The small fire in the room required attention, and Aaron arranged each piece of coal and cinder with scrupulous care; never had there been so much need for thrift as now. In all his movements there was not the least sound; so softly did he step that his feet might have been shod with velvet pile. One of Rachel's arms was lying exposed on the counterpane, he gently shifted it beneath the warm coverings; then he quitted the apartment and closed the door upon his wife and child--and upon the angel of death, who was standing by the bedside to receive a departing soul. Aaron did not return to his room below; he stood by the open street door, looking anxiously up and down for Mr. Moss, and thinking with sadness that if that gentleman delayed his visit he would be compelled in the morning to part for a time with his silver-mounted pipe, which was the only article of any value that was left to him. Of all his personal belongings he cherished this pipe the most; it was Rachel's gift, and she had often filled it for him. It was not between his lips at the present moment; he had no heart to smoke. For nearly an hour he stood upon the watch, interrupting it only for the purpose of creeping upstairs to see if Rachel were still sleeping. At nine o'clock Mr. Moss made his welcome appearance in the street; even as he turned the corner at a distance of many yards Aaron recognized him. He was enveloped in his great fur coat, which was pulled up close to his ears; a lighted cigar was between his lips, and he was humming an operatic air as he puffed at it. "Why, Cohen," said Mr. Moss in a hearty tone, "what are you standing at the door for on such a cold night?" "I have been expecting you," Aaron answered, "and I did not wish you to knock. Rachel has taken a sleeping draught, and must not be disturbed." "Yes, yes, I understand," said Mr. Moss, accompanying his friend into the house. "How is she?" "Not well, not at all well, I am grieved to say. Mr. Moss, my heart is almost broken." He turned aside with a little sob. "No, no, no!" exclaimed Mr. Moss. "That will never do, Cohen. Look on the best side. Things will right themselves; they will, mark my words. I am here to set them right. What is this? An envelope addressed to me?" "I was writing you a letter when your telegram arrived." "And then you did not stop to finish it?" "I did finish it, Mr. Moss, in case you did not come." "May I read it?" "Yes; it will explain matters; you will learn from it what it would pain me to tell you in any other way." "Smoke a cigar while I read." Aaron took the cigar and laid it aside, and then Mr. Moss, who had taken off his thick coat, sat down and perused the letter. "I have come in the nick of time, Cohen," he said--"in the nick of time. There is a silver lining to every cloud. I have brought it with me." "I felt," said Aaron, his hopes rising, "that you could not be the bearer of bad news."