For the second time on this eventful day Aaron felt as if his sin were about to be brought home to him, as if the temple which, by long years of honourable and upright conduct, he had built for himself, were about to crumble to dust. In that temple was enshrined not only his good name, but what was far more precious to him, his wife's happiness and peace of mind. He had not yet nerved himself to the effort to go to her frankly and say, "Ruth is not our child." Out of Rachel's innate goodness and sweetness sprang the love she bore for the young girl. The suggestion of love may come from without, but the spirit of love is the offspring of one's own heart, and it is made enduring and ennobling by one's own higher qualities; and in a like manner it is one's lower passions which debase and degrade it. In whatever fashion Rachel would receive her husband's confession, he knew full well that it would inflict upon her the most exquisite suffering; the cherished ideal of her life would be shattered, and she would sit for ever afterwards in sackcloth and ashes. This was his torturing belief; it was not that he dreaded exposure for his own sake; he had no wish to spare himself, but to spare Rachel inevitable suffering. He knew that the truth could not be much longer hidden, and yet he was too weak to take the deciding step. He had sown a harvest of woe, and his constant fervent prayer was that he might not be compelled to reap it with his own hands. Agitated as he was, he did not betray himself by word or sign, but by a courteous movement of his hand invited his visitor to proceed. "It is a family matter," said Mr. Dillworthy, "of a peculiarly delicate nature, and my client thought it could best be arranged in a private personal interview." "Being of such a nature," observed Aaron, "would it not have been better that it should be arranged privately between the parties interested instead of through an intermediary?" "Possibly, possibly; but my client holds strong views, and feels he could scarcely trust himself." "Favour me with the name of your client." "Lord Storndale." "Lord Storndale? I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance." "But you are familiar with his name." "Not at all. It is the first time I have heard it." "You surprise me. Lord Storndale is a peer." "I know very few peers, and have had no occasion to study the peerage." "But, pardon me, Storndale is the name; it may have escaped you." "I repeat, the name is strange to me." "I do not presume to doubt you, but it introduces a new element into the matter. Your daughter, then, has never mentioned the Honourable Percy Storndale to you?" "Never, and I am at a loss to understand the association of their names." The lawyer paused. In this unexpected turn of affairs a deviation suggested itself to his legal mind which would be likely to assist him. "Mr. Cohen, you have the reputation of being an earnest and sincere Jew."