The sleeping draught was sent to Aaron, and it was now on the table. The hour was six; in a couple of hours he would give it to her; and while he waited he sat down to write his letter to Mr. Moss. It was a long letter, for he had much to say, and he was but halfway through when a postman's knock summoned him to the street door. He hurried there quickly, so that the knock should not be repeated, and to his surprise received a telegram. It was from Mr. Moss, and it informed him that that gentleman was coming to see him upon a very important matter, and that he was to be sure not to leave home that night. Aaron wondered what this important matter could be, and there was a joyful feeling in his heart that the telegram might be the presage of good fortune; he knew enough of Mr. Moss' kindly nature to be convinced that he would not be the herald of bad news. "There is a rift in the clouds," he murmured as he pondered over the message; "I see the light, I see the light!" Would Mr. Moss' errand open up the means of giving Rachel the benefit of soft air and sunshine in a more genial clime? He prayed that it might, and he had never prayed more fervently. But the night was inclement, and Mr. Moss might not be able in consequence to pay the promised visit. Time pressed; the necessity was imminent, and would brook no delay; therefore he determined to finish his letter, and to post it this night in the event of Mr. Moss not making his appearance. It wanted a few minutes to eight when his task was completed. He read the letter over and addressed an envelope, but did not stamp it; he had but one stamp, and every penny was of importance. He looked at the clock; eight o'clock. With gentle steps he went up to Rachel. "It is time for the draught, my love," he said. "I will take it, dear." He poured it into a glass, and she drank it reclining in his arms. "If our dear one lives, Aaron," said Rachel, "we will call her Ruth, after your mother." "It shall be so, love," answered Aaron, laying her head upon the pillow. "God will vouchsafe the mercy to us. She will live, Rachel, she will live." Desirous that she should not talk now that she had taken the sleeping draught he kissed her tenderly and would have left her, but she held him by the hand. "Has the doctor told you that I am in sorrow, Aaron?" "You have the gift of divinity, love. Yes, he has told me, and he said that to-morrow perhaps, please God, you will hear our darling's voice." "Did he say so? Heaven bless him. She is sleeping?" "Yes, beloved." "I pray that the good doctor may be right. I shall dream of it. To-morrow--perhaps to-morrow! Ah, what happiness! It needs but that, dear husband, it needs but that! How tired you must be with all that you are doing for me! Kiss me again. God guard you." And so she fell asleep.