ZOLA AND ZIMBO.
Upon a shelving rock near
By, a being of angelic beauty
Stood; posed statue-like, her eyes fix’t on the
Distant sea; one hand spread gracefully
Across her brow, the other holding back
A monster mountain lion that crouching
At her feet, lay watching him; a robe of
Softest fabric, yielding to the breeze, revealed
The ample fulness of her shapely form;
Caught back by strand of sparkling gems, a mass
Of golden hair fell nearly to her feet.
She unconscious of his presence, Gilbert
Stood in speechless adoration, as one
Entranced,—lost in wonderment. Who was this
Personage divine? This apparition
Come to him on that lone mountain side? Was
She 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 rising
Angrily to spring, she saw him standing
There and vanished from his sight. Then from the
Rocks, he heard her voice call softly, sternly:
“Come, Zimbo, come! Come here!” The spell was
Broken; by those words in his own tongue
He knew that she was of the earth—one like
Himself—and not a native of that land.
Day after day did he return to that
Same spot and, waiting patient, watch for her;
Once for a moment saw her on the heights,
And again, he saw the eyes of that great
Lion fixed on him and knew that she was
Near. Like knight of old he scaled the highest
Peaks and stood upon the spot her feet had
Pressed. With throbbing pulse and palpitating
Heart he followed in pursuit. The kindly
Rocks revealed no tell-tale foot prints where her
Feet had touched them in her flight. The summer
Wore away and autumn came again; yet
She cunningly evaded him. Growing
Desperate, he traversed all the length and
Breadth of Palomar; at times he heard her
Voice in song, heard her speak to Zimbo, she
Near him; for a precious moment saw her,
But in finesse she more than equalled him.
Gilbert’s parents missed his merry laugh and
Jest; marvelled at his absence; feared that
He was ill and questioned him. He told them
He was hunting in the mountains, but he
Mentioned not the object of his quest; misled
Them by tales of condor’s nest and mountain
Lion he had seen.
Likewise was Cedric
Troubled by the change he saw in Zola.
She loved Gilbert—loved him wildly, madly.
She had watched him when he knew it not, and
Knew that he loved her; but frightened at the
Thought, was minded to keep the secret
Locked in her own breast and fly from him; so
Timidly she asked if some day they might
Go away, and sailing o’er the ocean
Find another home. Cedric answered, “Yes,
Some day.” He had long expected this and
Unknown to her, had in a way, prepared
Her for the change. From that lone mountain top
Letters had been sent to shops and houses
Of the east, and yearly in return had
Come by Indian carriers from the port
Clothing for himself and Zola, made to
Measure sent, and always in their study
Hours they dressed resplendently, that she might
Grace a drawing-room and feel at ease—not
Show that she in wilderness was reared.
She had mastered music and languages
In travel needed most, and was withal
A finished scholar. Not for himself but
Her, he feared to take her hence—knew full well
That one so beautiful would soon be wooed,
And he had never told her of the cloud
That hung around her birth—the cloud of
Mystery. As for himself, he loved her
All the better for it—she blameless—he
In tenderness postponed the hour; but the
Longer left undone, he dreading knew that
One day it must come; in honor must he
Speak—must tell her, though it break her heart, to
Know that he was not her father. Often
Did he wish that in her childhood had he
Told her all. Yet, in his weakness, promised
Her that some day they would go: “Yes; some day.”
Gilbert, growing wise in woodcraft and in
The art of making love, on the farther
Side went up the mountain, rode Leo up
The winding trail; Zola watching, waited
Disappointed while he—galloping o’er the
Table-land—came on Cedric busy in
His garden. They with kindly greeting met,
Conversing, found each the other to his
Liking. He too manly to dissemble,
Gilbert came out openly: The one so
Coy and beautiful, was she his daughter?
Cedric troubled, sternly answered: “She is mine,
Indeed, my Zola.” How learned the young man of
Her presence on the mountain? Had he met
Her? Had they met clandestinely? Gilbert,
Speaking plainly, said: Tho’ strangers,
Yet they knew each other well; he long had
Worship’d her afar; well she knew and well
Had she evaded him. Now, at last, had
He found the one to ask if he might meet and
Woo her, would he give consent? Cedric saw
His good intent, sincerity and truth,
Looked upon him with the feeling of the
Father for the son. Then like a phantom
Came that secret terror of his life,—he
Spoke unlike himself—severe, unkindly.
“She obeys her father’s will and he would
Will that she remain unseen, unknown
To strange intruder. The young man makes bold
In asking.”
Answered Gilbert, manfully:
“May not a true heart be emboldened by
The hope of winning one so beautiful?
The asking honorable? Perchance the
Señor has himself in days gone by made
Like request?” Spoke of his family
Old and honored, lived on the Gilbert rancho
In the valley. Would he offer them rebuke
Unwittingly? Cedric by his words the
More determined they should never meet, for
Zola’s sake and his, resolved to flee
With her, so spoke deceitfully. He must
Go and wait six days and on the seventh
Come; if she were there then he might speak with
Her. Gilbert said respectfully: “’Tis well!
With such a hope I well may add to my
Long waiting one more week.” And with a smile
Of hopefulness, he rode away. Cedric
Pitying, watched him disappear among
The ceanothus bloom and drooping boughs.
Zola coming, on her face the look of
Sadness,—signs of weeping,—Cedric knowing
Now the secret of the change in her—the
Absence of the rippling laughter noticed
In the months gone by—his kind heart melted
And well-nigh did he repent and tell her
All, tell Gilbert; but the specter haunting
Fixed his purpose; she must go or face a
Deeper sorrow. So, despite his feeling,
Smilingly and cheerful, told her they would
Go and sail across the ocean—sail to
Foreign lands. Thus seeking to beguile and
Turn her from the tie that bound her heart to
Palomar, spake he of the people and
The sights that they would see. Long had they
Remained in Nature’s parlor; now going,
Would they view the halls and palaces of
Splendor they had read about. She smiling
Sadly, kissed and thanked him for his kindness.
She daily strolled where she had seen the face
Of Gilbert, vainly waiting with the hope
That he would come once more—pensively, with
Tears—and prayed that she might see him once
Again before she went away. The sun
From out its saffron-tinted bed burst forth
And kissed the mountain peaks. She weeping, heard
The matin song of birds and cooing doves,
The melody of Nature’s minstrelsy—
Heard, and yet not heard, for today must she
Decide among her treasures, which to take
And which to leave behind. Came Zimbo and
Her pets for breakfast from her hand, the last
But one, for early on the morrow she
Would go. “Shall we never come again to
This dear spot?” she asked. Cedric feigning
Cheerfulness, his sadness ill-concealed,—ran
On assuringly: “Of course, we will return
And rest from our long journey ’round the world;
Come, bring your bric-a-brac, my girl, and we
Will pack it snugly in the cabin, bar
The doors and leave all safe and sound. We may
Find Zimbo and the other pets all waiting
When we come. Cheer up, my darling; dry your
Tears, for wondrous sights are waiting for those
Eyes to feast upon.” Thus talking, while he
Packed her treasures in the hidden cabin.