“It was not Beenie’s fault.” Lily stretched out her hands till they reached her uncle’s, who stood by her bedside, yet as far off as he could, not to appear unkind. He was a little horrified by the touch of those hot hands. She threw herself half out of the bed to reach him, and caught his hard and bony old hand, so firm still and strong, between those white quivering fingers, almost fluid in their softness, which enveloped his with a sudden heat and atmosphere, so strange and unusual that he retreated still a step, though he could not withdraw his hand. “Uncle Robert, you will not forsake me!” Lily cried. “I have only you now, I have only you. I have been ill to you, but, oh, be good to me! I am a very lonely woman. I have nobody. I have put my trust in--other things, and they have all failed me! I’ve had a long dream and now I’ve awakened. Uncle Robert, I have nobody but you in all the world!” “Now, Lily, you must just compose yourself, my dear. Who thought of forsaking you? It is certain that you are my only near relation. Your father was my only brother. What would ail me at you? My poor lassie, just let yourself be covered up, and put your arms under the clothes and try if you cannot sleep a little. A good sleep would be the best thing for her, Robina, wouldn’t you say? Compose yourself, compose yourself, my dear.” Lily still clung to his hand, though he tried so hard to withdraw it from her hold. “And I will be different,” she said. “You will never need to complain of me more. My visions and my dreams they are all melted away, like the snow yon winter-time, when my head was just carried and I did not know what I was doing. Oh, I have been ill to you, ill to you! Eaten your bread and dwelt in your house and been a traitor to you. If they tell you, oh, Uncle Robert, do not believe I was so bad as that. I never meant it, I never intended---- It was a great delusion, and it is me that has the worst to bear.” “Robina!” cried Sir Robert, “this will never do. What disjointed nonsense has the poor thing got into her head? She will be as bad as ever if you do not take care. No more of it, no more of it, Lily. You’ve been very ill; you must be quiet, and don’t trouble your head about any thing. As for your old uncle, he will stand by you, my poor lassie, whatever you may have done--not that I believe for a moment you have done any thing.” He was greatly relieved to get his hand free. He went so far as to cover her shoulders with the bedclothes, and to give a little pat upon the white counterpane. Poor little thing! Her head was not right yet. Great care must be taken of the poor lassie. He had heard they were fond of accusing themselves of all kinds of crimes after an attack of this sort. “I suppose the doctor will be coming to-day?” he said to Beenie as he hastily withdrew toward the door. “It’s very near his hour, Sir Robert.”