"I think of nothing else, of nothing else," said Aaron, his fingers working convulsively, for a question was trembling on his lips which he felt he must ask, but to which he could scarcely give utterance. "Doctor, will she live?"
The doctor bit his lip as he gazed upon Aaron's misery. "We will do our best; but remember, we are all in God's hands." And with these words, and a look of compassion, he departed.
Aaron stood motionless a while. We are all in God's hands! How often has that been said, and how terrible is its import! Human science and skill have done all it is in their power to do--the rest is with God. Aaron reasoned the true meaning away.
"We are all in God's hands," he murmured, "old and young, rich and poor, the strong and the feeble alike. It is so with one and all. I thank God he did not tell me to prepare for the worst!"
He drew comfort not from what was said, but from what was not said. He continued to commune with himself.
"How can she be otherwise than weak? And doctors sometimes think it their duty not to look on the brightest side. My Rachel will be spared to me. God will not take her away."
He went up to her; a nurse he had engaged was in the room; she could come for only a week, her services at the end of that time being required elsewhere. She put her fingers to her lips as he entered.
"Is she asleep?" he asked in a whisper.
She nodded in reply, but when he approached the bed Rachel held out her hand to him.
"Nurse thought you were asleep, dear," he said, bending down to her.