During all this time he had heard no word of Ruth or Mrs. Gordon, and the sin of which he had been guilty had not reached the public ear. His house and furniture still remained unsold, law's process being proverbially slow and tedious. At length, passing his house one evening, he saw bills up, announcing that the mansion and its contents were to be sold by auction in the course of the following week. He was not a stoic, and it gave him a pang, but the pain soon passed away. "What have I to repine at," he thought, "with heavenly love awaiting me at home?" It was his intention to attend the auction for the purpose of purchasing two or three small mementos, towards which he had saved a few pounds. The sale was to take place on Thursday, and on Wednesday night he was looking through the catalogue, and talking with Rachel about his intended purchases. "There are dumb memorials," he said, "which from long association become like living friends. Something of our spirit seems to pass into them, imbuing them with life. I shall not be quite happy till I get back my silver-mounted pipe; of all my possessions it was my dearest. Tobacco has lost its flavour since I left it behind me; but I had no right to bring away anything of value, and I have always looked forward to possessing it again. Great misfortunes are really easy to bear in comparison with such-like trifles." Aaron seldom indulged now in those touches of humour to which Rachel in the old days loved to listen. The Aaron of to-day and the Aaron of yesterday were the same in everything but that; the tender gaiety was replaced by a tender sadness, and Rachel often thought with regret of the play of fancy which used to stir her to mirth. On this night they expected a visit from Mr. Moss, who was coming to London on business; and at about nine o'clock he made his appearance. An hour afterwards Rachel retired to bed, and left the friends together. Aaron had observed that Mr. Moss looked anxious and uneasy, but he was careful not to refer to it in the presence of his wife. "You have something on your mind," he now said. "No new misfortune, I hope?" "Not to me personally," replied Mr. Moss, with a reluctant air. "To none of your family, I trust." "No; they are all quite well. My dentist son is getting along famously; I saw him before I came here, and he told me that he had pulled out three Christian teeth to-day. Isaac of York is avenged!" Dolefully as he spoke, Aaron could not help smiling. "But what is it?" he asked. "I am the harbinger of trouble, it seems," groaned Mr. Moss, "and to my best friend. I was the first to bring you the news of the panic, and now----" "Yes," said Aaron, gently, "and now? Speak low, or Rachel may overhear us." "You do not see many papers, Cohen?" "Not many."