Aaron was waiting now in his study for Mr. Moss. The cares and sorrows of the past few months had left their mark upon him. The grey hairs had multiplied fast, the lines in his face had deepened, and in the kind eyes and benevolent countenance there was a touch of childlike pathos, as though the strong man had suddenly grown weak, and was mutely appealing for mercy.
Mr. Moss's face was flushed with excitement as he entered the room with an evening paper in his hand.
"Have you heard the rumour, Cohen?" he asked, excitedly.
"What rumour?" inquired Aaron, rising to meet his friend.
"About your bank, the Colonial Alliance?"
"No, I have heard nothing. I have not been out of the house since the morning."
"It came on me like a thunderclap, but it cannot be true."
"What cannot be true, Mr. Moss?" Aaron spoke quite calmly.
"Well, there's nothing definite, but you know there has been something like a panic in the City."
"I am aware of it, but it cannot affect me. I have no investments now, with the solitary exception of my bank shares. All my affairs are settled, and what is left of my fortune is in the bank until I decide how to invest it."