Beadle's Dime Novels No. 3: Myra, the Child of Adoption — page 76: what you’re looking at

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

74 MYRA, THE CHILD OF ADOPTION. men whose autographs had become familiar to Myra upon the public records of the land. Nothing could have been more ample than the testimonials that these men gave of the high worth, talent, and position sustained by young Whitney. Myra read these letters with a feeling of proud triumph. Her trust in him was sustained; she had never distrusted his worth, and in her hand she held the proud power of crushing every doubt that her futher might have had. Merit to which the highest and purest in the land bore such testimony could never again become subject of dispute. She returned to Mr. Whitney. The generous enthusiasm’ that wholly possessed her beamed in every lineament of a face lovely in itself, but most remarkable for a quick and brilliant expression seldom equaled in the human countenance. “ Mr. Whitney, may I retain these only a short time? My father—he will be pleased to see them.” Myra was petite and slight in her person, almost as a fairy. - As she stood clasping the letters between her hands, and with her eyes uplifted toward him, those eyes, so brilliant with every feeling of the heart, a prettier contrast with his tall and stately form could not well be imagined. “Oertainly; do with them as you please,” he said; “but you must not allow your father to suppose that I exhibit them from ostentation.” “Oh, he will not think that!” cried Myra, extending her hand, for her guest was about to take his leave. “ He will never think any thing that is not noble and good of you, I am sure.” “ To-morrow, then—tomorrow I will call for the letters.” “Yes, to-morrow,” replied Myra; and while a servant opened the door for her guest, she entered her father’s study. Mr. D. was seated by his escritoir, reading some papers. He looked up as Myra entered, and smiled kindly upon her. “ What visitor have you had ?” he inquired, folding up the paper in his hanc, “Did I not hear some one go out a mo- ment since ?” “ Yes, sir; it was Mr. Whitney.” Mr. D. tossed the paper he held upon the escritoir, and his brow contracted. “Mr, Whitney again! Haye I not told you, Myra, that Commicloooks.corn