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,
and send for Mr. Fielding."

"Perhaps you know Mr. Fielding, sir?" said May, to Dr. Burrell.

"He is my neighbor. Can I be of service?" he replied.

"My uncle wishes to see him as early as possible. He is his man of
business, I think," replied May, who felt anxious that Mr. Stillinghast
should attend to his worldly concerns, and wind them up as soon as
possible, that all the energies of his soul might be directed to higher
objects.

"Here is a prescription, sir," said the doctor, "which I would advise
you to take immediately."

"Will it cure me?

"It may relieve you very much."

"Will it cure me, I say?" said the old man, sharply.

"I cannot say; I can only promise temporary relief from its use."

"I won't take it. I thank you for your patience, and shall be glad to
see you again; but I won't take your medicine."

"If you were a child, sir, I would compel you to take it; but as it is,
I can only recommend the continual application of cold bandages to your
head. I will call in this evening," said the doctor, kindly, as he
left the room.

"May!"

"I am here by you, sir."

"It is not too late to do you an act of justice."

"Oh, dear, dear uncle!" said May, earnestly, "forget me; forget the
affairs of earth, and think of the judgment beyond the grave! Oh, sir!
indeed--indeed, I fear, that the time is too short to be wasted on
perishing things."

"Listen to me!" said the old man, gathering up his failing energies,
and speaking in a low, distinct voice; "I wish to save my soul, but
fear it is too late. My life has been one long, dark, dismal blank.
There is nothing which I can remember--not one single thine, to cheer
this dreary hour. I have gained the world, and lost--heaven. Until
yesterday, I derided and scorned _all_ religions. It has been my lot
in life to become entangled and betrayed by hypocrites of various
professions. They disgusted and embittered me with all religion. I
tried to think you a hypocrite, and cursed your patience and good works
as so many snares for gain. But my eyes were opened. I followed you
yesterday, out to that old negro's