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 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; so often had she filled it for him that he regarded it almost as part of herself. 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 recognised him. He was enveloped in his great fur coat, which was pulled up close to his ears; he was puffing at one of his large cigars, and between the puffs was humming a celebrated air from the latest operatic success-- "Toreador attento, Toreador, Toreador, Non obliarche un occhio tutt' ardor Adammirarti è intento, E che t' aspett' amor, Toreador t' aspett' aspetta amor." He scorned the English tongue in operas, and though by no means a well-educated man, never sang but in Italian. The last flourish brought him close to Aaron. "Why, Cohen" he said, 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 sob. "No, no, no!" exclaimed Mr. Moss. "That will never do, Cohen. You mustn't give way--a strong, clever man like you. Look on the best side. Things will right themselves; they will, mark my words. I am here to set them right." "To set them right!" exclaimed Aaron, all his pulses throbbing. "Yes, 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?"