Beadle's Dime Novels No. 47: Tim Bumble's Charge — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

44 TIM BUMBLE’S CHARGE. the. frail, perishing beauty of the sweet-faced child. He gazed at her long and earnestly, then broke the silence by saying: “Well, madam ?” She came forward, and seemed grateful for his respectful look and manner. She was a singular being in appearance, so very tall, so weird in her face. Depositing a small bun- dle on the counter, which could bring but a meager price, she awaited his inspection. Her cheeks had not Jost the unnat- - ural red that had flushed them as the last comer went out, nor her eyes the singular light. “Oh, sir,” she cried, eagerly, “I’m afraid you will think very strangely of me; but, if you would please let me look at the miniature that you just took of that young woman.” “ Certainly,” said the broker, smilingly, passing it into her hands, “Oh, yes, it is the very one; it must be. Catharine—my y—oh, sir, l am so much overcome, you must excuse me ;” and she leaned her head on her thin hand. “ Have you really found it? Is that the miniature you talked so. much about?” lisped the thin, unchildish voice. “ Oh, Bentley! I am so glad.” “Yes, child, I have found it, but, alas! it is not mine, Miss Catharine, not mine, you see,” she replied, in a mournful _ voice; “ though, perhaps,” she. added, her face brightening, “the gentleman knéws who brought it in, and I can learn where she got it, andjmay be, recover it. You see, sir,” she went on in a lady-like manner, “I am very anxious indeed to find out about it.” “I am sorry I can’t enlighten you,” said the broker, his voice and manner full of interest; “ but I don’t know the young woman, nor where she belongs. Most of the respect- able people who come here, when they give names, give as- sumed ones, and many of them never call For a moment the woman held back, as if her pride had been touchied by these allusions; but it was only a moment. “Oh ! then, sir, perhaps you will sell it,” she cried, eagerly, “If you could only let me have it, sir, for the trifle you gaye her, Or something over, perhaps, in time, I may be able to offer you a hundred dollars for the favor.” commiclooolks.conn