Gilbert, sleepless, counted yet the slowly
Dragging hours—three more days, and then
The promised one; pondered o’er the words of
That strange man on Palomar,—words so oft
Repeated: “If she be here, then you may
Speak with her.” “If she be here!” Their meaning—
His intention—dawned upon him. “She will
Not be there!” In frantic haste he rose and
Threw his saddle on his fastest horse and
Sent the spurs along his quivering flanks;
His adolescent blood in angry throbs,
His eyes ablaze, he wildly flew across
The mesa, through the foothills, brave Bonita
Stag’ring, bore him up the trail. In early
Morning came to where he spoke with Cedric.
On the slope he saw the tethered burros,
Well-filled packs and camping equipage near
By. Then from the curtained maze of trailing
Vines and boughs, he heard the gurgling waters
Of the spring and sound of axe. Pressing thro’
He came upon the hidden cabin, Cedric
Placing bars before the door, and Zola
By his side. At sight of him came bounding
Zimbo, stop’d by Zola’s voice. Then, with head
Uncovered—bowed, as one in reverential
Attitude before a shrine—addressed her:
“We have been acquainted long, if not by
Spoken word, then by the cords that bind two
Hearts as one. This man who calls you daughter,
He may tell you of his promise—explain
The breaking—doubting not his motive, I
Believe him kind and true.”
“Calls you daughter!”
Smote poor Cedric’s soul; a deadly pallor
Swept across his kindly face. The time had
Come when he must speak—must tell the secret
Of his life—her life. Then he recited
All that he remembered,—Zola’s unknown
Parentage; his stealing her, and fear that
She be taken; how he had suffered with
The dread of making known to her that he
Was not her father. Speaking, the strong man
Breaking, wept. Her love and true devotion
Setting all aside, she sprang to him and
Clinging, cried: “He is my own dear father!”
Her dazzling beauty now intensified.
As one enchanted, Gilbert looked upon
The scene; such filial love revealed a depth
Of soul beyond his ken; thought he of those
Who 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 pride
Of name and family might they not spurn
This nameless one? Thus in the balance weighed
His love for her was satisfied; fortune,
Name and family were all as naught to
Him compared with Zola. He proudly asked
Again to woo the hermit’s daughter and
Winning, give to her his name.
“No, no,” she
Answered for the father, “until this cloud
Is lifted—mystery solved—my name is
Zola Vaughn.” With her words, a light broke in
On Gilbert. Joyously he spoke; as he
Had promised would he go back to the states
And seek a bride, solve the mystery and
Return triumphant, claim her—his Zola—
As his bride. Would take the ship now in
The harbor, sail tomorrow. Cedric gave
The name of Colonel Vail, but his memory
Yielded meagerly of information
Needed. He well remembered all his life
Up to the day that he left Lola at
Her father’s home, and from the day she died,
The gap between in mystery wrapt, all blank.
Gilbert, taking Cedric’s hand, said: “From this
Day your life shall be a pattern for my
Own. God bless you.” And to Zola: “You are
Mine whate’er my journey may reveal;” and
Unmindful of her sweet rebuke, he held
Her to his breast and kissed her. That life-long
Fear for her still haunting, Cedric followed
Him aside and whispered: “The father, if
He be found, pray name her not to him.” From
The mountain top she watched him out of sight;
Then, alone on Palomar, the hermit’s
Daughter wept.
When their only son went forth
To seek a bride—to keep his vow—there was
Great rejoicing at the Gilbert rancho.
GILBERT’S JOURNEY.
After journey long and wearisome, he
Reached the Crescent City and the home of
Colonel Vail. The aged man now mellowed
By weight of years, remorseful, mourning
And alone, received him kindly, answered:
“Her father’s name was Simon Blake, he was
Murdered by a Mexican upon the
Dock. The child, my grandchild’s name was Blake.
The man who loved my daughter came and found her
Dying. ’Twas he who took the child away,
And they were lost at sea.” Gilbert had the
Story of her life—her name was Zola
Blake.
With heavy heart he homeward turned, yet
No less loyal to his Zola. With sad
Misgivings waited for the coming of
The ship—long overdue—by stormy sea
Kept back. Waiting, pondered gloomily; he
Must go and bear the tidings that would solve
The mystery of her name, but leave a
Darker shadow than before. Still would she
Refuse his name they would go away from
Palomar. They at the rancho, left so
Happily, what would he say to them? At
Last with tattered sail and broken, came
The ship. He hastening, learned that it would
Lay at anchor there yet two days more in
Mending. Hopeless, yet with strange desire to
Linger there, again he visited the
Hospital where Zola’s mother died; but
As before, no voice could answer aught of
Her; yet caught a thread of hope—an aged
Priest in near-by parish might remember.
The father heard him,—listened eagerly;
Then in his book of records found the date
When Lola Vail and Cedric Vaughn were wed;
And the christening of her daughter—their child.
Left with him for Cedric, left by Lola,
The treasure he had brought from Mexico,
Lola’s diary, presents he had given,
And a miniature of Cedric done by
Her own hand; then to the house where they were
Married and her resting place. Gilbert took
The proof to Colonel Vail and together
They rejoiced. He begged that he would bring his
Grandchild there when they were wed, and Cedric
Vaughn, that he might grasp the hand of that true
Man. Now, to Gilbert’s happy heart attuned
By hope’s fruition, Nature brought a new
Glad song. The bird notes rang with sweeter
Melody—sunshine brighter—bluer skies—
Even in the tumbling troughs of ocean’s
Depth, he read the mirrored light of love and
Joy. Thro’ long and dreary days beneath a
Tropic sun,—in calm, or fog, or buffeted
By winds adverse, the good ship sped ’til thro’
The mild Pacific’s purple haze, Point
Loma came in view and then, across the
Mesa, to the hacienda, home again.