Each day, each hour, Aaron became more anxious and troubled. In the doctor's plain speaking there was no reading between the lines, and no possible mistaking of his meaning. The stern truth had been revealed, and there was no arguing it away. Aaron saw clearly what was before him, but he could not see a way out of his difficulties, nor to doing what he was warned it was imperative upon him that he should do, in the happy event of Rachel's coming safely through her present crisis. There was no apparent change in her; she lay weak and powerless in her bed, receiving Aaron always with sweet and patient words, and nursing her child as well as her feeble state would allow her. The condition of the babe pained and troubled him. He observed no indication of suffering, no querulousness in the child; it was simply that she lay supine, as though life were flowing quietly out of her. Every time Aaron crept up to the bedside and found the babe asleep, he leant anxiously over her to catch the sound of her breathing; and so faint and low was her respiration that again and again he was smitten with a fear that she had passed away. Acutely sensitive and sensible now of every sign in his wife, it became with him an absolute conviction that the doctor was not mistaken when he declared that her life and the life of her babe were inseparable, that if one lived the other would live, that if one died the other would die. During this torturing time strange thoughts oppressed him, and oppressed him more powerfully because he scarcely understood them. The tenor of these thoughts resolved itself into the one passionate desire to do something--he knew not what--to keep his wife with him even if she should lose her babe, and towards the accomplishment of which he felt that a power outside the sphere of human influence was necessary. Normally he was a man of sound understanding, not given to mysticism nor to a belief in the effects of supernatural power upon mundane affairs; but during these agitating days there was a danger of his healthy mind becoming unbalanced. Human resource had failed him; he must seek elsewhere for aid; if he were to be successful in steering his beloved to a haven of peace and health it must be through outside influences which had not yet made themselves visible to him. "Show me the way, O gracious Lord, show me the way!" This was his constant prayer, and although in less agitated times he would have blamed himself for praying for a seeming impossibility, he encouraged himself in it now, in the dim and despairing hope that some miracle would occur to further his agonising desire.
Meanwhile his funds had run completely out, and he saw with terror the wolf approaching the door. He had not the means to pay for the necessaries of the next twenty-four hours. Then it was that he resolved to make an urgent appeal to Mr. Moss. He would tell him everything, he would reveal his hapless position in the plainest terms, and he would beg for an immediate temporary loan of money, which he would promise to faithfully repay when the cloud was lifted from his house.
It was a cold and bitter evening. The snow had been falling heavily; a fierce wind was raging. He thought of poor people he had seen in such inclement weather as this walking along with sad faces, homeless and hungry; he recalled the picture of a young good-looking woman whom he had seen years ago in a London park during a heavy snow-storm; she was thinly clad, want was in her face, she pressed a babe to her bosom. Shivering with cold she walked slowly onward, and looked around with despairing eyes for succour. He slipped a shilling into her hand, and as he hurried away, he heard, with a feeling of remonstrant shame, her gratitude expressed in the words "God Almighty bless you, sir!" as though he had performed an act of extraordinary generosity. Between this wretched woman and his beloved Rachel there seemed to be an affinity, and his heart was torn with woe. He was the breadwinner; to him she looked for food, for warmth, for shelter; he was her shield. Could he not keep desolation and despair from her? could he not keep death from her? He did not know that the angel was already in his house.
The doctor had paid a visit early in the morning, and had spoken even more gravely of Rachel.
"Much depends," he said, "upon the next day or two. For some days past she has been silently suffering, and I have succeeded in piercing the veil of sorrow which hangs upon her soul. She fears that her child will not live, and if unhappily her fears are confirmed----" He did not finish the sentence; there was no need for further words to convey his meaning. "This harrowing thought," he continued, "keeps her from rest, prevents her sleeping. There are periods of sickness when sleep means life. I will send round a sleeping draught, which you will give her at eight o'clock to-night; it will ensure her oblivion for a good twelve hours, and if when she wakes all is well with the child, all will be well with her."
"Can you tell me, doctor, why this fear has grown stronger within these last few days?"
"The babe lies quietly in her arms; she does not hear its voice, and only by its soft breathing can she convince herself that it lives. Tender accents from the child she has brought into the world would fall as a blessing upon her sorrowing heart. At any moment the child may find its voice; let us hope that it will very soon."
The sleeping draught was sent to Aaron, and it was now on the table. The hour was six--in a couple of hours he would give it to her; and while he waited he sat down to write his letter to Mr. Moss. It was a long letter, for he had much to say, and he was but half way through when a postman's knock summoned him to the street door. He hurried there quickly, so that the knock should not be repeated, and to his surprise received a telegram. It was from Mr. Moss, and it informed him that that gentleman was coming to see him upon a very important matter, and that he was to be sure not to leave home that night. Aaron wondered what this important matter could be, and there was a joyful feeling in his heart that the telegram might be the presage of good fortune. He knew enough of Mr. Moss's kindly nature to be convinced that he would not be the herald of bad news. "There is a rift in the clouds," he murmured, as he pondered over the message; "I see the light, I see the light!" Would Mr. Moss's errand open up a means of giving Rachel the benefit of soft air and sunshine in a more genial clime? He prayed that it might, and he had never prayed more fervently. But the night was inclement, and Mr. Moss might not be able in consequence to pay the promised visit. Time pressed; the necessity was imminent, and would brook no delay; therefore he determined to finish his letter and to post it this night, in the event of Mr. Moss not making his appearance.
It wanted a few minutes to eight when his task was completed. He read the letter over, and addressed an envelope, but did not stamp it; he had but one stamp, and every penny was of importance. He looked at the clock; eight o'clock. With gentle steps he went up to Rachel.
"It is time for the draught, my love," he said.
"I will take it, dear."
He poured it into a glass, and she drank it reclining in his arms.
"If our dear one lives, Aaron," said Rachel, "we will call her Ruth, after your mother."
"It shall be so, love," answered Aaron, laying her head upon the pillow. "God will vouchsafe the mercy to us. She will live, Rachel, she will live!" Desirous that she should not talk now that she had taken the sleeping draught, he kissed her tenderly and would have left her, but she held him by the hand.
"Has the doctor told you that I am in sorrow, Aaron?"............