The Freemason's Daughter: A Novel — page 155: what you’re looking at

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

146 THE FREEMASONS DAUGHTER. CHAPTER XI. Oh! seek not in another sphere, Brighter eyes there cannot be Than those which fondly watch thee here; , Thy home hath beauty still for thee. ROBIN GOODFELLOW. Henry Bracuam left the counting-house of his uncle with the air of a man who had received a frightful blow, and but half recovered from its effects. Heedless of his steps he walked at a rapid pace, passing many of his friends and acquaintances in the streets without returning their salutations, or even perceiving them. His heart was full—full to agony. He felt as youth—ardent, trusting, and hopeful—feels when the first dark cloud—forerunner of approaching storm—- threatens life’s sunlit horizon. “Part,” he murmured; “part! Oh, the dreary, lonely void, absence will create—the thousand jealous pangs, regretful memories, and tender fears—life will have lost its perfume—others will gaze upon her, and I shall be absent—others will pour their flattering whispers in her ear, and I not by to guard my interest in her heart! Perhaps she will smile—perhaps listen to them! Women ere this have broken vows as warm, ecomnuicloooks (SO