"Dear, faithful girl! Let it be as she wishes, love. I know her constant, devoted nature. She will be a comfort to both of us." She paused before she spoke again, and then it was in a voice trembling with emotion. "We commence a new life to-morrow. O Aaron, dear husband, my heart is aching, not because we are poor, not for myself, but for you, love, for you! Aaron, you have said nothing of Ruth. Let this night end your sorrows, and let me share them now. It is the thought of Ruth that oppresses you. I feel it, I have known it long, but did not dare to mention it. Give me all your confidence; I am well, I am strong. There is nothing I cannot bear for your dear sake." He could not resist the appeal. In a voice as tremulous as her own he made confession of his sin, and not for one moment while he spoke would she relinquish his hand. And when his confession was ended she held him close in her embrace and mingled her tears with his. "Can you forgive me, Rachel?" "It is for me to bless, not to forgive," she sobbed. "For me you strayed, for me you have suffered. Comfort his bruised heart, O God, who sees and judges! And, Aaron, dear and honored husband, we have still a son to bless our days!" CHAPTER XLI. A POISONED ARROW. Had it not been that public attention was mainly directed to events of greater importance, Aaron Cohen's affairs would have furnished a tempting theme for the busy hunters of sensational and personal journalism, but to a certain extent he was protected by the fever of the financial panic in which men of a higher station were brought down low, and the fortunes of famous historic houses imperiled. He would have been grateful to slip into obscurity entirely without notice, but this could scarcely be expected. He had one bitter enemy--Mr. Poynter--who rejoiced in his downfall, and who neglected no opportunity to wing a poisoned arrow against his old rival. When the excitement of the panic was over these arrows became more numerous, and Aaron's name was frequently mentioned in a slighting manner in those second- and third-class journals whose columns are too freely open to personal spite and malice. He saw but few of the paragraphs in which he was attacked, and they did not wound him; some of his friends--for he was not deserted by all--urged him to reply to them, but he shook his head and said: "I am content. Lives there a man without enemies?" His chief concern was that the slanders should not reach Rachel's knowledge, and here her blindness aided him. Either he or the faithful Prissy was ever by her side, and if his traducers hoped to make him suffer through the being whose love was the most precious jewel in his life they were doomed to disappointment. Perhaps Aaron had never been happier than he was during these dark days of adversity. The weight of a secret sin was lifted from his heart, and he had no fears of poverty.