The woman herself came to the door, and when she was dressed Mr. Moss had a conversation with her, the result of which was that she and the two men walked to Aaron's house, where she took charge of the dead child, and carried it to the cottage. Then she went for a doctor--to Aaron's relief not the doctor who attended his wife--and as there was no doubt that the child had died a natural death, a certificate to that effect was given. At six in the morning Aaron returned to Rachel, and sitting by her bedside, waited for her awakening. The potion she had taken was to insure sleep for twelve hours; in two hours he would hear her voice; in two hours she would be caressing a babe to which she had not given birth. It seemed to Aaron as though months had passed since Mr. Moss had presented himself at his house last night, and for a while it almost seemed as though, in that brief time, it was not himself who had played the principal part in this strange human drama, but another being who had acted for him, and who had made him responsible for an act which was to color all his future life. But he did not permit himself to indulge long in this view of what had transpired; he knew and felt that he, and he alone, was responsible, and that to his dying day he would be accountable for it. Well, he would bear the burden, and would, by every means within his power, endeavor to atone for it. He would keep strict watch over himself; he would never give way to temptation; he would act justly and honorably; he would check the hasty word; he would make no enemies; he would be kind and considerate to all around him. He did not lay the flattering unction to his soul that in thus sketching his future rule of life he was merely committing himself to that which he had always followed in the past. This one act seemed to cast a shadow over all that had gone before; he had to commence anew. At eight o'clock Rachel stirred; she raised her arm and put her hand to her eyes, blind to all the world, blind to his sin, blind to everything but love. Then instinctively she drew the babe nearer to her. A faint cooing issued from the infant's lips, and an expression of joy overspread the mother's features. This joy found its reflex in Aaron's heart, but the anxiety under which he labored was not yet dispelled. Was there some suitable instinct in a mother's love which would convey to Rachel's sense the agonizing truth that the child she held in her arms was not her own. There was no indication of it. She fondled the child, she suckled it, the light of heaven shone in her face. "Aaron!" "My beloved!" "Do you hear our child, our dear one? Ah, what happiness!" "Thank God!" said Aaron inly. "Oh, God be thanked!" "Is it early or late, dear love?" asked Rachel. "It is morning, I know, for I see the light; I feel it here"--with her hand pressing the infant's head to her heart. "It is eight o'clock, beloved," said Aaron.