As she stood there she heard through the open door voices in the hall. But before she had heard the voices she knew that it was Martin. Martha was expostulating, her voice following his step up the hall. "I shall go and tell my mistress," Maggie heard. Then Martin came in. When she saw him she stood speechless where she was. The change in him terrified her so that her heart seemed to leap into her throat choking her. The colour had drained from his face, leaving it dry and yellow. He had an amazing resemblance to his father, his eyes had exactly the same bewildered expression as though he were lost and yet he seemed quite calm, his only movement was one hand that wandered up and down his waistcoat feeling the buttons one after the other. He looked at her as though he did not know her, and yet he spoke her name. "Maggie," he said, "I've come to say good-bye. You know what I said before. Well, it's come true. Father is dead, and I killed him." With a terrible effort, beating down a terror that seemed personally to envelop her, she said: "No, Martin. I saw him die. It wasn't you, Martin dear." "It was I," he answered. "You don't know. I came into the house drunk and he heard what I said to Amy. He nearly died then. The doctor in the evening said he must have had some shock." She tried to come to him then. She was thinking: "Oh, if I've only got time I can win this. But I must have time. I must have time." He moved away from her, as he had done once before. "Anyway, it doesn't matter," he said. "I've killed him by the way I've been behaving to him all these months. I'm going away where I can't do any harm." She desperately calmed herself, speaking very quietly. "Listen, Martin. You haven't done him any harm. He's happier now than he's been for years. I know he is. And that doesn't touch us. You can't leave me now. Where you go I must go." "No," he answered. "No, Maggie. I ought to have gone before. I knew it then, but I know it absolutely now. Everything I touch I hurt, so I mustn't touch anything I care for." She put her hands out towards him; words had left her. She would have given her soul for words and she could say nothing. She was surrounded with a hedge of fright and terror and she could not pass it. He seemed to see then in her eyes her despair. For an instant he recognised her. Their eyes met for the first time; she felt that she was winning. She began eagerly to speak: "Listen, Martin dear. You can't do me any harm. You can only hurt me by leaving me. I've told you before. Just think of that and only that." The door opened and Aunt Anne came in. He turned to her very politely. "I beg your pardon for coming, Miss Cardinal," he said. "I know what you must think of me, but it's all right. I've only come to say good-bye to Maggie. It's all right. Neither you nor Maggie will be bothered with me again." He turned to the open door. Aunt Anne stood aside to let him pass. Maggie said: