The old man opened the door gently, taking, in spite of his terror, a thousand paternal precautions not to awaken the sleeper. The trembling light of a small alabaster lamp cast its faint rays about the apartment. Gently he drew back the curtains of the bed and gazed fondly upon his child.
Rachel slept profoundly, her breathing was as peaceful as innocence. Ben-Ha-Zelah looked upon the sweet, calm face with a transport of delight. The tranquillity of this peaceful sleep of childhood was communicated to him, and for a moment stilled the agitation of his soul.
He leaned fondly over the sleeping form; listened joyfully to the calm breathing of his darling child, to the regular beating of her heart; then stooping, imprinted a kiss of fatherly love on the beautiful brow.
Rachel remained immovable, and her sleep was unbroken. "It is strange she has not awakened," said the old man to himself looking at her again. "Sleep is so like death."
As he allowed this thought to take form a vague terror took possession of him.
"Bah! she sleeps! I hear her breathing," said he aloud.
The secret indefinable fear which he could not banish, and for which he could not account, still remained; he could no longer contain himself.
"Rachel!"' cried he in a loud voice. The young girl slept on.
"Rachel! my child!" he cried again, at the same time shaking her gently by the arm.