-fightin' out in Indy, and his poor
wife lef at home wi' them two blossoms o' gals. He warn't what you call a
common soldier, sir, but some kind o' officer like; an' in some great
battle fought seven year agone he done fine service I've heerd, and
promotion was sent out to un', but didn't get there till the poor man was
dead of his wounds. The news of he's death cut up his poor wife complete,
and she ban't been herself since. I've know'd she wasn't long for here
ever since it come. Wust of all, it seems that because the poor man was
dead the very day the promotion reached 'un, a' didn't die a captain after
all, and so the poor widder didn't get no pension. How they've managed to
live is more than I can tell. The oldest gal is very clever, they say; but
Lor' bless 'ee! 'taint much to s'port three as is to be got out o'
broiderin'."

Thus enlightened on the subject of their private history, it was with very
different feelings I afterward regarded these unfortunate children. Bereft
of both parents, and cast upon a world with the ways of which they were
utterly unacquainted, and in which they might be doomed to the most
painful struggles even to procure a bare subsistence, one treasure was yet
left them--it was the treasure of each other's love. So far as the depth of
this feeling could be estimated from the looks and actions of both, it was
all in all to each. But the sacred bond that bound them was destined to be
rudely rent asunder. The cold winds of autumn began to visit too roughly
the fair pale face of the younger girl, and the unmistakable indications
of consumption made their appearance: the harassing cough, the hectic
cheek, the deep-settled pain in the side, the failing breath. Against
these dread forerunners it was vain long to contend; and the poor child
had to remain at home in her solitary sick chamber, while the loving
sister toiled--harder than ever to provide, if possible, the means of
comfort and restoration to health. All the world knows the ending of such
a hopeless strife as this. It is sometimes the will of Heaven, that the
path of virtue, like that of glory, leads but to the grave. So it was in
the present instance: the blossom of this fair young life withered away,
and the grass-fringed lips of the child's early tomb closed over the
lifeless relics ere spring had dawned upon the year.

Sorrow had graven legible traces upon the brow of my hapless mentor when I
saw her again. How different now was the