The weary
Weeks and months rolled by; she pined, and passing
Near the gates of death, awoke to find a
Blue-eyed baby by her side—the child of
Cedric’s dreams. The months passed by and still
No word from Cedric came. She, yielding to
Her grief and drooping, faded as a flower
That withering in decadence fades away.
The rosy seraph sent—so kindly sent—
From heaven to be the precious idol of
Her solitude, and his, grew strong and more
Angelic as the passing days went by.
When the ruffians from the darkness sprang on
Cedric, with ready shot, the foremost fell;
But the bludgeon of the other laid him
Low; then, as the fatal blow was falling,
Morales coming, threw himself between;
And in deadly combat grappled with Ben
Rubideaux. With bowie knives they struggled,
Each receiving fatal thrusts, nor yielded
Until weak from loss of blood, they parting
Fell; Morales’ bowie buried in the
Heart of Rubideaux. Cedric lay for hours,
Unconscious; then, his strength returning, he
Rose, and dazed, bewildered, groped along the
Frontage, stag’ring like a drunken man; the
Stevedores thought him one returning from a
Night’s debauch. He in the early morning,
Came where a boat was loosening its cables
From the wharf; and unnoticed, stumbled on
And fell among the luggage in a swoon.
THE MYSTIC TOKEN.
The boat—bound for the Indies—was well out
On the gulf before they found and lifted
Him; nor knew they of the tragedy upon
The dock, or that he was hunted as a
Murderer. They finding on his person
The token of a craft which they reveréd,
They cared for him and left him safely in
An island city of the Southern Sea.
There his brother craftsmen gathering round him,
Nursing—raised him—raised him as one from the
Dead. From the “Valley of the Shadows” brought
Him forth to perfect health and vigor; but
Alas! the silken cord that erstwhile bound
Him to the past, was broken! Memory
Was gone! Nor, with active mind and clear, could
He recall the past, tell his name or whence
He came. He strove to lift the veil and look
Beyond the wall of night that intervened.
That cruel blow had caused a lesion of
The brain—a lapse of memory complete.
As the wire that bears the hidden current
Broken, swaying in the breeze, connecting
Sends a gleam across the night, so at times
Bright gleams of memory, almost taking
Shape, would light his way; then leaving him in
Greater darkness, would as quickly fly away.
Gradually came before his sight, as
Dimly seen thro’ nebulae, the outlines
Of a form and face came from the misty
Moonlight of the past. At last, came back to
Him, that picture which had made the deepest
Imprint on his mind—his Lola, as he
Saw her standing by her father’s side. But
When was this? And where? And who was she?
By exercise of all the strength of his
Great will, her name once more came back to him,
And then her father’s; then the city where
They lived; and then it was borne in on him
That she was his betrothed; that he had gone
To that fair isle to make a home for her.
Now, having gained the wherewithal, he could
Go and bring her. With this thought, the flame of
Love rekindled blazed anew, as clearly
He remembered those six happy days of
Love 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’s
Home and claim her as he swore to do the
Day he left her there. The Colonel met him
With a scornful smile and said: “So you have
Come? You may have her, if you wish for such
As she.” Breaking forth in rage, he cried—with
Oaths—“Go! Find her at the hospital”—he
Told the driver where—“Go! Find her with her
Child of shame; they are good enough for you!
I care not if she fills a harlot’s grave.”
THE STOLEN CHILD.
Cedric, smitten almost to the death, bade
The driver go with haste. He found her and
She, smiling, whispered low: “My Cedric, you
Have come to meet me. Is this heaven?” then placed
The baby hand in his and falling back,
She was indeed in heaven. Cedric, tearless,
For a moment stood as one struck dumb; then
Took the baby in his arms. She too young
To understand, or lisp her mother’s name
Or his, as though instinctively, she threw
Her rosy arms about his neck and kissed
Him. Then confiding, laid her golden curls
Upon his breast. The nurses, thinking him
A base deserter, hoping he at least
Would own the child, and seeing him caress
It—placed tenderly its costly wrappings
’Round, and quickly packed its ample clothing,
Gave it him. He kissed the marble brow and
Turning to the one who had the right to
Speak for all, he inquired about the rites
And ceremonies of her faith, “Were they
Performed?” “Yes,” the matron said, “the good priest
Has been often by her side, left her just
Before you came; the one who married her.”
He paced the hall and pondered, mystified.
What he had heard and seen had set his brain
Awhirl. So she was married! Then to whom?
Her husband might at any moment come
And claim his child—claim Lola’s child—he quick
Resolved to take the babe and give his life
To 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 one
Who married her. He must not see the priest.
He, in his frenzy, cast aside all thought
Of right or wrong—decided he would
Steal—yea, lie or even die before that
One who had deserted her should have her
Child. He gave them gold, and speaking calmly,
(Falsely, too, as he supposed) said: “Tell them
Her husband ordered that her last resting
Place shall be a mausoleum grand, and
To him you gave the child—the one to whom
It rightfully belongs; say that he loved
Her 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 one
To love. The past almost a blank, and in
The future no alluring hope, he fain
Had snap’d the slender thread of life, to be
With Lola evermore. Or, had he been
One of the weaker kind, complaining at
His fate, he had perchance by slower
Process, ended all in low debauchery.