Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 61: what you’re looking at

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

THE FATAL MISSIVE. 59 about from one thing to the odther isn’t right and reasonable for any sane man. Jist as he used—there he’s a singing to himself'and a smilin’ and a mutterin’. The saints protict us if he’ll have ’em as bad as he iver did. It’s what I’ve bin secin’ wid me eyes shut for months an’ months.” : “Ah! poor lady—it’s her I pity, an’ she so oncongcious of it. An’ it’s afraid I am to go to bed of a night for fear Pl be dragged out of me Sleep and murthered before I’m awake.” Mrs. Lattison followed her daughter into the latter’s dress- ing-room. “J believe I'll lay my bonnet on your bedsand go down immediately to practice. The clock has struck six, and when your father comes, you know, we don’t like to practice. He is so good a husband, so excellent a father.” There was a musical soiree in prospect, at which Mrs. Lat- tison was to show her fine ability. Seven o’clock came, and she was deep in the intricacies of a difficult waltz, when the door opened and Ella entered. “ Has your father come ?” asked her mother without glanc- ing up. . “ No, mother, but what is this?” “ What, darling ?”’ and still the bright eyes were bent on all but impossible chords and frantic quavers. “ A note, mother—in papa’s writing, I should think.” “Oh! a note, child, let me see it,” and the hand was stretched forth, now—the face all expectation. e “T found it on your dressing-table, mamma,” and Ella gave it to her, her bright face yet unblanched of its smiles. e€ Cora held the fatal missive. The moment she felt its touch, a deathly faintness seized her—a presenti- ment of coming evil gave her a sharp chill. Her face grew White; she looked at it as at a thing afar off. Slowly she opened—hurriedly read it—then came a cry such as you may have heard once, reader—a voiced woe, piteous with anguish, fright and horror. | “ Mother?’ Ella was. at her side, grasping the clenched hands, her own sweet face distorted with fear. “ Mother, what is it? What has happened? Where is my father ?” _ “Dead—dead !” came in piteous gaspings. “Oh! heaven, be merciful Ella, your father is dead—drowned !” es comichooks.com