Rachel Gray

d gas-lit square. She crossed it without looking right or left: a thought led her on like a spell. Through streets and alleys, by lanes and courts-on she went, until at length sh

shops, and precocious London children were pouring into a theatre, where their morals were to be

omy part of the streets; she shrank back nervously from every rude group, and thus she at length succeeded in attracting the very thing she most wished to shun-observation. Three or four women, rushing out

trembled from head to foot, and vainly tried to

or drink then," inso

an happen to me without God's will?" and the thought had nerved her. She looke

too much alrea

guage which, though it could not stain the pure heart of her w

d, trembling this ti

itherto looked on apathetically. She officiously disengaged Rachel's arm, whispering as sh

ck-pocket She hung down her head and sighed, dismayed and astonished, not at her loss, but at the sin. "Ah! dear Lord Jesus," she thought, full of sorrow, "that thou shouldst thus be crucified anew by the sins of thy people!" Then followed the perplexing inward question: "Oh! why is there so much sin?" "God knows best," was the inward reply, and once more calm and serene, Rachel went on. At first, she hardly knew where she was. She stood in a dark thoroughfar

sty tongs and shovels, and rusty goods of every description kept grim company to tattered books and a f

was not to gaze with passing curiosity on those objects; she knew them all of old, as she knew every stone of th

nter lived there, for the place was full of rough deal boards standing erect against the wall, and the floor was heaped high with shavings. Presently a door within opened, the master of the shop entered it, and set himself to work by the light of a tallow candle. He was a tall, thin man, grey-headed and deepl

ke other daughters to their father? why do you not love your child?" Her heart seemed full to bursting; her eyes overflowed, her breathi

ray did not use her ill certainly, but neither did she give her any great share in her affections. And why and how should a step-mother have loved Rachel when her own father did not? when almost from her birth she had been to him as though she did not exist-as a being who, uncalled for and unwanted, had come athwart his life. Never had he, to her knowledge, taken her in his arms, or on h

her care, and when to her was allotted the delightful task of dragging about in her arms a heavy, screaming child? And who but Rachel found Jane's first tooth? Who but Rachel taught Jane to speak; and taught her how to walk? Who else fulfilled for the helpless infant and wilful child every little office of kindness and of love, until at length there woke in her own childish heart some of that maternal fondness born with woman, the feeling whence her deepest woes and her highest happiness alike must spring. When her fathe

like her own, and worked for both, without ever repining at the double burden. When her husband returned to England, after three years' absence, Mrs. Gray lost no time in compelling him to grant her a weekly allowance for herself, an

breath, with love for her in the last look of her blue eyes, in the last smile of her wan lips. It was a happy death-bed-one to waken hope, not to call forth sorrow; and yet what became of the life of Rachel

well enough that all the love she had to receive upon earth, had been given unto her. Like the lost Pleiad, "seen no more below," the bright star of

om the same sorrows, and kindred griefs can bind the farthest hearts; but beyond this there was no sym

chel's father. Perhaps, she would have been more than human, had she not occasionally reminded her step-dau

an, still that he had cared somewhat, for that younger, and more favoured child. That before he left England, he would occasionally caress her; t

heart too pious, and too humble for rebellious sorrow; but yet she found it

Rachel felt for her father. That instinct of nature, which in him was silent, in her spoke strongly. That share of love which he denied her, she silently added to her own, and united both in one fervent offering. Harshness and indifference h

e bitter remarks of her step-mother, she learned that he had returned, and where he had taken up his home, she had no peace until she succeeded in obtaining a glimpse of him. Free, as are all the children of the poor, she made her way to the street w

d met-like strangers they parted. But, though his coldness and her own timidity prevented nearer advances, the

thus it happened, that on this dark night she stood in the sheltering obscurity of the well

looked and lingered, wishing she knew not what; and hoping against hope. Thus she stayed, until Thomas Gray left his w

et. Rachel looked at the deserted dwelling and