COLLECTION
OF
BRITISH
AUTHORS
.
VOL.
CCCXLIV
.
RACHEL
GRAY
BY
JULIA
KAVANAGH
.
IN
ONE
VOLUME
.
RACHEL
GRAY
.
A
TALE
FOUNDED
ON
FACT
.
BY
JULIA
KAVANAGH
,
AUTHOR
of
"
NATHALIE
,
"
"
DAISY
BURNS
,
"
"
GRACE
LEE
.
"
COPYRIGHT
EDITION
.
LEIPZIG
BERNHARD
TAUCHNITZ
1856
PREFACE
.
This
tale
,
as
the
title-page
implies
,
is
founded
on
fact
.
Its
truth
is
its
chief
merit
,
and
the
Author
claims
no
other
share
in
it
,
than
that
of
telling
it
to
the
best
of
her
power
.
I
do
not
mean
to
aver
that
every
word
is
a
positive
and
literal
truth
,
that
every
incident
occurred
exactly
as
I
have
related
it
,
and
in
no
other
fashion
,
but
this
I
mean
to
say
:
that
I
have
invented
nothing
in
the
character
of
Rachel
Gray
,
and
that
the
sorrows
of
Richard
Jones
are
not
imaginary
sorrows
.
My
purpose
in
giving
this
story
to
the
world
is
twofold
.
I
have
found
that
my
first
,
and
in
many
respects
,
most
imperfect
work
"
Madeleine
,
"
is
nevertheless
that
which
has
won
the
greatest
share
of
interest
and
sympathy
;
a
result
which
I
may
,
I
think
,
safely
attribute
to
its
truth
,
and
which
has
induced
me
to
believe
that
on
similar
grounds
,
a
similar
distinction
might
be
awarded
to
a
heroine
very
different
indeed
from
"
Madeleine
,
"
but
whose
silent
virtues
have
perhaps
as
strong
a
claim
to
admiration
and
respect
.
I
had
also
another
purpose
,
and
though
I
mention
it
last
,
it
was
that
which
mainly
contributed
to
make
me
intrude
on
public
attention
;
I
wished
to
show
the
intellectual
,
the
educated
,
the
fortunate
,
that
minds
which
they
are
apt
to
slight
as
narrow
,
that
lives
which
they
pity
as
moving
in
the
straight
and
gloomy
paths
of
mediocrity
,
are
often
blessed
and
graced
beyond
the
usual
lot
,
with
those
lovely
aspirations
towards
better
deeds
and
immortal
things
,
without
which
life
is
indeed
a
thing
of
little
worth
;
cold
and
dull
as
a
sunless
day
.
JULIA
KAVANAGH
.
LONDON
:
DECEMBER
1855.
CHAPTER
I
.
In
one
of
the
many
little
suburbs
which
cling
to
the
outskirts
of
London
,
there
is
a
silent
and
grass-grown
street
,
of
aspect
both
quiet
and
quaint
.
The
houses
are
crazy
,
old
,
and
brown
,
of
every
height
and
every
size
;
many
are
untenanted
.
Some
years
ago
one
was
internally
destroyed
by
fire
.
It
was
not
thought
worth
rebuilding
.
There
it
still
stands
,
gaunt
and
grim
,
looking
for
all
the
world
,
with
its
broken
or
dust-stained
windows
,
like
a
town
deserted
after
a
sacking
.
This
street
is
surrounded
by
populous
courts
and
alleys
,
by
stirring
thoroughfares
,
by
roads
full
of
activity
and
commerce
;
yet
somehow
or
other
,
all
the
noise
of
life
,
all
its
tumult
and
agitation
,
here
seem
to
die
away
to
silence
and
repose
.
Few
people
,
even
amongst
the
poor
,
and
the
neighbourhood
is
a
poor
one
,
care
to
reside
in
it
,
while
they
can
be
lodged
as
cheaply
close
by
,
and
more
to
their
taste
.
Some
think
that
the
old
square
at
the
end
,
with
its
ancient
,
nodding
trees
,
is
close
and
gloomy
;
others
have
heard
strange
noises
in
the
house
that
has
suffered
from
fire
,
and
are
sure
it
is
haunted
;
and
some
again
do
not
like
the
silent
,
deserted
look
of
the
place
,
and
cannot
get
over
the
fancy
that
,
if
no
one
will
live
in
it
,
it
must
be
because
it
is
unlucky
.
And
thus
it
daily
decays
more
and
more
,
and
daily
seems
to
grow
more
silent
.
The
appearance
of
the
few
houses
that
are
inhabited
,
says
little
in
favour
of
this
unfortunate
street
.
In
one
,
a
tailor
has
taken
up
his
abode
.
He
is
a
pale
,
serious
man
,
who
stitches
at
his
board
in
the
window
the
whole
day
long
,
cheered
by
the
occasional
song
of
a
thrush
,
hopping
in
its
osier
cage
.
This
tailor
,
Samuel
Hopkins
yclept
,
lives
by
repairing
damaged
vestments
.
He
once
made
a
coat
,
and
boasts
—
with
how
much
truth
is
known
to
his
own
heart
—
that
he
likewise
cut
out
,
fashioned
,
and
fitted
,
a
pair
of
blue
nether
garments
.
Further
on
,
at
the
corner
of
the
square
,
stands
the
house
of
Mrs.
Adams
,
an
aged
widow
,
who
keeps
a
small
school
,
which
,
on
her
brass
board
,
she
emphatically
denominates
her
"
Establishment
for
Young
Ladies
.
"
This
house
has
an
unmistakeable
air
of
literary
dirt
and
neglect
;
the
area
and
kitchen
windows
are
encumbered
with
the
accumulated
mud
and
dust
of
years
;
from
the
attic
casement
,
a
little
red-haired
servant-girl
is
ever
gaping
;
and
on
hot
summer
afternoons
,
when
the
parlour
windows
are
left
open
,
there
is
a
glimpse
within
of
a
dingy
school-mistress
,
and
still
more
dingy
school-room
,
with
a
few
pupils
who
sit
straggling
on
half-a-dozen
benches
,
conning
their
lessons
with
a
murmuring
hum
.
With
one
exception
,
there
is
no
other
sign
of
commerce
,
trade
,
or
profession
in
the
whole
street
.
For
all
an
outward
glance
can
reveal
to
the
contrary
,
the
people
who
live
there
are
so
very
rich
that
they
do
not
need
to
work
at
all
,
or
so
very
genteel
in
their
decay
,
that
if
they
do
work
,
they
must
do
it
in
a
hidden
,
skulking
,
invisible
sort
of
fashion
,
or
else
be
irretrievably
disgraced
.
The
solitary
exception
to
which
we
have
alluded
,
exists
,
or
rather
existed
,
for
though
we
speak
in
the
present
,
we
write
in
the
past
by
some
years
,
in
one
of
the
smallest
houses
in
the
street
.
A
little
six-roomed
house
it
was
,
exactly
facing
the
dreary
haunted
mansion
,
and
exposed
to
all
the
noises
aforesaid
.
It
was
,
also
,
to
say
the
truth
,
an
abode
of
poor
and
mean
aspect
.
In
the
window
hung
a
dress-maker
's
board
,
on
which
was
modestly
inscribed
,
with
a
list
of
prices
,
the
name
of
—
"
RACHEL
GRAY
.
"
It
was
accompanied
with
patterns
of
yellow
paper
sleeves
,
trimmed
in
every
colour
,
an
old
book
of
fashions
,
and
beautiful
and
bright
,
as
if
reared
in
wood
or
meadow
,
a
pot
of
yellow
crocuses
in
bloom
.
They
were
closing
now
,
for
evening
was
drawing
in
,
and
they
knew
the
hour
.
They
had
opened
to
light
in
the
dingy
parlour
within
,
and
which
we
will
now
enter
.
It
was
but
a
little
room
,
and
the
soft
gloom
of
a
spring
twilight
half-filled
it
.
The
furniture
though
poor
and
old-fashioned
,
was
scrupulously
clean
;
and
it
shone
again
in
the
flickering
fire-light
.
A
few
discoloured
prints
in
black
frames
hung
against
the
walls
;
two
or
three
broken
china
ornaments
adorned
the
wooden
mantel-shelf
,
which
was
,
moreover
,
decorated
with
a
little
dark-looking
mirror
in
a
rim
of
tarnished
gold
.
By
the
fire
an
elderly
woman
of
grave
and
stern
aspect
,
but
who
had
once
been
handsome
,
sat
reading
the
newspaper
.
Near
the
window
,
two
apprentices
sewed
,
under
the
superintendence
of
Rachel
Gray
.
A
mild
ray
of
light
fell
on
her
pale
face
,
and
bending
figure
.
She
sewed
on
,
serious
and
still
,
and
the
calm
gravity
of
her
aspect
harmonized
with
the
silence
of
the
little
parlour
which
nothing
disturbed
,
save
the
ticking
of
an
old
clock
behind
the
door
,
the
occasional
rustling
of
Mrs.
Gray
's
newspaper
,
and
the
continuous
and
monotonous
sound
of
stitching
.
Rachel
Gray
looked
upwards
of
thirty
,
yet
she
was
younger
by
some
years
.
She
was
a
tall
,
thin
,
and
awkward
woman
,
sallow
and
faded
before
her
time
.
She
was
not
,
and
had
never
been
handsome
,
yet
there
was
a
patient
seriousness
in
the
lines
of
her
face
,
which
,
when
it
caught
the
eye
,
arrested
it
at
once
,
and
kept
it
long
.
Her
brow
,
too
,
was
broad
and
intellectual
;
her
eyes
were
very
fine
,
though
their
look
was
dreamy
and
abstracted
;
and
her
smile
,
when
she
did
smile
,
which
was
not
often
,
for
she
was
slightly
deaf
and
spoke
little
,
was
pleasant
and
very
sweet
.
She
sewed
on
,
as
we
have
said
,
abstracted
and
serious
,
when
gradually
,
for
even
in
observation
she
was
slow
,
the
yellow
crocuses
attracted
her
attention
.
She
looked
at
them
meditatively
,
and
watched
them
closing
,
with
the
decline
of
day
.
And
,
at
length
,
as
if
she
had
not
understood
,
until
then
,
what
was
going
on
before
her
,
she
smiled
and
admiringly
exclaimed
:
"
Now
do
look
at
the
creatures
,
mother
!
"
Mrs.
Gray
glanced
up
from
her
newspaper
,
and
snuffed
rather
disdainfully
.
"
Lawk
,
Rachel
!
"
she
said
,
"
you
do
n't
mean
to
call
crocuses
creatures
—
do
you
?
I
'll
tell
you
what
though
,
"
she
added
,
with
a
doleful
shake
of
the
head
,
"
I
do
n't
know
what
Her
Majesty
thinks
;
but
I
say
the
country
ca
n't
stand
it
much
longer
.
"
Mrs.
Gray
had
been
cook
in
a
Prime
Minister
's
household
,
and
this
had
naturally
given
her
a
political
turn
.
"
The
Lord
has
taught
you
,
"
murmured
Rachel
,
bending
over
the
flowers
with
something
like
awe
,
and
a
glow
spread
over
her
sallow
cheek
,
and
there
came
a
light
to
her
large
brown
eyes
.
Of
the
two
apprentices
—
one
a
sickly
,
fretful
girl
of
sixteen
,
heard
her
not
;
she
went
on
sewing
,
and
the
very
way
in
which
she
drew
her
needle
and
thread
was
peevish
.
The
other
apprentice
did
hear
Rachel
,
and
she
looked
,
or
rather
stared
at
the
dress-maker
,
with
grim
wonder
.
Indeed
,
there
was
something
particularly
grim
about
this
young
maiden
—
a
drear
stolidity
that
defies
describing
.
A
pure
Saxon
she
was
—
no
infusion
of
Celtic
,
or
Danish
,
or
Norman
blood
had
lightened
the
native
weight
of
her
nature
.
She
was
young
,
yet
she
already
went
through
life
settling
everything
,
and
living
in
a
moral
tower
of
most
uninviting
aspect
.
But
though
Jane
settled
everything
,
she
did
not
profess
to
understand
everything
;
and
when
,
as
happened
every
now
and
then
,
Rachel
Gray
came
out
with
such
remarks
as
that
above
recorded
,
Jane
felt
confounded
.
"
She
could
n't
make
out
Miss
Gray
—
that
she
could
n't
.
"
"
I
'm
so
tired
!
"
peevishly
said
Mary
,
the
fretful
apprentice
.
At
once
Rachel
kindly
observed
:
"
Put
by
your
work
,
dear
.
"
Again
Mrs.
Gray
snuffed
,
and
came
out
with
:
"
Lawk
!
she
's
always
grummy
!
"
Mary
tossed
away
her
work
,
folded
her
arms
,
and
looked
sullen
.
Jane
,
the
grim
apprentice
,
drew
her
needle
and
thread
twice
as
fast
as
before
.
"
Thank
Heaven
!
"
she
piously
thought
,
"
I
am
not
lazy
,
nor
sickly
,
and
I
ca
n't
see
much
difference
between
the
two
—
that
I
ca
n't
.
"
Rachel
's
work
lay
in
her
lap
;
she
sat
looking
at
the
crocuses
until
she
fell
in
a
dream
far
in
the
past
.
For
the
past
is
our
realm
,
free
to
all
,
high
or
low
,
who
wish
to
dwell
in
it
.
There
we
may
set
aside
the
bitterness
and
the
sorrow
;
there
we
may
choose
none
but
the
pleasing
visions
,
the
bright
,
sunny
spots
where
it
is
sweet
to
linger
.
The
Future
,
fair
as
Hope
may
make
it
,
is
a
dream
,
we
claim
it
in
vain
.
The
Present
,
harsh
or
delightful
,
must
be
endured
,
yet
it
flies
from
us
before
we
can
say
"
it
is
gone
.
"
But
the
Past
is
ours
to
call
up
at
our
will
.
It
is
vivid
and
distinct
as
truth
.
In
good
and
in
evil
,
it
is
irrevocable
;
the
divine
seal
has
been
set
upon
it
for
evermore
.
In
that
Book
—
a
pure
and
holy
one
was
hers
—
though
not
without
a
few
dark
and
sad
pages
—
Rachel
Gray
often
read
.
And
now
,
the
sight
of
the
yellow
flower
of
spring
took
her
back
,
to
a
happy
day
of
her
childhood
.
She
saw
herself
a
little
girl
again
,
with
her
younger
sister
Jane
,
and
the
whole
school
to
which
they
belonged
,
out
on
a
holiday
treat
in
a
green
forest
.
Near
that
forest
there
was
a
breezy
field
;
and
there
it
was
that
Rachel
first
saw
the
yellow
crocuses
bloom
.
She
remembered
her
joy
,
her
delight
at
the
wonderful
beauty
of
the
wild
field
flowers
—
how
she
and
Jane
heaped
their
laps
with
them
,
and
sat
down
at
the
task
;
and
how
,
when
tired
with
the
pleasant
labour
,
they
rested
,
as
many
yellow
crocuses
as
before
seemed
to
blow
and
play
in
the
breeze
around
them
.
And
she
remembered
,
too
,
how
,
even
then
,
there
passed
across
her
childish
mind
,
a
silent
wonder
at
their
multitude
,
an
undefined
awe
for
the
power
of
the
Almighty
Hand
who
made
the
little
flower
,
and
bade
it
bloom
in
the
green
fields
,
beneath
the
misty
azure
of
a
soft
spring
sky
.
And
then
swiftly
followed
other
thoughts
.
Where
was
little
,
blue-eyed
Jane
,
her
younger
sister
,
her
little
companion
and
friend
?
Sleeping
in
a
London
grave
,
far
from
the
pleasant
and
sunny
spots
where
God
's
wild
flowers
bloom
.
And
she
—
why
she
was
pursuing
her
path
in
life
,
doing
the
will
of
God
Almighty
.
"
And
what
more
,
"
thought
Rachel
,
"
can
I
hope
or
wish
for
?
"
"
Now
,
Rachel
,
what
are
you
moping
about
?
"
tartly
asked
her
mother
,
who
,
though
half
blind
,
had
a
quick
eye
for
her
daughter
's
meditative
fits
.
Abruptly
fled
the
dream
.
The
childish
memories
,
the
holy
remembrance
of
the
dead
,
sank
back
once
more
to
their
quiet
resting-place
in
Rachel
's
heart
.
Wakening
up
with
a
half-lightened
start
,
she
hastily
resumed
her
work
.
"
I
do
n't
think
there
ever
was
such
a
moper
as
that
girl
,
"
grumbled
Mrs.
Gray
to
herself
.
Rachel
smiled
cheerfully
in
her
mother
's
face
.
But
as
to
telling
her
that
she
had
been
thinking
of
the
yellow
crocuses
,
and
of
the
spots
they
grew
in
,
and
of
the
power
and
greatness
and
glory
of
Him
who
made
them
,
Rachel
did
not
dream
of
it
.
"
There
's
Mrs.
Brown
,
"
said
Mrs.
Gray
,
as
a
dark
figure
passed
by
the
window
.
"
Go
,
and
open
the
door
,
Mary
.
"
Mary
did
not
stir
,
upon
which
Jane
officiously
rose
and
said
,
"
I
'll
go
.
"
She
went
,
and
in
came
,
or
rather
bounced
,
Mrs.
Brown
—
a
short
,
stout
,
vulgar-looking
woman
of
fifty
or
so
,
who
at
once
filled
the
room
with
noise
.
"
La
,
Mrs.
Gray
!
"
she
began
breathlessly
,
"
What
do
you
think
?
There
's
a
new
one
.
I
have
brought
you
the
paper
;
third
column
,
second
page
,
first
article
,
'
The
Church
in
a
Mess
.
'
I
thought
you
'd
like
to
see
it
.
Well
,
Rachel
,
and
how
are
you
getting
on
?
Mrs.
James
's
dress
do
n't
fit
her
a
bit
,
and
she
says
she
'll
not
give
you
another
stitch
of
work
:
but
la
!
you
do
n't
care
—
do
you
?
Why
,
Mary
,
how
yellow
you
look
to
day
.
I
declare
you
're
as
yellow
as
the
crocuses
in
the
pot
.
Ai
n't
she
now
,
Jane
?
And
so
you
're
not
married
yet
—
are
you
,
my
girl
?
"
she
added
,
giving
the
grim
apprentice
a
slap
on
the
back
.
Jane
eyed
her
quietly
.
"
You
'd
better
not
do
that
again
,
Mrs.
Brown
,
"
she
said
,
with
some
sternness
,
"
and
as
to
getting
married
:
why
,
s'pose
you
mind
your
own
business
!
"
Mrs.
Brown
threw
herself
back
in
her
chair
,
and
laughed
until
the
tears
ran
down
her
face
.
When
she
recovered
,
it
was
to
address
Mrs.
Gray
.
"
La
,
Mrs.
Gray
!
ca
n't
you
find
it
?
"
she
said
.
"
Why
,
I
told
you
,
third
column
,
second
page
,
'
The
Church
in
a
Mess
.
'
You
ca
n't
miss.
I
have
put
a
pin
in
it
.
"
Spite
of
this
kind
attention
,
Mrs.
Gray
had
not
found
"
The
Church
in
a
Mess
.
"
"
Lawk
,
Mrs.
Brown
!
"
she
said
,
impatiently
,
"
where
's
the
use
of
always
raking
up
them
sort
of
things
!
The
badness
of
others
do
n't
make
us
good
—
does
it
?
It
's
the
taxes
I
think
of
,
Mrs.
Brown
;
it
's
the
taxes
!
Now
,
Rachel
,
where
are
you
going
?
"
"
I
am
going
to
take
home
this
work
,
mother
.
"
Unable
to
find
fault
with
this
,
Mrs.
Gray
muttered
to
herself
.
She
was
not
ill-natured
,
but
fault-finding
was
with
her
an
inveterate
habit
.
"
La
!
what
a
muff
that
girl
of
yours
is
,
Mrs.
Gray
!
"
charitably
observed
Mrs.
Brown
,
as
Rachel
left
the
room
.
For
Mrs.
Brown
being
Mrs.
Gray
's
cousin
,
landlady
,
and
neighbour
,
took
the
right
to
say
everything
she
pleased
.
"
She
ai
n't
particlerly
bright
,
"
confessed
Mrs.
Gray
,
poking
the
fire
,
"
but
you
see
,
Mrs.
Brown
—
"
Rachel
closed
the
door
,
and
heard
no
more
.
Whilst
Mrs.
Brown
was
talking
,
she
had
been
tying
up
her
parcel
.
She
now
put
on
her
bonnet
and
cloak
,
and
went
out
.
It
is
sweet
,
after
the
toil
of
a
day
,
to
breathe
fresh
air
,
London
air
even
though
it
should
be
.
It
is
sweet
,
after
the
long
closeness
of
the
work-room
,
to
walk
out
and
feel
the
sense
of
life
and
liberty
.
A
new
being
seemed
poured
into
Rachel
as
she
went
on
.
"
I
wonder
people
do
not
like
this
street
,
"
she
thought
,
pausing
at
the
corner
to
look
back
on
the
grey
,
quiet
line
she
was
leaving
behind
.
"
They
call
it
dull
,
and
to
me
it
is
so
calm
and
sweet
.
"
And
she
sighed
to
enter
the
noisy
and
populous
world
before
her
.
She
hastily
crossed
it
,
and
only
slackened
her
pace
when
she
reached
the
wide
streets
,
the
mansions
with
gardens
to
them
,
the
broad
and
silent
squares
of
the
west
end
.
She
stopped
before
a
handsome
house
,
the
abode
of
a
rich
lady
who
occasionally
employed
her
,
because
she
worked
cheaper
than
a
fashionable
dress-maker
,
and
as
well
.
Mrs.
Moxton
was
engaged
—
visitors
were
with
her
—
Rachel
had
to
wait
—
she
sat
in
the
hall
.
A
stylish
footman
,
who
quickly
detected
that
she
was
shy
and
nervous
,
entertained
himself
and
his
companions
,
by
making
her
ten
times
more
so
.
His
speech
was
rude
—
his
jests
were
insolent
.
Rachel
was
meek
and
humble
;
but
she
could
feel
insult
;
and
that
pride
,
from
which
few
of
God
's
creatures
are
free
,
rose
within
her
,
and
flushed
her
pale
cheek
with
involuntary
displeasure
.
At
length
,
the
infliction
ceased
.
Mrs.
Moxton
's
visitors
left
;
Rachel
was
called
in
.
Her
first
impulse
had
been
to
complain
of
the
footman
to
his
mistress
;
but
mercy
checked
the
temptation
;
it
might
make
him
lose
his
place
.
Poor
Rachel
!
she
little
knew
that
this
footman
could
have
been
insolent
to
his
mistress
herself
,
had
he
so
chosen
.
He
was
six
foot
three
,
and
,
in
his
livery
of
brown
and
gold
,
looked
splendid
.
In
short
,
he
was
invaluable
,
and
not
to
be
parted
with
on
any
account
.
Mrs.
Moxton
was
habitually
a
well-bred
,
good-natured
woman
;
but
every
rule
has
its
exceptions
.
Rachel
found
her
very
much
out
of
temper
.
To
say
the
truth
,
one
of
her
recent
visitors
was
in
the
Mrs.
Brown
style
;
Mrs.
Moxton
had
been
provoked
and
irritated
;
and
Rachel
paid
for
it
.
"
Now
,
Miss
Gray
,
"
she
said
,
with
solemn
indignation
,
"
what
do
you
mean
by
bringing
back
work
in
this
style
?
That
flounce
is
at
least
an
inch
too
high
!
I
thought
you
an
intelligent
young
person
—
but
really
,
really
!
"
"
It
's
very
easily
altered
,
ma'am
,
"
said
Rachel
,
submissively
.
"
You
need
,
not
trouble
,
"
gravely
replied
Mrs.
Moxton
.
"
I
owe
you
something
;
you
may
call
with
your
bill
to-morrow
.
"
"
I
shall
not
be
able
to
call
to-morrow
,
ma'am
;
and
if
it
were
convenient
now
—
"
"
It
is
not
convenient
now
!
"
said
Mrs.
Morton
,
rather
haughtily
.
She
thought
Rachel
the
most
impertinent
creature
she
had
ever
met
with
—
that
is
to
say
,
next
to
that
irritating
Mrs.
Maberly
,
who
had
repeated
that
provoking
thing
about
Mr.
So-and-So
.
Rachel
sighed
and
left
the
house
like
all
shy
persons
,
she
was
easily
depressed
.
It
was
night
when
she
stood
once
more
in
the
street
.
Above
the
pale
outline
of
the
houses
spread
a
sky
of
dark
azure
.
A
star
shone
in
it
,
a
little
star
;
but
it
burned
with
as
brilliant
a
light
as
any
great
planet
.
Rachel
gazed
at
it
earnestly
,
and
the
shadow
passed
away
.
"
What
matter
!
"
she
thought
,
"
even
though
a
man
in
livery
made
a
jest
of
me
—
even
though
a
lady
in
silk
was
scornful
.
What
matter
!
God
made
that
star
for
me
as
well
as
for
her
!
Besides
,
"
she
added
,
checking
a
thought
which
might
,
she
feared
,
be
too
proud
,
"
besides
,
who
,
and
what
am
I
,
that
I
should
repine
?
"
CHAPTER
II
.
Rachel
went
on
;
but
she
did
not
turn
homewards
.
She
left
the
broad
and
airy
strait
,
where
Mrs.
Moxton
lived
.
She
entered
a
narrow
one
,
long
and
gloomy
.
It
led
her
into
a
large
and
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
she
stood
in
the
heart
of
a
populous
neighbourhood
.
Cars
were
dashing
along
the
pavement
;
night
vendors
were
screaming
at
their
stalls
,
where
tallow
lights
flared
in
the
night
wind
.
Drunken
men
were
shouting
in
gin
palaces
,
wretched
looking
women
were
coming
out
of
pawnbroker
's
shops
,
and
precocious
London
children
were
pouring
into
a
theatre
,
where
their
morals
were
to
be
improved
,
and
their
understandings
were
to
be
enlightened
,
at
the
moderate
rate
of
a
penny
a
head
.
Rachel
sighed
at
all
she
saw
,
and
divined
.
"
Poor
things
!
"
she
thought
,
"
if
they
only
knew
better
.
"
But
this
compassionate
feeling
did
not
exclude
a
sort
of
fear
.
Rachel
kept
as
much
as
she
could
in
the
gloomy
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
of
a
public-house
,
caught
sight
of
her
timid
figure
.
At
once
,
one
of
them
—
she
was
more
than
half-intoxicated
—
burst
out
into
a
loud
shouting
laugh
,
and
,
seizing
Rachel
's
arm
,
swung
her
round
on
the
pavement
.
"
Let
me
go
!
"
said
Rachel
"
I
am
in
a
hurry
.
"
She
trembled
from
head
to
foot
,
and
vainly
tried
to
put
on
the
appearance
of
a
courage
she
felt
not
.
"
Give
me
something
for
drink
then
,
"
insolently
said
the
woman
.
Rachel
's
momentary
fear
was
already
over
;
she
had
said
to
herself
,
"
and
what
can
happen
to
me
without
God
's
will
?
"
and
the
thought
had
nerved
her
.
She
looked
very
quietly
at
the
woman
's
flushed
and
bloated
face
,
and
as
quietly
she
said
:
"
You
have
drunk
too
much
already
;
let
me
go
.
"
"
No
I
wo
n't
,
"
hoarsely
replied
her
tormentor
,
and
she
used
language
which
,
though
it
could
not
stain
the
pure
heart
of
her
who
heard
it
,
brought
the
blush
of
anger
and
shame
to
her
cheek
.
"
Let
me
go
!
"
she
said
,
trembling
this
time
with
indignation
.
"
Yes
—
yes
,
let
the
young
woman
go
,
Molly
,
"
observed
one
of
the
woman
's
companions
who
had
hitherto
looked
on
apathetically
.
She
officiously
disengaged
Rachel
's
arm
,
whispering
as
she
did
so
:
"
You
'd
better
cut
now
—
I
'll
hold
her
.
Molly
's
awful
when
she
's
got
them
fits
on
.
"
Rachel
hastened
away
,
followed
by
the
derisive
shout
of
the
whole
group
.
She
turned
down
the
first
street
she
found
;
it
was
dark
and
silent
,
yet
Rachel
did
not
stop
until
she
reached
the
very
end
of
it
;
then
she
paused
to
breathe
a
while
,
but
when
she
put
her
hand
in
her
pocket
for
her
handkerchief
it
was
gone
;
with
it
had
disappeared
her
purse
,
and
two
or
three
shillings
.
Rachel
saw
and
understood
it
all
—
the
friend
of
Molly
,
her
officious
deliverer
,
was
a
pick-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
thoroughfare
where
three
streets
met
—
three
narrow
streets
that
scarcely
broke
on
the
surrounding
gloom
.
Hesitatingly
she
took
the
first
.
It
happened
to
be
that
which
she
wanted
.
When
Rachel
recognized
it
,
her
pace
slackened
,
her
heart
beat
,
her
colour
came
and
went
,
she
was
much
moved
;
she
prayed
too
—
she
prayed
with
her
whole
heart
,
but
she
walked
very
slowly
.
And
thus
she
reached
at
length
a
lonely
little
street
not
quite
so
gloomy
as
that
which
she
had
been
following
.
She
paused
at
the
corner
shop
for
a
moment
.
It
was
a
second-hand
ironmonger
's
;
rusty
iron
locks
,
and
rusty
tongs
and
shovels
,
and
rusty
goods
of
every
description
kept
grim
company
to
tattered
books
and
a
few
old
pictures
,
that
had
contracted
an
iron
look
in
their
vicinity
.
A
solitary
gas-light
lit
the
whole
.
Rachel
stopped
and
looked
at
the
books
,
and
at
the
pictures
,
but
only
for
a
few
seconds
.
If
she
stood
there
,
it
was
not
to
gaze
with
passing
curiosity
on
those
objects
;
she
knew
them
all
of
old
,
as
she
knew
every
stone
of
that
street
;
it
was
to
wait
until
the
flush
of
her
cheek
had
subsided
,
and
the
beating
of
her
heart
had
grown
still
.
At
length
she
went
on
.
When
she
reached
the
middle
of
the
street
she
paused
;
she
stood
near
a
dark
house
,
shrouded
within
the
gloom
of
its
doorway
.
Opposite
her
,
on
the
other
side
of
the
way
,
was
a
small
shop
lit
from
within
.
From
where
she
stood
,
Rachel
could
see
everything
that
passed
in
that
abode
.
A
carpenter
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
deeply
wrinkled
,
but
strong
and
hale
for
his
years
.
As
he
bent
over
his
work
,
the
light
of
the
candle
vividly
defined
his
angular
figure
and
sharp
features
.
Rachel
looked
at
him
;
her
eyes
filled
with
tears
,
she
brushed
them
away
with
her
hand
,
for
they
prevented
her
from
seeing
,
but
they
returned
thicker
and
faster
.
"
Oh
!
my
father
,
my
father
!
"
she
cried
within
her
heart
,
"
why
must
I
stand
here
in
darkness
looking
at
you
?
why
cannot
I
go
in
to
you
,
like
other
daughters
to
their
father
?
why
do
you
not
love
your
child
?
"
Her
heart
seemed
full
to
bursting
;
her
eyes
overflowed
,
her
breathing
was
broken
by
sobs
,
and
in
the
simple
and
pathetic
words
of
Scripture
,
she
turned
away
her
head
,
and
raised
her
voice
and
wept
aloud
.
Rachel
Gray
was
the
daughter
of
the
grey-headed
carpenter
by
a
first
wife
;
soon
after
whose
death
he
had
married
again
.
Mrs.
Gray
was
his
second
wife
,
and
the
mother
of
his
youngest
daughter
.
She
was
kind
in
her
way
,
but
that
was
at
the
best
a
harsh
one
.
Rachel
was
a
timid
,
retiring
child
,
plain
,
awkward
,
and
sallow
,
with
nothing
to
attract
the
eye
,
and
little
to
please
the
fancy
.
Mrs.
Gray
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
his
knee
;
never
had
he
kissed
or
caressed
her
;
never
addressed
to
her
one
word
of
fondness
,
or
even
of
common
kindness
.
Neither
,
it
is
true
,
had
he
ill-used
nor
ill-treated
her
;
he
felt
no
unnatural
aversion
for
his
own
flesh
and
blood
,
nothing
beyond
a
deep
and
incurable
indifference
.
For
her
,
his
heart
remained
as
a
barren
and
arid
soil
on
which
the
sweet
flower
of
love
could
never
bloom
.
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
.
For
,
though
it
may
be
sweeter
to
love
,
than
to
be
loved
,
yet
it
is
hard
always
to
give
and
never
to
receive
in
return
;
and
when
Jane
died
,
Rachel
knew
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
her
life
had
left
the
sky
.
It
burned
in
other
heavens
with
more
celestial
light
;
but
it
shone
no
longer
over
her
path
—
to
cheer
,
to
comfort
,
to
illume
.
Mrs.
Gray
was
kind
;
after
her
own
fashion
,
she
loved
Rachel
.
They
had
grieved
and
suffered
together
from
the
same
sorrows
,
and
kindred
griefs
can
bind
the
farthest
hearts
;
but
beyond
this
there
was
no
sympathy
between
them
,
and
Mrs.
Gray
's
affection
,
such
as
it
was
,
was
free
from
a
particle
of
tenderness
.
She
was
not
naturally
a
patient
or
an
amiable
woman
;
and
she
had
endured
great
and
unmerited
wrongs
from
Rachel
's
father
.
Perhaps
,
she
would
have
been
more
than
human
,
had
she
not
occasionally
reminded
her
step-daughter
of
Mr.
Thomas
Gray
's
misdeeds
,
and
now
and
then
taunted
her
with
a
"
He
never
cared
about
you
—
you
know
.
"
Aye
—
Rachel
knew
it
well
enough
.
She
knew
that
her
own
father
loved
her
not
—
that
though
he
had
cared
little
for
Jane
,
not
being
a
tender-hearted
man
,
still
that
he
had
cared
somewhat
,
for
that
younger
,
and
more
favoured
child
.
That
before
he
left
England
,
he
would
occasionally
caress
her
;
that
when
she
died
,
tears
had
flowed
down
his
stern
cheek
on
hearing
the
tidings
,
and
that
the
words
had
escaped
him
:
"
I
am
sorry
I
was
not
there
.
"
All
this
Rachel
knew
.
Her
mind
was
too
noble
,
and
too
firm
for
jealousy
;
her
heart
too
pious
,
and
too
humble
for
rebellious
sorrow
;
but
yet
she
found
it
hard
to
bear
,
and
very
hard
to
be
reminded
of
it
as
a
reproach
and
a
shame
.
Was
it
not
enough
that
she
could
not
win
the
affection
she
most
longed
for
?
She
was
devoted
to
her
step-mother
;
she
had
fondly
loved
her
younger
sister
;
but
earlier
born
in
her
heart
than
these
two
loves
,
deeper
,
and
more
solemn
,
was
the
love
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
had
no
power
to
quench
a
feeling
,
to
which
love
in
kindness
had
not
given
birth
.
She
loved
because
it
was
her
destiny
;
because
,
as
she
once
said
herself
,
when
speaking
of
another
:
"
A
daughter
's
heart
clings
to
her
father
with
boundless
charity
.
"
Young
as
she
was
when
Thomas
Gray
left
his
home
,
Rachel
remembered
him
well
.
His
looks
,
the
very
tones
of
his
voice
,
were
present
to
her
.
Not
once
,
during
the
years
of
his
absence
,
did
the
thought
of
her
father
cease
to
haunt
her
heart
.
When
,
from
the
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
where
he
lived
,
and
many
a
day
walked
for
weary
miles
in
order
to
pass
by
her
father
's
door
.
But
she
never
crossed
the
threshold
,
never
spoke
to
him
,
never
let
him
know
who
she
was
,
until
the
sad
day
when
she
bore
to
him
the
news
of
her
sister
's
death
.
He
received
her
with
his
usual
coldness
—
in
such
emotion
as
he
showed
,
she
had
no
share
,
like
strangers
they
had
met
—
like
strangers
they
parted
.
But
,
though
his
coldness
and
her
own
timidity
prevented
nearer
advances
,
they
did
not
prevent
Rachel
from
often
seeking
the
remote
neighbourhood
and
gloomy
street
where
her
father
dwelt
.
It
was
a
pleasure
,
though
a
sad
one
,
to
look
on
his
face
,
even
if
she
went
not
near
him
;
and
thus
it
happened
,
that
on
this
dark
night
she
stood
in
the
sheltering
obscurity
of
the
well-known
doorway
,
gazing
on
the
solitary
old
man
,
yet
venturing
not
to
cross
the
narrow
street
.
The
wind
blew
from
the
east
.
It
was
cold
and
piercing
;
yet
it
could
not
draw
Rachel
from
her
vigil
of
love
.
Still
she
looked
and
lingered
,
wishing
she
knew
not
what
;
and
hoping
against
hope
.
Thus
she
stayed
,
until
Thomas
Gray
left
his
work
,
put
up
the
shutters
,
then
left
the
house
by
the
private
door
,
and
slowly
walked
away
to
the
nearest
public-house
.
The
shop
was
once
more
a
blank
in
the
dark
street
.
Rachel
looked
at
the
deserted
dwelling
and
sighed
;
than
softly
and
silently
she
stole
away
.
CHAPTER
III
.
It
was
late
when
Rachel
reached
home
.
She
found
her
step-mother
sitting
up
for
her
,
rigid
,
amazed
y
indignant
—
so
indignant
,
indeed
,
that
though
she
rated
Rachel
soundly
for
her
audacity
in
presuming
to
stay
out
so
long
without
previous
leave
obtained
,
she
quite
forgot
to
inquire
particularly
why
she
had
not
come
home
earlier
.
A
series
of
disasters
had
been
occasioned
by
Rachel
's
absence
;
Jane
and
Mary
had
quarrelled
,
Mrs.
Gray
had
been
kept
an
hour
waiting
for
her
supper
,
the
beer
had
naturally
become
flat
and
worthless
,
and
whilst
Mrs.
Gray
was
sleeping
—
and
how
could
she
help
sleeping
,
being
quite
faint
and
exhausted
with
her
long
vigil
—
puss
had
got
up
on
the
table
and
walked
off
with
Rachel
's
polony
.
There
was
a
touch
of
quiet
humour
in
Rachel
,
and
with
a
demure
smile
,
she
internally
wondered
why
it
was
precisely
her
polony
that
had
been
selected
by
puss
,
but
aloud
she
merely
declared
that
she
could
make
an
excellent
supper
on
bread
and
beer
.
Mrs.
Gray
,
who
held
the
reins
of
domestic
management
in
their
little
household
,
assured
her
that
she
had
better
,
for
that
nothing
else
was
she
going
to
get
;
she
sat
down
heroically
determined
to
eat
the
whole
of
her
polony
in
order
to
punish
and
provoke
her
step-daughter
;
but
somehow
or
other
the
half
of
that
dainty
had
,
before
the
end
of
the
meal
,
found
its
way
to
the
plate
of
Rachel
,
who
,
when
she
protested
against
this
act
of
generosity
,
was
imperiously
ordered
to
hold
her
tongue
,
which
order
she
did
not
dare
to
resist
;
for
if
Mrs.
Gray
's
heart
was
mellow
,
her
temper
was
sufficiently
tart
.
The
apprentices
had
long
been
gone
to
bed
;
as
soon
as
supper
was
over
,
Mrs.
Gray
intimated
to
Rachel
the
propriety
of
following
their
example
.
Rachel
ventured
to
demur
meekly
.
"
I
cannot
,
mother
—
I
have
work
to
finish
.
"
"
Then
better
have
sat
at
home
and
finished
it
,
than
have
gone
gadding
about
,
and
nearly
got
a
pitch
plaster
on
your
mouth
,
"
grumbled
Mrs.
Gray
,
who
was
a
firm
believer
in
pitch
plasters
,
and
abductions
,
and
highway
robberies
,
and
all
sorts
of
horrors
.
"
Mind
you
do
n't
set
the
house
a
fire
,
"
she
added
,
retiring
.
"
Why
,
mother
,
"
said
Rachel
,
smiling
,
"
you
treat
me
like
a
child
,
and
I
am
twenty-six
.
"
"
What
about
that
?
when
you
aint
got
no
more
sense
than
a
baby
.
"
Rachel
did
not
venture
to
dispute
,
a
proposition
so
distinctly
stated
.
She
remained
up
,
and
sat
sewing
until
her
work
was
finished
;
she
then
took
out
from
some
secret
repository
a
small
end
of
candle
,
lit
it
,
and
extinguished
the
long
candle
,
by
the
light
of
which
she
had
been
working
.
From
her
pocket
she
took
a
small
key
;
it
opened
a
work-box
,
whence
she
drew
a
shirt
collar
finely
stitched
;
she
worked
until
her
eyes
ached
,
but
she
heeded
it
not
,
until
they
closed
with
involuntary
fatigue
and
sleep
,
and
still
she
would
not
obey
the
voice
of
wearied
nature
;
still
she
stitched
for
love
,
like
the
poor
shirtmaker
for
bread
,
until
,
without
previous
warning
,
her
candle
end
suddenly
flickered
,
then
expired
in
its
socket
,
and
left
her
in
darkness
.
Rachel
gently
opened
the
window
,
and
partly
unclosed
the
shutter
;
the
moon
was
riding
in
the
sky
above
the
old
house
opposite
,
her
pale
clear
light
glided
over
its
brown
walls
and
the
quiet
street
,
down
into
the
silent
parlour
of
Rachel
.
She
looked
around
her
,
moved
at
seeing
familiar
objects
under
an
unusual
aspect
.
In
that
old
chair
she
had
often
seen
her
father
sitting
;
on
such
a
moonlight
night
as
this
she
and
Jane
,
then
already
declining
,
had
sat
by
the
window
,
and
looking
at
that
same
sky
,
had
talked
with
youthful
fervour
of
high
and
eternal
things
.
And
now
Jane
knew
the
divine
secrets
she
had
guessed
from
afar
,
and
Thomas
Gray
,
alas
!
was
a
stranger
and
an
alien
in
his
own
home
.
"
Who
knows
,
"
thought
Rachel
,
"
but
he
will
return
some
day
?
Who
knows
—
who
can
tell
?
Life
is
long
,
and
hope
is
eternal
.
Ah
!
if
he
should
come
back
,
even
though
he
never
looked
at
me
,
never
spoke
,
blessed
,
thrice
blessed
,
should
ever
be
held
the
day
...
"
And
a
prayer
,
not
framed
in
words
,
but
in
deep
feelings
,
gushed
like
a
pure
spring
from
her
inmost
heart
.
But
,
indeed
,
when
did
she
not
pray
?
When
was
God
divided
from
her
thoughts
?
When
did
prayer
fail
to
prompt
the
kind
,
gentle
words
that
fell
from
her
lips
,
or
to
lend
its
daily
grace
to
a
pure
and
blameless
life
?
For
to
her
,
God
was
not
what
He
,
alas
!
is
to
so
many
—
an
unapproachable
Deity
,
to
be
worshipped
from
afar
,
in
fear
and
trembling
,
or
a
cold
though
sublime
abstraction
.
No
,
Jesus
was
her
friend
,
her
counsellor
,
her
refuge
.
There
was
familiarity
and
tenderness
in
her
very
love
for
Him
;
and
,
though
she
scarcely
knew
it
herself
,
a
deep
and
fervent
sense
of
His
divine
humanity
of
those
thirty-three
years
of
earthly
life
,
of
toil
,
of
poverty
,
of
trouble
,
and
of
sorrow
which
move
our
very
hearts
within
us
,
when
we
look
from
Bethlehem
to
Calvary
,
from
the
lowly
birth
in
the
Manger
to
the
bitter
death
on
the
Cross
.
We
might
ask
,
were
these
the
pages
to
raise
such
questions
,
why
Jesus
is
not
more
loved
thus
—
as
a
friend
,
and
a
dear
one
,
rather
than
as
a
cold
master
to
be
served
,
not
for
love
,
but
for
wages
.
But
let
it
rest
.
Sufficient
is
it
for
us
to
know
that
not
thus
did
Rachel
Gray
love
him
,
but
with
a
love
in
which
humility
and
tenderness
equally
blended
.
After
a
meditative
pause
,
she
quietly
put
away
her
things
by
moonlight
,
then
again
closed
shutter
and
window
,
and
softly
stole
up
to
the
room
which
she
shared
with
her
step-mother
.
She
soon
fell
asleep
,
and
dreamed
that
she
had
gone
to
live
with
her
father
,
who
said
to
her
,
"
Rachel
!
Rachel
!
"
So
great
was
her
joy
,
that
she
awoke
.
She
found
her
mother
already
up
,
and
scolding
her
because
she
still
slept
.
"
Mother
,
"
asked
Rachel
,
leaning
up
on
one
elbow
,
"
was
it
you
who
called
me
,
Rachel
?
"
"
Why
aint
I
been
a
calling
of
you
this
last
hour
?
"
asked
Mrs.
Gray
,
with
much
asperity
.
Rachel
checked
a
sigh
,
and
rose
.
"
Get
up
Jane
—
get
up
Mary
,
"
said
Mrs.
Gray
,
rapping
soundly
at
the
room
door
of
the
two
apprentices
.
"
Let
them
sleep
a
little
longer
,
poor
young
things
!
"
implored
Rachel
.
"
No
,
that
I
wo
n't
,
"
replied
her
mother
,
with
great
determination
,
"
lazy
little
creatures
.
"
And
to
the
imminent
danger
of
her
own
knuckles
,
she
rapped
so
pertinaciously
,
that
Jane
and
Mary
were
unable
to
feign
deafness
,
and
replied
,
the
former
acting
as
spokeswoman
,
that
Mrs.
Gray
need
n't
be
making
all
that
noise
;
for
that
they
heard
her
,
and
were
getting
up
.
"
I
thought
I
'd
make
them
hear
me
,
"
muttered
Mrs.
Gray
,
hobbling
down
stairs
.
There
are
some
beings
who
lead
lives
so
calm
,
that
when
they
look
back
on
years
,
they
seem
to
read
the
story
of
a
few
days
;
and
of
these
was
Rachel
Gray
.
Life
for
her
flowed
dull
,
monotonous
and
quiet
,
as
that
of
a
nun
in
her
cloister
.
The
story
of
one
day
was
the
story
of
the
next
.
A
few
hopes
,
a
few
precious
thoughts
she
treasured
in
her
heart
;
but
outwardly
,
to
work
,
to
hear
idle
gossip
,
to
eat
,
drink
,
and
sleep
,
seemed
her
whole
portion
,
her
destiny
from
mom
till
night
,
from
birth
to
the
grave
.
Like
every
day
passed
this
day
.
When
it
grew
so
dark
that
she
could
see
no
more
to
work
,
she
put
her
task
by
,
and
softly
stole
away
to
a
little
back
room
up-stairs
.
It
was
a
very
small
room
indeed
,
with
a
bed
,
where
the
apprentices
slept
;
a
chest
of
drawers
,
a
table
,
and
two
chairs
:
—
many
a
closet
is
larger
.
Its
solitary
window
looked
out
on
the
little
yard
below
;
low
walls
,
against
which
grew
Rachel
's
stocks
and
wall-flowers
,
enclosed
it
.
From
the
next
house
,
there
came
the
laughter
and
the
screams
too
of
children
,
and
of
babies
;
and
from
a
neighbouring
forge
,
a
loud
,
yet
not
unmusical
clanking
,
with
which
now
and
then
,
blended
the
rude
voices
of
the
men
,
singing
snatches
of
popular
songs
.
Dimmed
by
the
smoke
of
the
forge
,
and
by
the
natural
heaviness
of
a
London
atmosphere
,
the
sky
enclosed
all
;
yet
,
even
through
the
smoke
and
haze
,
fair
rosy
gleams
of
the
setting
sun
shone
in
that
London
sky
,
and
at
the
zenith
there
was
a
space
of
pure
,
ethereal
blue
—
soft
,
and
very
far
from
sinful
and
suffering
earth
,
where
glittered
in
calm
beauty
a
large
and
tranquil
star
.
Rachel
sat
by
the
window
.
She
listened
to
earth
:
she
looked
at
Heaven
.
Her
heart
swelled
with
love
,
and
prayer
,
and
tenderness
,
and
hope
.
Tears
of
delight
filled
her
eyes
;
she
murmured
to
herself
verses
from
psalms
and
hymns
—
all
praising
God
,
all
telling
the
beauty
of
God
's
creation
.
Oh
!
pure
and
beautiful
,
indeed
,
would
be
the
story
of
these
your
evening
musings
,
if
we
could
lightly
tell
it
here
,
Rachel
Gray
.
Reader
,
if
to
learn
how
a
fine
nature
found
its
way
through
darkness
and
mist
,
and
some
suffering
to
the
highest
,
and
to
the
noblest
of
the
delights
God
has
granted
to
man
—
the
religious
and
the
intellectual
;
if
,
we
say
,
to
learn
this
give
you
pleasure
,
you
may
read
on
to
the
end
of
the
chapter
;
if
not
,
pass
on
at
once
to
the
next
.
These
pages
were
not
written
for
you
;
and
even
though
you
should
read
them
,
feel
and
understand
them
,
you
never
will
.
Our
life
is
twofold
;
and
of
that
double
life
,
which
,
like
all
of
us
,
Rachel
bore
within
her
,
we
have
as
yet
said
but
little
.
She
was
now
twenty
six
;
a
tall
,
thin
,
sallow
woman
,
ungraceful
,
of
shy
manners
,
and
but
little
speech
;
but
with
a
gentle
face
,
a
broad
forehead
,
and
large
brown
eyes
.
By
trade
,
she
was
a
dress-maker
,
of
small
pretensions
;
her
father
had
forsaken
her
early
,
and
her
step-mother
had
reared
her
.
This
much
,
knew
the
little
world
in
which
moved
Rachel
Gray
,
this
much
,
and
no
more
.
We
may
add
,
that
this
some
little
world
had
,
in
its
wisdom
,
pronounced
Rachel
Gray
a
fool
.
Her
education
had
been
very
limited
.
She
knew
how
to
read
,
and
she
could
write
,
but
neither
easily
nor
well
.
For
though
God
had
bestowed
on
her
the
rare
dower
of
a
fine
mind
,
He
had
not
added
to
it
the
much
more
common
,
though
infinitely
less
precious
gift
,
of
a
quick
intellect
.
She
learned
slowly
,
with
great
difficulty
,
with
sore
pain
and
trouble
.
Her
teachers
,
one
and
all
,
pronounced
her
dull
;
her
step-mother
was
ashamed
of
her
,
and
to
her
dying
day
thought
Rachel
no
better
than
a
simpleton
.
Rachel
felt
this
keenly
;
but
she
had
no
means
of
self-defence
.
She
had
not
the
least
idea
of
how
she
could
prove
that
she
was
not
an
idiot
.
One
of
the
characteristics
of
childhood
and
of
youth
is
a
painful
inability
,
an
entire
powerlessness
of
giving
the
form
of
speech
to
its
deepest
and
most
fervent
feelings
.
The
infirmity
generally
dies
off
with
years
,
perhaps
because
also
dies
off
the
very
strength
of
those
feelings
;
but
even
as
they
were
to
last
for
ever
with
Rachel
Gray
,
so
was
that
infirmity
destined
to
endure
.
Shy
,
sensitive
,
and
nervous
,
she
was
a
noble
book
,
sealed
to
all
save
God
.
At
eleven
,
her
education
,
such
as
it
was
,
was
over
.
Rachel
had
to
work
,
and
earn
her
bread
.
She
was
reared
religiously
,
and
hers
was
a
deeply
religious
nature
.
The
misapplication
of
religion
narrows
still
more
a
narrow
mind
,
but
religion
,
taken
in
its
true
sense
,
enlarges
a
noble
one
.
Yet
,
not
without
strife
,
not
without
suffering
,
did
Rachel
make
her
way
.
She
was
ignorant
,
and
she
was
alone
;
how
to
ask
advice
she
knew
not
,
for
she
could
not
explain
herself
.
Sometimes
she
seemed
to
see
the
most
sublime
truths
,
plain
as
in
a
book
;
at
other
times
,
they
floated
dark
and
clouded
before
her
gaze
,
or
vanished
in
deep
obscurity
,
and
left
her
alone
and
cast
down
.
She
suffered
years
,
until
,
from
her
very
sufferings
,
perfect
faith
was
born
,
and
from
faith
unbounded
trust
in
God
,
after
which
her
soul
sank
in
deep
and
blessed
peace
.
And
now
,
when
rest
was
won
,
there
came
the
want
for
more
.
Religion
is
love
.
Rachel
wanted
thought
,
that
child
of
the
intellect
,
as
love
is
the
child
of
the
heart
.
She
did
not
know
herself
what
it
was
that
she
needed
,
until
she
discovered
and
possessed
it
—
until
she
could
read
a
book
,
a
pamphlet
,
a
scrap
of
verse
,
and
brood
over
it
,
like
a
bird
over
her
young
,
not
for
hours
,
not
for
days
,
but
for
weeks
—
blest
in
that
silent
meditation
.
Her
mind
was
tenacious
,
but
slow
;
she
read
few
books
—
many
would
have
disturbed
her
.
Sweeter
and
pleasanter
was
it
to
Rachel
to
think
over
what
she
did
read
,
and
to
treasure
it
up
in
the
chambers
of
her
mind
,
than
to
fill
those
chambers
with
heaps
of
knowledge
.
Indeed
for
knowledge
Rachel
cared
comparatively
little
.
In
such
as
displayed
more
clearly
the
glories
of
God
's
creation
she
delighted
;
but
man
's
learning
,
man
's
science
,
touched
her
not
.
To
think
was
her
delight
;
a
silent
,
solitary
,
forbidden
pleasure
,
in
which
Rachel
had
to
indulge
by
stealth
.
For
all
this
time
,
and
especially
since
the
death
of
her
sister
,
she
suffered
keenly
from
home
troubles
,
from
a
little
domestic
persecution
,
painful
,
pertinacious
,
and
irritating
.
Mrs.
Gray
vaguely
felt
that
her
daughter
was
not
like
other
girls
,
and
not
knowing
that
she
was
in
reality
very
far
beyond
most
;
feeling
,
too
,
that
Rachel
was
wholly
unlike
herself
,
and
jealously
resenting
the
fact
,
she
teased
her
unceasingly
,
and
did
her
best
to
interrupt
the
fits
of
meditation
,
which
she
did
not
scruple
to
term
"
moping
.
"
When
her
mind
was
most
haunted
with
some
fine
thought
,
Rachel
had
to
talk
to
her
step-mother
,
to
listen
to
her
,
and
to
take
care
not
to
reply
at
random
;
if
she
failed
in
any
of
these
obligations
,
half-an-hour
's
lecture
was
the
least
penalty
she
could
expect
.
