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Updated: June 11, 2025
His heart leaped with joy. "It is Furbelow!" he cried. "Zonela has sent him. He came through the stove-pipe hole." It was Furbelow, indeed, restored to life by Zonela's care, and who had come down a narrow tube, that no human being could have threaded, to console the poor captive.
"You have betrayed yourself. You called yourself Solon," cried Zonela. "Was it a dream?" "I do not know," answered Solon; "but since that night I have been a poet." "A poet?" screamed the little organ-girl, "a real poet, who makes verses which every one reads and every one talks of?" "The people call me a poet," answered Solon, with a sad smile.
They were both lonely and afflicted, with this difference, that she was beautiful, and he was a hunchback." "Why, Solon," cried Zonela, "that's the very way you and I met!" "It was then," continued Solon, with a faint smile, "that life seemed to have its music. A great harmony seemed to the poor cripple to fill the world.
Astonished, he glanced round for an instant, and beheld Zonela, with a world of love burning in her large lambent eyes, wreathing her round white arms about his humped shoulders. Then the poet knew the great sustaining power of love. Solon reared himself boldly.
That rich auburn hair, that looked almost black in the lamp-light, that pale, transparent skin, tinged with an under-glow of warm rich blood, the hazel eyes, large and soft as those of a fawn, were never begotten of a Zingaro. Zonela was seemingly about sixteen; her figure, although somewhat thin and angular, was full of the unconscious grace of youth.
"Thank you, Solon," answered she called Zonela; "you are a good fellow. He never gives me any light of an evening, but bids me go to bed.
"You want a story, do you?" said the humpback, with a mournful smile. "Well, I'll tell you one. Only what will your father say, if he catches me here?" "Herr Hippe is not my father," cried Zonela, indignantly. "He's a gypsy, and I know I'm stolen; and I'd run away from him, if I only knew where to run to.
How he tries to loosen his bonds, and curses all earth and heaven when he finds that he cannot! Ho! ho! Handsome lover of Zonela, will she kiss you when you are livid and swollen? Brothers, let us drink again, drink always. Here, Oaksmith, take these brushes, and you, Filomel, and finish the anointing of these swords. This wine is grand. This poison is grand.
As soon as the humpback had lit the lamp, Zonela arose from the low stool on which she had been seated, and took Solon's hand affectionately in hers. Zonela was surely not of gypsy blood.
Health to Abigor!" "Let us try them at once," said Oaksmith. "Is your daughter, Zonela, in bed, Herr Hippe? Are we secure from intrusion?" "No one is stirring about the house," replied the Wondersmith, gloomily. Filomel leaned over to Oaksmith, and said, in an undertone, "Why do you mention his daughter? You know he does not like to have her spoken about."
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