"Not too late. Oh no, dear uncle, it is not too late," said May,
smoothing back the tangled gray hair from his sunken temples.

"Mr. Stillinghast, my dear sir, I fear that you are exciting yourself.
I would recommend quiet, composure; indeed, sir, it is absolutely
necessary in your case," said the doctor, looking on uneasily.

"It will make no difference, sir. I know full well whose finger has
touched me. Do you know that I cannot move my left side?" said the old
man in his firm, stern way.

"I feared it," said the doctor, turning away to conceal the expression
of pain which this information caused him; "but it _may_ pass off, _you
may_ quite recover yet, sir. A cup of weak tea would be good for our
patient," he said to May.

May glided out of the room, followed by the gaze of the stricken old
man, to prepare it for him. She ran up to awaken Helen, and told her
that their uncle was dangerously ill. "Dress, dear Helen, and go to
him immediately, while I get a cup of tea for him."

"How very pale you are, May! Is he in danger?" exclaimed Helen,
starting up, quite awakened by the news.

But May was gone. When she went up again with the cup and saucer in
her hand, Mr. Stillinghast greeted her with a look of welcome.

"Do not leave me again," he whispered, as he sipped the tea; "it will
not be long, little one, that I shall keep you. Take this away now,