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.