"Nothing to thank me for. Good-night, and good luck." When Aaron returned to Gosport it was midnight. Winter was coming on and it was cold and dark; buttoning his coat close up to his neck, he hastened his steps. He was not despondent; misfortune had fallen upon him, but he had confidence in himself, and despite the practical common sense which showed itself in all his actions there was in his nature an underlying current of spiritual belief in divine assistance toward the successful accomplishment of just and worthy endeavor. That it was man's duty to do right, to work, to pray, to be considerate to his neighbors, to make his home cheerful, to be as charitable as his means will allow--this was his creed; and it was strengthened by his conviction that God made himself manifest even upon earth in matters of right and wrong. He did not relegate the expiation of transgression to the future; he did not believe that a man could wipe out the sins of the past year by fasting and praying and beating his breast on the Day of Atonement. Wrongdoing was not to be set aside and forgotten until a convenient hour for repentance arrived. Hourly, daily, a man must keep watch over himself and his actions. This had been his rule of life, and it contributed to his happiness and to the happiness of those around him. He was within a quarter of a mile of his residence when he was conscious of an unseen disturbance in the air. A distant glare in the sky, the faint echoes of loud voices, stole upon his senses. Agitated as he had been by what had transpired during this long unfortunate day, he could not at first be certain whether these signs were real or spiritual, but presently he discovered that they did not spring from his imagination. The glare in the sky became plainly visible, the loud voices reached his ears. There was a fire in the town, and he was proceeding toward it. Instantly his thoughts, his fears, centered upon Rachel. He ran forward quickly, and found himself struggling through an excited crowd. Flames shot upward; the air was filled with floating sparks of fire. Great God! It was his own house that was being destroyed by the devouring element. He did not heed that; the destruction of his worldly goods did not affect him. "My wife!" he screamed. "Where is my wife?" By main force they held him back, for he was rushing into the flames. "Let me go!" he screamed. "Where is my wife?" "It is all right, Mr. Cohen," a number of voices replied. "She is saved." "Thank God, oh, thank God!" he cried. "Take me to her. Where is she?" He cared not for the ruin that had overtaken him; like cool water to a parched throat came the joyful news that she was saved. "Take me to her. In the name of Heaven, tell me where she is!" She was in a house at a safe distance from the fire, and thither he was led. Rachel was lying on a couch in her night dress; sympathizing people were about her. "Rachel, Rachel!" he cried, and fell upon his knees by her side.