"I ain't just settled in my mind as to that, ma'am. The world's big, beyond The Hollow." "Too big for you, Mr. Morley, until you are yourself--your best self again. And you can pay me--I have my bill ready." Martin eyed her furtively and tried to steady his hand as he reached out for the plate of savoury food she was passing to him. They ate silently for a while, then Marcia Lowe tried to cheer him by scraps of gossip that had drifted to her during the day. "They think you have gone with Teale," she said with a little laugh; "the idea of your flying off in that company! Have another potato, Mr. Morley; the staying power of a baked potato is simply marvellous." When the meal was finished and the dishes put away, Marcia Lowe faced her gloomy guest with deep, serious eyes. "You feel you owe me something, Mr. Morley?" she asked. They were sitting opposite each other by the hearth; a pouring rain dashed against the window and a rising wind howled through the trees. A sleek yellow cat turned around two or three times and then settled comfortably at Marcia Lowe's feet and purred happily. "I do that, mum." "You are--willing to do something for me--for Sandy, but most of all for yourself?" Morley was becoming accustomed to the little doctor's quaint way of putting questions, but her manner still puzzled him. "Yes, ma'am," he answered confusedly. "Then listen, Martin Morley. I want to save you, first of all for yourself--next for that boy of yours, who, I somehow feel confident, will come back to honour us all. I believe I can do what I have in mind--there is a little risk, very little, but will you run it for me?" Morley's thin face twitched. Many emotions swayed him. Doubt, suspicion, superstition, the ingrained revolt of sex--the male resenting this power of the female--all, all held part in Morley's mind, weakened by trouble and malnutrition, but above all was the innate yearning to prove himself for Sandy. Martin had the supreme instinct of parenthood. "You know you were willing to die for him, Mr. Morley. Are you not willing to run the chance of a better, cleaner life?" Marcia Lowe was bending forward now, her face radiant and inspired--she looked young, lovely and compassionate. "I--I--don't follow you, ma'am." Poor Martin was caught in the toils of the enthusiast.