“Well, who am I, then? Am I your father?”
A vacant gaze was all the answer.
“Tell me, am I your father?”
No reply followed.
“Am I your uncle, then?” said the doctor, still louder.
The word, “uncle,” seemed to strike upon some new chord of his awakened sense: a faint smile played upon his parched lips, and his eyes wandered from the speaker, as if in search of some object, till they fell upon Sir Archy, as he stood at the foot of the bed, when suddenly his whole countenance was lighted up, and he repeated the word, “uncle,” to himself in a voice indescribably sweet and touching.
“He has na forgotten me,” murmured M'Nab, in a tone of deep emotion. “My ain dear boy—he knows me yet.”
“You agitate him too much,” said Roach, whose nature had little sympathy with the feelings of either. “You must leave me alone here to examine him myself.”
M'Nab said not a word, but, with noiseless step, stole from the room. The doctor looked after him as he went, and then followed to see that the door was closed behind. This done, he beckoned to Kerry, who still remained, to approach, and deliberately seated himself in a chair near the window.
“Tell me, my good fellow,” said he, affecting an air of confidence as he spoke, “an't they all broke here? Isn't the whole thing smashed?”