“Sir,” said May, gently, “I am no worse off now than I was yesterday.  I should have felt much encumbered by so large a fortune.  I’m afraid it would have made me dizzy and foolish; indeed, sir, I feel quite unequal to the responsibility of such a stewardship.  I feel deeply grateful to my poor uncle, and also to you, for your kind wishes in my regard, but, believe me, I am quite content for matters to stand just as they are, so far as I am concerned.”  Then breaking down, May broke out into a regular womanly fit of crying.

“May,” said the lawyer, more gently, “when you took those papers out of that infer—­that closet there, did you see those two wills lying together?”

“I saw nothing, sir, except the papers I went to get.”

“And which you burned?”

“Which I burned up to the last scrap.”

“Very well.  You burned up the will too.  You have been purified by fire with a vengeance.  Do you still believe in guardian angels?”

“Just as firmly as ever, sir,” she replied, fixing her clear eyes on him.

“Where was yours, pray, while you was doing just what the devil would have you?”

“Guarding me from evils to come, I trust.  Oh, sir, it is very perilous to one’s soul to be rich!” she exclaimed, with one of her sunlit expressions.

“Very well, again!  ’Gad, how Plato would have loved you!  But see here, you most uncommon of little bodies!  I want just such a daughter as you are.  My heart is desolate.  All that I loved have passed away!  Will you—­will you come and keep house for me, like you did for old Stillinghast?  Come—­come, tell me at once; I am old and tottering,” said the lawyer, trying to twinkle away a tear from his large gray eyes.

“Oh, dear me! dear, kind Mr. Fielding!” cried May, weeping on Mr. Fielding’s shoulder; “I hope Heavenly Father will bless you for your kind intentions to a friendless orphan; but, indeed, sir, I cannot say—­I don’t think it would suit me to be dependent.”

“Who wants you to be dependent?” roared out Mr. Fielding; “I’ll hire you, if that will suit you better, to keep house, mend my stockings, and make tea for me; that will board you, and your splendid annuity will clothe you.”

“I will tell you in a few days, sir.  I have not quite decided what I shall do.  I am so tossed and worried now I can think of nothing clearly,” sobbed May.

“Let us go down, sir, and go on with the business which brought us here,” said Mr. Fielding, while he lifted May’s head gently up from his shoulder.  “Whatever you decide on, May Brooke, remember that I am your protector, defender, and friend.”