"Don't wonder at Nanon's manner. You know I'd told you she'd been in the family for years—before the doctor was born. He has the bad taste to sneer at her religion; and I really think that she considers him somehow evilly possessed. It's a sort of truce between them."
Dr. Morse placed some of the pellets in an envelope upon which he scrawled some lines.
"Tell him to take these," he said, handing them to the old woman. "The directions are on the envelope."
"I hope it is nothing serious," said his niece.
"He needs some quinine, that is all," returned the physician.
Old Nanon moved toward the door. Her withered, large veined right hand hung at her side; Ashton-Kirk noted her dart a sidelong glance toward Morse; then the bony forefinger made a rapid sign of the cross between them.
And so the door closed behind her.