Beadle's Dime Novels No. 3: Myra, the Child of Adoption — page 66: what you’re looking at

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

64 MYRA, THE CHILD OF ADOPTION. Daniel Clark turned upon his pillow; his eyes opened wide, and he meved his hands in the air, as if seeking to grasp at something. Ross bent over and spoke to him, but the dying man closed his eyes and motioned the traitor away with his hand. The old negro came up, choking back the tears, and bent his gray head gently over his master. Again Clark - opened his eyes; a sudden light came into them, and a smile stole over the whole face. “Bend down,” he whispered, “bend close to me, my old servant, for I am dying.” The old man bent his head still lower, holding his breath, and checking the tears that swelled his faithful heart. “ Dear master, I listen.” Clark lifted his hand, and grasped that of the old man with / a feeble hold. “My wife—my child! See that no wrong is done them.” The old man looked down upon that ashen face with sur- prise. “This must be delirium,” he thought, “for my poor master had neither wife nor child.” The eyes of the dying man were misty, but he saw the doubt in his servant’s face. A look of distress passed over his own, and he made a vain effort to collect the power of speech. But he could only say, “The will—that must tell you—it is below, take it into your own hands the moment I am dead; and take it to—to—” “To Master Ross?” said the old man, observing that his master’s voice was sinking. “No! no!” These words broke from the dying man with his last breath; he fell back upon the pillow; his hands wan- dered upward for an instant, and then fell heavily upon the bed. Still his eyes were open—=still they were fixed with mournful intensity on the old man’s face. “He is gone!” murmured Ross, bending his ashen face over the ashen face of the dead. “He is gone!” cried the poor old evant wringing his hands and sobbing aloud; “he is gone, and without taking the old man with him !” Then the faithful old creature cast himself upon his knees, and taking the pale hand of the dead between his ebony palms, lifted up his voice and wept. While the voice of his grief filled the room. while his faithful heart ’ comichooks.cona