The clarion. [volume] (Jackson, Miss.) 1883-1888, 1886-12-01

Wuat the NQTiu Will say OA MG-DuI
cannot give her up-indeed, indeed l car
not"
The young mother rose in the bed
and with her child folded TO her bosom
with one arm, cast the other round Il,
proud man neck, and drew his fac,
down till it touched the infant, as she
covered his forehead with kisses.
you will keep US both-you will mo-
take our child from mev
"Zulima, ii must be" said the hus
band, drawing gently back, and freeing
himself from her fond embrace, while
his fine features bespoke the terrible
pain which it cost him to be firm
"While the man who has once claimed
you for his wife remains unpunished, ]
cannot acknowledge you mine, legally
innocently mine, as in the sight OF
Heaven you are.
81 do not ask it. Let the world think
of me as it likes. | will submit to re
proach-to spicion-anything - but
leave my child-neverl"
"ZuIima," was the firm and almost
reproachful reply; do you think that
your reputation is separate from mine.
Shall | cast stain upon my wife which
no after time can efface, and then pro-
duce her, wronged and sullied, to socie-
| ty? Listen to me, Zulima; cease weep
ing and listenl The man is yet alive
who has called you wife"
81 know knoww cried the poor
young creature, shuddering from head
to foot, and burying her face in the pill
lows; Oh say no morel | will give up
the ehild-but spare me that subject!'
/ IL. s,4,, + 81 . -
once, and then it shall be banished from
our lips forever. Think you that ii is
not painful to me as to youF'
How painful it was might be guessed
by the colorIess cheeks and the culver
ing of that proud mans lips while he
was speaking.
"While mere child you became the
dupe and victim of this vile man, De
Oranges. He wronged your confidence,
wronged your love-"
"No, no! did not love him-I was a
child knew not what love was"
| broke in passionate murmurs from the
pillow where Zulima's face was buried.
''Do not say l loved that MANI
"My poor wife! | know that you did
not love him. know quite as well that
you do love me. Look up, sweet child
| would give worlds that / could speak
of all this without distressing you thus.
Bear with me only minute longer. My
only wish is to reconcile you, if posi-
BILE, to the inevitable"
II will listen" replied the tortured
young mother.
81 know, Zulima, that you were de
ceived by this bad man-that he welded
you while his wife was living, and that
you fed from his home the moment this
truth was made known. OF all this |
was thoroughly convinced before you
became ray wife; but until this man is
convicted in open court and before the
whole world, how can / convince society
of that which to me is a sacred truthY
how, before the fact of his previous mar
riage is thus publicly substantiated, can
| proclaim the union that has made me
more than happyF
''Zulima, | am a proud man-sensltive
to public opinion-careful of my stand
ing in the world. Were breath of sus-
pieion to rest upon the fame of my
wife, I should never be happy again.
You are young-supposed to be unmar-
ried-living here under the roof of my
dearest friend, who, with one exception,
is alone in my confidence. In few
months this man, now in prison, will re-
ceive the punishment of his crime. Do
you not see the peril of keeping this
child with you till after that event en-
ables me to claim my wife before the
world? Zulima! look up--say that you
forgive me the pain | am causing-say,
that, for my sake, you will submit to
have this little one sent from you for a
season-only for season"
Subdued and touched to the heart by
the depth of feeling with which this ap-
peal was made, Zulima arose from the
subdue her grief, and, taking the infant
in her trembling arms, motloned her
husband to receive it.
The moment she was relieved from
the sweet burden, the young creature
fell back, and, closing her eyes, tried to
check the grief, that, however suppress
ed, still clamored at her heart. 1t was
all in vain: the tears gushed like shat
tered diamonds through the thick and
silky lashes, and she grasped the coun-
terpane nervously with one hand, in
terrible strife to force back the agony
that was choking her. Poor young
motherl she felt with that keen intui-
ton which is like a prophecy, that she
was not parting from her child for sea
son, but forever.
"You consent, Zulima! You will give
up our little one with no anger, and
without all this bitter grief?' cried the
strong man, pale as death, and bending
over the young mother with the child
pressed to his bosom.
81 win, / do" burst from those pale
and trembling lips.
The husband turned away; his limbs
trembled, his eyes were blinded with
moisture, and the weight of that little
babe seemed to bend and sway his strong
frame, as if he had been reed. He
looked back upon the mother. There
she lay, the wet eyelids closed aud
quivering-her white lips pressed to-
gether, and so pale, that but for the
agitation of her features she might have
seemed stricken dead in the midst of
her anguish. He returned to the couch.
'Zulima, would you kiss the babe
before it goes?'
'I dare not-I dare not" broke from
those pale lips; then Zulima held back
her sobs, for his footsteps were depart
ing-a door closed-husband and child
both were gone. Then the mothers
anguish broke forth, her arms were
flung upward, her quivering hands
clasped wildly together-a moment and
they fell heavily upon the orange flowers
that still Uttered the bed, crushing them
in her utter insensibility.
Then, while the young wife lay so
pale and deathly, there stole toward the
bed that negro woman, who bent down
till the bright Madras 'kerchief turbaning
her forehead, mingled with the chestnut
tresses that lay scattered over the shoul-
der and bosom of the sufferer. She lis
tened a moment, as if to make herself
quite certain that what seemed so death
" was not death itself, and then glided
from the chamber.
The negress stole softly through the
open hall, and into a spacious garden; a
row of small white buildings stood at
the farther extremity, cleaning in
snowy patches through the vines and
trees that em5owered that portion of
the garden.
These were the slave dwellings belong
ing TO rich plantation some three miles
from New Orleans belonging to the
husband of Zulima, and occupied Tor
the season by his bosom friend, that the
| infancy of his child might be honorably
sheltered. And here, in little white
washed room of the slave dwelling, this
bosom friend was impatiently watching
the approach of the female slave whom
he had placed dark SPIN the bed
chamber of that helpless young wife.
| With his face close to one of the
| four panes of glass that admitted light
to the humble room, he watched the
fiery colors of the Madras turban, which
the woman always wore, as it glided
| like some gorgeous bird through the
thick foliage, nearer and nearer to
the den where he had for two hours