Beadle's Dime Novels No. 3: Myra, the Child of Adoption — page 60: what you’re looking at

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

tind — 58 MYRA, THE CHILD OF ADOPTION. “Our marriage,” repeated Zulima. Again her lips were dis- torted with a smile mournful and bitter, and clasping her hands she wrung them nervously together. “Why do you smile thus? Why do you repeat thus bit- terly the words that I have spoken?” said Clark, regarding her wild agitation with wonder. “When I speak of our marriage, you do not shrink or tremble as one who has pro- faned a holy rite, but your eye is full of scorn, your lips curl with bitter smiles. Zulima, are you indeed so lost that the mention of ties that bound us once, and that legally bind us yet, ties that you, unhappy woman, have broken and dishon- ored, can only awake a smile of scorn ?” Zalima stood motionless, her hands clasped, her eyes dilat- ing; the truth was struggling to her heart. “Speak to me, speak to me again,” she cried, extending her locked hands imploringly. “That marriage, yon know, you know well, it was all false, all a deception. I never was your wife !” Mr. Clark drew back—he breathed with difficulty: the truth was breaking upon his soul also—the cruel, terrible truth. “Speak to me, speak to me,” cried Zulima, in a mig of thrilling anguish ; “I never was your wife !” “The God of heaven, at whose altar we were wilkad can answer that you were my lawfully wedded wife, that you are so now !” A sharp cry broke from Zulima, she staggered forward a pace, and sat down upon the grass close by her child; cover- ing her face with both hands, she bent it down to her knees, and remained thus motionless and absolutely without breath. —— stood gazing upon her, every nerve in his body quiv- ; the horror that her face had exhibited, that sharp cry, = “the utter prostration of her energies, all these things were fast unsealing his eyes. He sat down by the unhappy woman and attempted to remove one of the pale hands clasped over her eyes, but she resisted him with a faint shudder, and ther through those lashed fringes gushed a flood of tears. “Zulima, try and compose yourself, make one effort; for, on earth, I feel that this must be our last interview. Shrink 2 not thus! I have never wronged you, or if it prove so, not : knowingly or wilfully.” & PS = conchbooks.com