He thrust these worldly contemplations aside, and, indeed, it was impossible for him to dwell upon them with a heavier sorrow at his door. He trusted in God--yes; but he knew that a man must work for his livelihood. Well, he would work; he was willing and ready for any honest occupation; but he must wait--for what? He stepped into the passage, and softly ascending the stairs, listened at Rachel's door. As he stood there the nurse came out. "Go for the doctor," she whispered. He flew. There was no thought in his mind now of his worldly troubles; he thought only of his beloved wife and unborn child. The doctor was not in, but was expected in a quarter of an hour, and would be sure to come round at once. Leaving an urgent entreaty not to delay a moment, Aaron hastened back to his house, and on the road found himself intercepted by Prissy, who had grown taller but no stouter since the night upon which she introduced herself to him. By reason of her increased height she looked thinner and scraggier than ever; as usual Victoria Regina, who had grown plumper and rounder, was in the girl's arms. "Mr. Cohen, Mr. Cohen!" cried Prissy. "I can't stop now," he replied, passing her quickly. But Prissy's long legs were as active as his, and though Victoria Regina was a heavy weight to carry, she kept pace with him. "D'yer know wot everybody's saying about yer, Mr. Cohen?" "Never mind, never mind, my good girl; I have no time to listen." "They're saying, everybody is," continued Prissy, "that yer as good as ruined, and that you 'aven't got a shilling left to pay yer way with." "What does it matter what people say, Prissy? Never listen to tittle-tattle." "'Ow's it to be 'elped, Mr. Cohen, when they ding it in yer ears? Mr. Whimpole, he ses he sor wot was coming all along, and when I ups and gives 'im a bit o' my mind he slaps my face, he does, and pushes me into the gutter. I don't mind that, but no one's going to speak agin yer when I'm by. It aint likely after all yer've done for me." "You are a good girl, but take no notice of what Mr. Whimpole says. There are many here who still have a good word for me." "Plenty, sir, and that's wot makes Mr. Whimpole mad; he can't make 'em think as he wants 'em to. You look ill, Mr. Cohen. I 'ope missis is no wus, I do." "She is still weak and ill, Prissy; but she will get well soon--eh, Prissy?--she will get well soon?" He cast a swift, anxious look upon her; even from the lips of this poor girl he sought the comfort of a consoling word.