In a moment, however, she had gained control of herself, dashed the
tears from her eyes, and almost seized the bottle from Doctor Locke.
"Bring him down here, my dear," cautioned the doctor, still holding the
bottle. "You would not know how to administer it."
Eva ran to her father's room, stopping only long enough to summon
Quentin, then together they led Brent down-stairs.
Brent's condition was still pitiable. His mind was a total blank. These
people--Doctor Q, Zita, Quentin, even his own daughter--meant nothing to
him. He lived and breathed. But no ray of light entered the poor brain.
They guided his halting steps into the library as if he had been
something less than a child, and placed him in the same big armchair on
which he had sunk the fatal morning that the fumes from the candles had
overcome him.
Doctor Q drew out the bottle and, telling Zita to bring a glass of
water, measured out a few drops of the antidote, pouring them into the
glass. Then he moved over to Brent and tried to get him to drink it. For
a long time Brent merely clenched his teeth, but, once he was induced to
taste the mixture, he drank it eagerly.
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