Beadle's Dime Novels No. 3: Myra, the Child of Adoption — page 12: what you’re looking at

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

10 MYRA, me is a sacred truth? how, before the fact of his previous mar- riage is thus publicly substantiated, can I proclaim the union which has made me more than happy? Zulima, I am a proud man—sensitive to public opinion—careful of my standing in the world. Were.a breath of suspicion to rest upon the fame of my wife, I should never be happy again. You are young— supposed to be unmarried—living here under the roof of my dearest friend, who, with one exception, is.alone in my confi- dence. Ina few months this man, now in prison, will receive the punishment of his crime. Do you not see the peril of keeping this child with you till after that event enables me to claim my wife before the world? Zulima! look up—say that you forgive me the pain I am causing—say, that, for my sake, you will submit to have this little one sent from you for a sea- son—only for a season.” Subdued and touched to the heart by the depth of feeling with which this appeal was made, Zulima arose from the pil- low where she had been striving te subdue her grief, and tak- ing the infant in her trembling arms, motioned her husband to receive it. The moment she was relieved from the sweet bur- den, the young creature fell back, and closing her eyes, tried to check the grief that, however suppressed, still clamored at her heart. It was all in vain: the tears gushed like shattered diamonds though the thick and silky lashes, and she grasped the counterpane nervously with one hand, in a terrible strife to force back the agony that was choking her. Poor young mother! she felt with that keen intuition, which is like a proph- ecy, that she was not parting from her child for a season, but forever. “You consent, Zulima? You will give up our little one with no anger, and without all this bitter grief?” cried the strong man, pale as death, and bending over the young mother, ¥ with the child pressed to his bosom. _ “TJ will, I do,” burst from those pale and trembling lips. The husband turned away; his limbs trembled, his eyes were blinded with moisture, and the weight of that little babe seemed to bend and sway his strong frame, as if he had been a reed. He looked back upon the mother. There she lay, the wet eyelids closed and quivering—her white lips pressed together, and so pale, that but for the agitation of her features conmicloooks.com