Beadle's Dime Novels No. 126: Old Jupe — page 91: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

LUKE’S LETTER. 93 of anguish in which she had last read a message from jvm. For some time, she would not open the envelop. Her face was burning with indignation, All these years he had abandoned her! Why did he trouble her now? Had he heard so soon that her punishment was over ?—and, if so, of what interest could that possibly be to him? The answer to all these questions lay folded in her Jap. After a time, she broke the seal and read: “Mary: I was with you on your jouryey from Jefferson City. You did not know it, for I kept an outside place, and evaded recognition ; for,to tell the truth, I was not brave enough to expose myself to your scorn. I went to Jefferson City to ob- tain an interview with you, when I learned that you had been, that day, released; and, although for five months it seemed as if the leaden hours would never move fast enough to bring me into your presence to confess the wrong I did you, when I really had it in my power to meet you face to face, I shrank from your just indignation. Mary, [ followed you up the hill last night. I was near you as you stood at the window, gazing at our child. Oh, why did I not then fall at your feet, in the snew, and ask you to spurn me—to spurn my worthless love ? How hollow, how mocking must that word sound from my lips! Yet, Mary, I do love you, have always loved you, even when I thought you guilty. | “ { never wrote that cruel letter, casting you off, which you’ received. It was written by the same false hand which so suc- cessfully forged your letter @ me, for, I too, upon my arrival from Liverpool], at New Orleans, received a letter from you (as believed) conlessing your crime, and asking me to keep away from you for the present. It said that you preterred to bear the conse- quences alone: and withal, was so cool and so seemingly little concerned at the misery inflicted upon me, that, in the rashness of my first sorrow and shame, I took passage for California, and was far out to sea again, before I had time to rationally consider matters. But, Mary, I loved you all the time. It was because I loved you that I was so crushed by the news. And I had hardly got out of sight of land before I regretted that I had not disobeyed you, had not flown to you, and fought for you, protected you, if possible, from the consequences of your folly. “T need not tell you who is the guilty one, who made us all this wretchedness. It could be but one—your sister, Annette. She is dead, so I will try not to name her too harshly. She had a selfish, passionate nature; but her wild schemes are now at an end. She told me all, in her dying hour, I will give you the slightest sketch of it, for I have not, courage to meet you, unless, by this confession, I win your pefmission, “She said, that from the hour that she first met me, on the comicbooks.con