unfortnatest thing in the world, sir, poor Mr D----'s dying jest as a'
did. You see, sir, he war a soldier, a 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 send 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 han'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 a' 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 afterwards 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