“Shall we get the better of them again?” she asked eagerly.

“We certainly shall,” kindly.  “Miss Esther, I am going to leave some medicine for your aunt; these little pink tablets.  She must have one every two hours and two at bedtime.  When she has taken them for two days I shall send something else.  You will notice an improvement almost at once.  Even in an hour or two, perhaps.  By the end of the week all medicine may be discontinued.”

He crushed a little pink tablet in a spoon, mixed it with water, and watched the old lady while she eagerly swallowed it.

“There!” he exclaimed.  “That is the beginning!  All we need now is a little rest and quiet.  Nothing to excite the patient and a tablet regularly every two hours.”  He arose, affecting not to see Aunt Amy’s grateful tears.  “And of course,” he added as if by an afterthought, “They won’t know anything about this.  They will think that, having taken the coffee, the result is certain.  They will take for granted that They have finished you, in fact!  So cheer up, it is worth a little illness to be rid of the fear of Them forever.”

A lightning flash of hope lit up the worn face upon the pillow.  “Oh, Doctor!  Do you really think I am free?”

“Sure of it.”

Aunt Amy sank back with a long sigh; her lined face grew suddenly peaceful.  Esther, who had observed the little scene with wonder, said nothing, but taking the tablets, kissed her Aunt, and led the way out in silence.

“Well?”

As they stood together in the hall she could see the amused twinkle in the doctor’s eye.

“I don’t like it!  You lied to her!”

“So I did,” cheerfully.

“These tablets,” holding up the glass vial, “what are they?”

“Tonic.”

“And the medicine which you are going to send later?”

“More tonic.”

“But she thinks—­you gave her to understand that they are the antidote for the poison which you know does not exist.”

“No.  They are the antidote for a poison which does exist—­medicine for a mind diseased.”

“It’s—­it’s like taking advantage of a child.”

“So it is, exactly.  I suppose you have never taken advantage of a child, for the child’s good?”

“Certainly not.”

“Never told one, gave one to understand, so to speak, that a kiss will cure a bumped head?”

“That’s different!”

“Never told your school class during a thunderstorm that lightning never hurts good children?”

“That’s very different.”

“And yet all the time you know that lightning falls upon the just and unjust equally.”

Esther was silent.  The doctor laughed.

“I fear we are both sad story-tellers,” he said gaily.  “But in Aunt Amy’s case the fibbing will all be charged to my account, you are merely the nurse.  A nurse’s duty is to obey orders and not frown (as you are doing now) upon the doctor.  You will find that I shall effect a cure.  Seriously, I do not believe that you have any idea of what that poor woman has been suffering.  If the delusion of living in continual danger can be lifted in any way even for a time, it will make life over for her.  You would not really allow a scruple to prevent some alleviation of your Aunt’s condition, would you?”