The wine gave Aaron courage to proceed with his task.
"I have dreadful news to tell you," he said, putting down the glass.
"I guess it," interrupted Mr. Moss. "The child!"
"Yes," answered Aaron, with averted eyes, "the child."
"Is she very ill?"
"Mr. Moss, the child is dead."
"Heavens!" cried Mr. Moss, slipping into his clothes as fast as he could. "What a calamity! But at the same time, Cohen, what a release! Tell me all about it. Does Rachel know?"
"Rachel does not know. She is still sleeping, and she must not know. It would kill her--it would kill her!"
"I see the necessity, Cohen; it must be kept from her, and I think I see how it can be managed. It is a fortunate thing that the woman who accompanied me here with the poor child has not returned to Portsmouth, as I bade her. She met with some friends in Gosport, who persuaded her to stop the night, and she was going back with me in the morning. I promised to call for her, but she will have to remain here now till the child is buried. She will not mind, because it will be something in her pocket. A sad ending, Cohen, a sad ending, but I feared it. Did I not prophesy it? What else was to be expected after last night's adventure? But you have not told me how it occurred."
"It was very simple," said Aaron in a low tone. "I laid the child in my own bed, intending to call in a woman as soon after daylight as possible to attend it till Rachel was well and able to get about. She seemed to be asleep, and was in no pain. I determined not to go to bed, but to keep up all night, to attend to the little one, and to Rachel and my own child. Bear with me, Mr. Moss, I am unstrung."