went to fetch the brandy.

When he brought it, Anne took the glass in her hand, and, rising, rapped
sharply on Chesney's door.

"It's me, sir--Nurse Harding," she said, in her most matter-of-fact
voice. "You'll let _me_ in, won't you?"

Perfect silence. Even the restless tossing stopped. Gaynor looked at her
in deep discouragement. She only smiled again, bobbing her black curls
at him with the energy of her consoling nod. "That's all right, my good
man," the nod said. "I'm just taking my own time about it."

His puckered face smoothed out somewhat.

"See here, sir," called Anne, rapping on the door again. "You know I've
always played fair and square with you. I just want to tell you that I
know you'll be needing brandy to-day, and I have it here for you--a
glass of it--in my hand. If you'll only open the door for me, I'll give
it you right away."

She heard the bed creak. She called again:

"It's the physic that you need, Mr. Chesney, and you know it as well as
I do. You won't get it any other way. Come--be a good sport and let me
in!"

There was another silence; then she heard his slow, heavy, dragging
tread along the floor. The door shook suddenly. He had evidently half
fallen against it for support. Then the key turned. Anne pushed the door
open and went in, closing it behind her in Gaynor's dumfounded face. The
valet felt a faint revival of his childhood's belief in witches as the
little black-maned figure disappeared behind that dread door and closed
and locked it. Lion-tamers were but feeble folk compared with her. He
sat down on the hall-chair nearest, and wiped his forehead.

Anne told Dr. Bellamy afterwards that Chesney that day was the
"grisliest sight she had ever looked on in twelve years of mighty varied
nursing."

When she entered he was returning laboriously to his bed. He swayed as
he went, and the little nurse gave him her thin arm and shoulder for
support. The two went reeling slowly across the room, Anne with the
glass of brandy held at arm's length to keep from slopping it.

The great hulk fell helplessly upon the bed, and she dragged the
bedclothes over him with her free hand. As she looked at him, she
thought that this might be the end of him--his unshaven face was so
congested with alcohol and morphia. There was a yellow-white ring around
his nostrils and the edge of his moustache.

She supported his head and fed him the raw spirit as a woman feeds milk
to a baby out of a feeding-mu