She was beginning to feel vaguely uncomfortable about having told her.
"And Milly, you mustn't tell him. Promise me you won't tell him."
"Because you see, he'd think it was all rot."
"He would," said Milly. "It's the sort of thing he does think rot."
Milly smiled faintly. "I haven't the ghost of an idea what 'it' is. But whatever it is, can you go on doing it?"
"Yes, I think so. You see, it depends rather----"
"Oh, on a lot of things--on your sincerity; on your--your purity. It depends so much on _that_ that it frightens you lest, perhaps, you mightn't, after all, be so very pure."
Milly smiled again, a little differently. "Darling, if that's all, I'm not frightened. Only--supposing--supposing you gave out? You might, you know."
"_I_ might. But It couldn't. You mustn't think it's me, Milly. Because if anything happened to me, if I did give out, don't you see how it would let him down? It's as bad as thinking it's the place."
"Does it matter what it is--or who it is," said Milly, passionately; "as long as----" Her tears came and stopped her.
Agatha divined the source of Milly's passion.
"Then you don't mind, Milly? You'll let me go on?"
Milly rose; she turned abruptly, holding her head high, so that she might not spill her tears.
Agatha went with her over the grey field towards the Farm. They paused at the gate. Milly spoke.
"And you won't leave go?" Her eyes shone towards her friend's in the twilight. "You _will_ go on?"
"Oh, Aggy, he was devoted to Winny. And if the child dies----"
The child died three days later. Milly came over to Agatha with the news.
She said it had been an awful shock, of course. She'd been dreading something like that for him. But he'd taken it wonderfully. If he came out of it all right she _would_ believe in what she called Agatha's "thing."
He did come out of it all right. His behaviour was the crowning proof, if Milly wanted more proof, of his sanity. He went up to London and made all the arrangements for his sister. When he returned he forestalled Milly's specious consolations with the truth. It was better, he told her, that the dear little girl should have died, for there was distinct brain trouble anyway. He took it as a sane man takes a terrible alternative.