The words haunted him. He could think only of his beloved wife and of Ruth. Very well. He had half an hour to spare before he left his house for the Jewish meetings; he would devote the time to a consideration of his private duty.
He gathered his papers, arranged them in order, and put them in his pocket. He dallied with them at first, but feeling that he was prolonging the simple task in order to shorten the time for serious thought, he smiled pitifully at his weakness, and completed it expeditiously.
In admitting Ruth into his household, in adopting her as a daughter, he had undertaken a sacred responsibility. He was fully conscious of this twenty years ago in Gosport, and what he had done had been done deliberately.
It was a question then of the sacrifice of a precious life. The doctor had set it clearly before him.
The pregnant words they had exchanged were in his memory now, and might have been spoken only a few moments since.
"Her life," the doctor had said, "hangs upon the life of her child."
"If our child lives," Aaron had asked, "there is hope that my wife will live?"
"A strong hope," the doctor had answered.
"And if our child dies?" asked Aaron.
The doctor answered: "The mother will die."