The Keeper of the Door

by Ethel M. Dell

Softly the door opened. "Anything I can do, Miss Olga?" murmured Mrs.
Briggs.

"Nothing, thank you," said Olga.

"That young Dr. Wyndham—'e's just come back," said Mrs. Briggs.

Olga turned for a moment from the bed. The glass was in her hand.

"Go down to him, Mrs. Briggs," she said. "Ask him to wait five minutes."

"Allegro!" There was agonized appeal in the cry.

She turned back instantly. "It's all right, dearest. It's all right.
Mind how you take it! There! Let me! Your hand is trembling."

She leaned over her friend, supporting her, holding the glass to her lips.

"Drink it slowly!" she whispered to the quivering girl. "You are quite safe—quite safe."

And Violet drank,—at first feverishly, then more steadily, and at last she took the glass into her own hand and slowly drained it. Olga waited beside her, took it quietly from her; set it down.