Meanwhile his funds had run completely out, and with spiritual sight he saw 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 his 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 evening, a cold and bitter evening. The snow had been falling heavily, a fierce wind was raging. He thought of Rachel, homeless and hungry, and his heart was torn with woe. It seemed as if her life depended upon him; 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 earlier in the day, 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 insure 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 her 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 halfway 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' 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!"