So far himself, considered as an entity. Had he been alone in life, with no other life so welded into his own as to be inseparable from it, it is scarcely possible that he could have been guilty of a conscious wrong, for his soul would have risen in revolt against the suggestion. Had he been alone misfortunes might have fallen upon him unceasingly, poverty might have been his lot through all his days, disease might have racked his bones--he would have borne all with tranquillity and resignation, and would have lifted up his voice in praise of the Most High to his last hour. Of such stuff are martyrs made; from such elements springs the lofty ideal into which, once in a generation, is breathed the breath of life, the self-sacrificing hero who sheds his blood and dies with a glad light on his face in the battle of right against might, in the battle of weak innocence against the ruthless hand of power. But Aaron was not alone; Rachel was by his side, leaning upon his heart, looking to him for joy, for peace, for happiness. And when he suffered it was through her he suffered; and when he was oppressed with sorrow it was through her he sorrowed. So keen was his sympathy with her, so intense was his love for her, that if only her finger ached he was in pain. We are but human after all, and no man can go beyond a man's strength. Legends are handed down to us of divine inspiration falling upon a man who, thus inspired, becomes a leader, a hero, a prophet; but in that man's heartstrings are not entwined the tender fingers of wife and children. As blades of grass which we can rub into nothingness between our fingers force their upward way to air and sunshine through adamantine stones, as rocks are worn away by the trickling of drops of water, so may a man's sublimest qualities, so may a man's heart and soul be pierced and reft by human love. It was this absorbing sentiment that agitated Aaron when Rachel revealed to him that she was blind; it was this that struck him dumb. Meekly and patiently she stood before him--he had fallen back a step--and waited for him to speak. He did not utter a word. Presently her sweet voice stole upon his senses. "Aaron, my beloved, why are you silent? Why do you not speak to me?" He lifted his head and groaned. "Ah, do not groan, dear husband," she continued. "It is for me you suffer, but I am not suffering--did I not tell you so? It is, indeed, the truth. Look into my face; you will see no pain there. I need you more than ever now. Next to God you are my rock, my salvation. He has cast this affliction upon me out of his goodness and wisdom. Let us lift our voices in his praise." And from her lips flowed in the ancient tongue the sublime prayer: