Agatha took in her friend's high courage as she looked at the eyes where fright barely fluttered under the poised suspense. She approved of the plan. It appealed to her by its sheer audacity. She murmured that, if there were anything that she could do, Milly had only to come to her. Oh well, Milly _had_ come. What she wanted Agatha to do--if she saw him and he should say anything about it--was simply to take the line that he was safe. Agatha said that was the line she did take. She wasn't going to let herself think, and Milly mustn't think--not for a moment--that he wasn't, that there was anything to be afraid of. "Anything to be afraid of _here_. That's my point," said Milly. "Mine is that here or anywhere--wherever _he_ is--there mustn't be any fear. How can he get better if we keep him wrapped in it? You're _not_ afraid. You're _not_ afraid." Persistent, invincible affirmation was part of her method, her secret. Milly replied a little wearily (she knew nothing about the method). "I haven't time to be afraid," she said. "And as long as you're not----" "It's you who matter," Agatha cried. "You're so near him. Don't you realise what it means to be so near?" Milly smiled sadly, tenderly. (As if she didn't know!) "My dear, that's all that keeps me going. I've got to make him feel that he's protected." "He _is_ protected," said Agatha. Already she was drawing her charmed circle round him. "As long as I hold out. If I give in he's done for." "You mustn't think it. You mustn't say it!" "But--I know it. Oh, my dear! I'm all he's got." At that she looked for a moment as if she might break down. She said the terrible part of it was that they were left so much alone. People were beginning to shrink from him, to be afraid of him. "You know," said Agatha, "I'm not. You must bring him to see me." The little woman had risen, as she said, "to go to him." She stood there, visibly hesitating. She couldn't bring him. He wouldn't come. Would Agatha go with her and see him? Agatha went. As they approached the Farm she saw to her amazement that the door was shut and the blinds, the ugly, ochreish yellow blinds, were down in all the nine windows of the front, the windows of the Powell's rooms. The house was like a house of the dead. "Do you get the sun on this side?" she said; and as she said it she realised the stupidity of her question; for the nine windows looked to the east, and the sun, wheeling down the west, had been in their faces as they came. Milly answered mechanically, "No, we don't get any sun." She added with an irrelevance that was only apparent, "I've had to take all four rooms to keep other people out." "They never come," said Agatha. "No," said Milly, "but if they did----!" The front door was locked. Milly had the key. When they had entered, Agatha saw her turn it in the lock again, slowly and without a sound.