She had forgotten to lock the door!
But it was only Aunt Amy.
Fear and relief came in almost the same breath. She steadied herself against the dresser.
"Shut the door!"
Aunt Amy obeyed. But she shut herself inside the door. "What do you want?" Mary never wasted words on Amy—"Ah!"
With a motion so swift that it seemed like a conjuror's miracle, Aunt Amy had slipped from her stand by the door, snatched up the open box, and was back again before the choking cry on the other's lips had formed itself.
"Esther says you musn't take these," said Aunt Amy in her colourless voice.
For a second Mary hesitated. If she made the murderous spring which every baffled nerve in her tortured body urged her to make, Amy would scream. A scream would mean, Miss Philps—Esther—the doctor: agony and defeat. With a mighty effort she held herself. She tried to speak quietly.
"Don't be a fool, Amy. This is some medicine the doctor gave me himself.
Hand it to me at once."
Aunt Amy smiled. It was a sly little smile. It made Mary want to rave, for it said more plainly than words that Aunt Amy knew. Swiftly she changed her tactics. Her face softened, became gentle, entreating—