There was but one being in this narrow circle who really and fondly loved Rachel Gray. And this was Jane, her little half-sister. Rachel was her elder by full five years. When she was told one morning that Jane was born, she heard the tidings with silent awe, then with eager curiosity, climbed up on a chair to peep at the rosy baby fast asleep in its cradle. From that day, she had but one thought--her little sister. How describe the mingled love and pride with which Rachel received the baby, when it was first confided to 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 father was unkind, when her step-mother was hasty, Rachel turned for comfort to her little sister. In her childish caresses, and words, and ways, she found solace and consolation. She did not feel it hard that she was to be the slave of a spoiled child, to wash, comb, and dress her, to work for her, to carry her, to sing to her, to play with her, and that, not when she liked, but when it pleased Jane. All this Rachel did not mind--Jane loved her. She knew it, she was sure of it; and where there is love, there cannot be tyranny. Thus the two sisters grew up together, until one day, without previous warning, Thomas Gray went off to America, and coolly left his wife and children behind. Mrs. Gray was a good and an upright woman; she reared her husband's child 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, and for the support of her children. Thomas Gray could not resist the claim; but he gave what the law compelled him to give, and no more. He never returned to live with his wife; he never expressed a wish to see either of his daughters. He had been back some years when little Jane died at thirteen. She died, dreaming of heaven, with her hand in that of Rachel, and her head on Rachel's bosom. She died, blessing her eldest sister with her last 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 when Jane was gone? For a long time it was a dreary void--a melancholy succession of days and weeks and months, from which the happy light had fled--from which something sweet and delightful was gone for ever.