise he had made to them.Yes, he would die for them; yet in their prideOf name and family might they not spurnThis nameless one? Thus in the balance weighedHis love for her was satisfied; fortune,Name and family were all as naught toHim compared with Zola. He proudly askedAgain to woo the hermit’s daughter andWinning, give to her his name.

“No, no,” sheAnswered for the father, “until this cloudIs lifted—mystery solved—my name isZola Vaughn.” With her words, a light broke inOn Gilbert. Joyously he spoke; as heHad promised would he go back to the statesAnd seek a bride, solve the mystery andReturn triumphant, claim her—his Zola—As his bride. Would take the ship now inThe harbor, sail tomorrow. Cedric gaveThe name of Colonel Vail, but his memoryYielded meagerly of informationNeeded. He well remembered all his lifeUp tothe day that he left Lola atHer father’s home, andfromthe day she died,The gap between in mystery wrapt, all blank.Gilbert, taking Cedric’s hand, said: “From thisDay your life shall be a pattern for myOwn. God bless you.” And to Zola: “You areMine whate’er my journey may reveal;” andUnmindful of her sweet rebuke, he heldHer to his breast and kissed her. That life-longFear for her still haunting, Cedric followedHim aside and whispered: “The father, ifHe be found, pray name her not to him.” FromThe mountain top she watched him out of sight;Then, alone on Palomar, the hermit’sDaughter wept.

When their only son went forthTo seek a bride—to keep his vow—there wasGreat rejoicing at the Gilbert rancho.

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