She could hardly not have been seized and held by a case so pitiful, so desperate as theirs. How pitiful and desperate it had become she learned almost at once from the face of her friend, the little pale-eyed wife, whose small, flat, flower-like features were washed out and worn fine by watchings and listenings on the border, on the threshold. Yes, he was worse. He had had to give up his business (Harding Powell was a gentle stockbroker). It wasn't any longer, Milly Powell intimated, a question of borders and of thresholds. They had passed all that. He had gone clean over; he was in the dreadful interior; and she, the resolute and vigilant little woman, had no longer any power to get him out. She was at the end of her tether. Agatha knew what he had been for years? Well--he was worse than that; far worse than he had been, ever. Not so bad though that he hadn't intervals in which he knew how bad he was, and was willing to do everything, to try anything. They were going to try Sarratt End. It was her idea. She knew how marvellously it had answered with dear Agatha (not that Agatha ever was, or could be, where _he_ was, poor darling). And besides, Agatha herself was an attraction. It had occurred to Milly Powell that it might do Harding good to be near Agatha. There was something about her; Milly didn't know what it was, but she felt it, _he_ felt it--an influence or something, that made for mental peace. It was, Mrs. Powell said, as if she had some secret. She hoped Agatha wouldn't mind. It couldn't possibly hurt her. _He_ couldn't. The darling couldn't hurt a fly; he could only hurt himself. And if he got really bad, why then, of course, they would have to leave Sarratt End. He would have, she said sadly, to go away somewhere. But not yet--oh, not yet; he wasn't bad enough for that. She would keep him with her up to the last possible moment--the last possible moment. Agatha could understand, couldn't she? Agatha did indeed. Milly Powell smiled her desperate white smile, and went on, always with her air of appeal to Agatha. That was why she wanted to be near her. It was awful not to be near somebody who understood, who would understand him. For Agatha would understand--wouldn't she?--that to a certain extent he must be given in to? _That_--apart from Agatha--was why they had chosen Sarratt End. It was the sort of place--wasn't it?--where you would go if you didn't want people to get at you, where (Milly's very voice became furtive as she explained it) you could hide. His idea--his last--seemed to be that something _was_ trying to get at him. No, not people. Something worse, something terrible. It was always after him. The most piteous thing about him--piteous but adorable--was that he came to her--to _her_--imploring her to hide him. And so she had hidden him here.