"What's all this? Have I been robbed? Who are you?"
"I hope you feel a great deal better, Mr. Stillinghast. You have been quite ill, sir," said the doctor, soothingly. "I am Dr. Burrell; allow me to feel your pulse."
"For what? I never was sick in my life. I never had my pulse felt," he said, doggedly.
"How does your head feel, sir?"
"My head! ah, my head feels shaky. Call her here."
May was beside him in a moment, holding his hand, and looking down into his white pinched features with commiseration.
"What's all this, child? Why are you here?"
"You have been very ill, dear uncle. You know you were poorly last night. I felt uneasy about you, and sat up to listen if you should call for any thing, until I heard you fall," said May, in a low, clear, and distinct voice.
"Fall?"
"Then, sir, I ran up here, and found you on the floor, so ill—so very ill," said May, hesitating, always unwilling to speak of her own acts.