"It has been a happy day," sighed Rachel; she sat between them, each holding a hand. "You did not hear from our dear Ruth this morning?" "No, dear mother." For thus was Rose already permitted to address Rachel. "She will be home in two days, and our dear lad as well. I wish he were back from Australia, even before he has started, and so do you, my dear. But time soon passes. Just now it seems but yesterday that we were in France." The day waned. Rachel and Rose were together; Aaron was in his study, writing letters. A servant entered. "A gentleman to see you, sir." Aaron looked at the card, which bore the name of Mr. Richard Dillworthy. "I am busy," said Aaron. "Does he wish to see me particularly? Ask him if he can call again." "He said his business was pressing, sir." "Show him in." The servant ushered the visitor into the room--a slightly built, middle-aged man, with iron-gray hair and whiskers. Aaron motioned him to a chair, and he placed a card on the table bearing the name and address of a firm of lawyers. "I am Mr. Dillworthy, of Dillworthy, Maryx & Co.," he said. "Yes." "I have come to speak to you upon a family matter----" "A family matter!" exclaimed Aaron, interrupting him. "On behalf of a client. I shall take it as a favor if you will regard this interview as private." "Certainly." "It refers principally to your daughter, Miss Ruth Cohen." CHAPTER XXX. THE HONORABLE PERCY STORNDALE. For the second time on this eventful day Aaron felt as if his sin were about to be brought home to him, as if the temple which, by long years of honorable and upright conduct, he had built for himself were about to crumble to dust. In that temple was enshrined not only his good name, but what was of far greater value to him, his wife's happiness and peace of mind. It was too late now to go to her frankly and say: "Ruth is not our child." Out of Rachel's innate goodness and sweetness sprang the deep love she bore for the young girl; the suggestion of love may come from without, but the spirit of love is the offspring of one's own heart, and it is made enduring and ennobling by one's own higher qualities; and in a like manner it is one's lower passions which debase and degrade it. In whatever fashion Rachel would receive her husband's confession he knew full well that it would inflict upon her the most exquisite suffering; the cherished ideal of her life would be shattered, and she would sit forever afterward in sackcloth and ashes. He had sown a harvest of woe, and his constant fervent prayer was that he might not be compelled to reap it with his own hands. Agitated as he was, he did not betray himself by word or sign, but by a courteous movement of his hand invited his visitor to proceed. "It is a family matter," said Mr. Dillworthy, "of a peculiarly delicate nature, and my client thought it could best be arranged in a private personal interview."