Beadle's Dime Novels No. 3: Myra, the Child of Adoption — page 56: what you’re looking at

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

54 MYRA, THE CHILD OF ADOPTION. off, drooped the fruit and flower laden boughs, when the sweet tranquillity was disturbed by a footstep. Down one of the eravel-walks came a man, bearing upon his noble features an air of proud sadness, his very step denoting habitual depres- sion, as he moved quietly and at a slow pace toward the fountain. It was not a look of ill-health that stamped so forcibly the air and demeanor of this man. His frame was still strongly knit, his step firm as iron, but upon his brow was that deep-settled shadow which a troubled heart casts up to the face, and the locks that shaded it were sprinkled with the premature snow which falls early over a brain tor- tured with unspoken regrets. Thus sorrowful, but still un- bowed in his spirit, appeared Daniel Clark, as he moved quietly toward the fountain where his child was at play. Myra was busy with her gold-fish, laughing and coquetting with them through the waves. She saw nothing but their golden flash, she heard nothing but the light drops, that dim- pled and clouded the water around them. Thus for several minutes the proud and saddened man stood gazing upon his daughter. She saw him at last; and then with a faint cry the little creature cast away the contents of her frock, and sprang up. Half in joy, half in timid surprise, she stood gazing upon his face. The pupils of her eyes dilated till they were almost black, her white arms seemed trembling with restraint, as if the suddenness of his appearance had checked the first quick impulse. She was only waiting for one smile to spring like a bird to his bosom. “* Myra !” The firm voice of Daniel Clark gave way as he uttered the name of his child. His eyes grew dim with tears, and he reached forth his trembling arms. She sprang with a single bound to his embrace, she wreathed his neck strongly with her arms, and pressed upon his lips, his cheeks, and his moist eyes, kisses that, from the lips of a beautiful child, seem like the pouring of dew and sunshine from the cup of a flower. “Oh, you are come again!” she said, placing her warm hands on each side his face, and looking with the smiling con- fidence of childhood ‘into his eyes. “They told me that pyou would not come to see us any more for a long, long time.” ~ liad =< comicbooks.com