Beadle's Dime Novels No. 3: Myra, the Child of Adoption — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

eR call hte . 18 a! ead 34 MYRA, THE CHILD OF ADOPTION. pleasant to poor Zulima that she longed to lie down and let her heart stop beating where so many had found quiet rest. These reflections brought tears to her eyes; she felt them dropping fast beneath her vail, and entered the inclosure that no one might witness her grief. Slowly and sadly she wand- ered on, forgetful of her purpose and possessed of a vague idea that her errand led no farther. A strange and dreamy sensation crept over her, the vigor of her limbs gaye way, and sweeping the purple clusters of a passion flower from one of the marble slabs, she sat down. Zulima put aside her vail, and began to read the inscription upon the tomb while list- lessly passing. her finger through the deeply-cut letters. It was an infant’s tomb. A child eighteen months old lay beneath the marble. Eighteen months—that was the age of her child, little Myra. She started up. It seemed as if her weight upon the marble could injure the little sleeper. Care- fully drawing the passion-vine over the stone again, she turn- ed away and was about to depart. But that instant there came bounding along the vista-of a neighboring walk a young child, evidently rejoicing over its escape from some person who might have controlled its actions. In and out through the flowery labyrinth it darted, its chestnut curls floating on the wind, and its blue sash, loose at one end, sweeping the tombs at every turn. The child, at last, felt evidently quite secure from pursuit, for, leaning forward upon one tiny foot, she peered roguishly through the branches and burst into a clear ringing laugh that sounded amid the stillness like the sudden gush of a fountain. Through and through Zulima’s heart rang that silvery shout ; eye, lip, and cheek lighted up to the sound; she reach- ed forth her arms—“ Myra! Myra!” The child heard her name and turned like .a startled fawn, still laughing, but afraid that the black nurse had found her. When she saw only a beautiful woman with eyes brimful of tears, and outstretched hands, the laugh fled from her lips, and fixing her large brown eyes wonderingly on the strange face for a moment, she drew timidly toward the tomb by which Zu- lima stood. “My child! my own dear child!” broke from the lips of that young mother, and sinking upon her knees, she snatched comliclooks.com