He knows the mark which that Key-stone bears;
Upon any sea, upon any land,
The sign of a brother that jewel wears.

He looks at the Key-stone, with eyes whose ray
Grows dreamy like a somnambulist,
and Ethel murmurs, "I saw you to-day
At the church of St. John, the Evangelist.

Have I done any wrong in coming here?
'Twas only this evening my father died,
And mother is lonely and full of fear;
We have no friend in this world so wide."

And hearing the mournful voice again,
Seemed the unexplained spell to break;
And, in tones which were partly born of pain
And partly of hopefulness, Victor spake:

"Come nearer the fire, little girl, and tell me why here you came.
Why did you bring this jewel to me? How did you learn my name?
Your father is dead, this was not his; your name is Ethel Adair.
Adair, Adair, it seems like a dream; I have heard that name, but where?
There, rest yourself child, it's cold to-night, you can tell me by and by
Where you are from, and where you live--what do you say, will I buy?
Do not fear little girl, I am your friend; you cannot speak the word
Of thanks you wish to say, never mind, for there's One above has heard.
Were you born in America? No; in Spain by the Darro's waters bright,
Your parents went there from western skies, 'neath the Rocky mountain's
height.