Beadle's Dime Novels No. 3: Myra, the Child of Adoption — page 30: what you’re looking at

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

* 28 MYRA, THE CHILD OF ADOPTION. . paper; her lips began to quiver, she coyered the fragment of : paper with passionate. kisses, and then cast it from her, ex- claiming wildly, “ Not to me—not to me * Zulima returned home that day as she had never done be- fore. The slow, creeping pace, so eloquent of depression and baffled hope, that had previously marked her return home, was exchanged for a hurried tread and excited demeanor. She was fully aroused to a sense of wrong, to a knowledge that some mystery ted which involved her own future. All her suspicions were vague and wildly combined with such facts as lay before her, but not the less powerful and engrossing. She found Ross in the hall, standing by the back-door, which opened to the garden, and talking to his traveling com- panion. The conference was checked as she came up, and she heard Ross say, quickly, “Hush! hush! she is here !” Then the two stepped out and sauntered slowly along the garden-walk. Zulima followed their footsteps, and with the wild fire of excitement burning in her cheeks and eyes. Ross turned to meet her. His look was calm, his yoice compassionate. | “We haye heard nothing. There was no letter,” he said, interpreting the question that hung on her lips. “ No letter to any one ?” Ross looked at her keenly. It was a strange question, and startled him. Could the young creature suspect that he was in correspondence with her husband? She conject but could not know. With this thought he answered her: “He seems to have forgotten all his friends, for even upon business Mr. Clark communicates with no one.” = Zulima parted her lips to answer, but checking herself, she turned away and went to her room. Her previous distrust of Ross was fully confirmed by the false answer that he had given; henceforth she resolyed to act for herself. There was a storm that night; the orange-trees and the thick lime-groves were swept by a hurricane that rocked the old mansion house like a cradle. The rain came down in torrents, dashing against the windows, and sweeping out with the wind in waves of dusky silver. All night long the light- ning and the. winds wrangled and caroused around the house, kindling up the chamber of Zulima every other moment with conmmicloooks.cormn