It was the sixth week, and still Rodney did not write; and Agatha was more and more afraid.

By this time she had definitely connected her fear with Harding Powell’s dominion and persistence.  She was certain now that what she could only call his importunity had proved somehow disastrous to Rodney Lanyon.  And with it all, unacknowledged, beaten back, her desire to see Rodney ran to and fro in the burrows underground.

He did not write, but on the Friday of that week, the sixth week, he came.

She saw him coming up the garden path and she shrank back into her room; but the light searched her and found her, and he saw her there.  He never knocked; he came straight and swiftly to her through the open doors.  He shut the door of the room behind him and held her by her arms with both his hands.

“Rodney,” she said, “did you mean to come, or did I make you?”

“I meant to come.  You couldn’t make me.”

“Couldn’t I?  Oh say I couldn’t.”

“You could,” he said, “but you didn’t.  And what does it matter so long as I’m here?”

“Let me look at you.”

She held him at arm’s length and turned him to the light.  It showed his face white, worn as it used to be, all the little lines of worry back again, and two new ones that drew down the corners of his mouth.

“You’ve been ill,” she said.  “You are ill.”

“No.  I’m all right.  What’s the matter with you?”

“With me?  Nothing.  Do I look as if anything was wrong?”

“You look as if you’d been frightened.”

He paused, considering it.

“This place isn’t good for you.  You oughtn’t to be here like this, all by yourself.”

“Oh!  Rodney, it’s the dearest place.  I love every inch of it.  Besides, I’m not altogether by myself.”

He did not seem to hear her; and what he said next arose evidently out of his own thoughts.

“I say, are those Powells still here?”

“They’ve been here all the time.”

“Do you see much of them?”

“I see them every day.  Sometimes nearly all day.”

“That accounts for it.”

Again he paused.

“It’s my fault, Agatha.  I shouldn’t have left you to them.  I knew.”

“What did you know?”

“Well ­the state he was in, and the effect it would have on you ­that it would have on any one.”

“It’s all right.  He’s going.  Besides, he isn’t in a state any more.  He’s cured.”

“Cured?  What’s cured him?”

She evaded him.

“He’s been well ever since he came; absolutely well after the first day.”

“Still, you’ve been frightened; you’ve been worrying; you’ve had some shock or other, or some strain.  What is it?”

“Nothing.  Only ­just the last week ­I’ve been a little frightened about you ­when you wouldn’t write to me.  Why didn’t you?”

“Because I couldn’t.”

“Then you were ill.”

“I’m all right.  I know what’s the matter with me.”

“It’s Bella?”

He laughed harshly.

“No, it isn’t this time.  I haven’t that excuse.”

“Excuse for what?”

“For coming.  Bella’s all right.  Bella’s a perfect angel.  God knows what’s happened to her.  I don’t. I haven’t had anything to do with it.”

“You had.  You had everything.  You were an angel, too.”

“I haven’t been much of an angel lately, I can tell you.”

“She’ll understand.  She does understand.”

They had sat down on the couch in the corner so that they faced each other.  Agatha faced him, but fear was in her eyes.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “whether she understands or not.  I don’t want to talk about her.”

Agatha said nothing, but there was a movement in her face, a white wave of trouble, and the fear fluttered in her eyes.  He saw it there.

“You needn’t bother about Bella.  She’s all right.  You see, it’s not as if she cared.”

“Cared?”

“About me much.”

“But she does, she does care!”

“I suppose she did once, or she couldn’t have married me.  But she doesn’t now.  You see ­you may as well know it, Agatha ­there’s another man.”

“Oh, Rodney, no.”

“Yes.  It’s been perfectly all right, you know; but there he is and there he’s been for years.  She told me.  I’m awfully sorry for her.”

He paused.

“What beats me is her being so angelic now, when she doesn’t care.”

“Rodney, she does.  It’s all over, like an illness.  It’s you she cares for now.”

“Think so?”

“I’m sure of it.”

“I’m not.”

“You will be.  You’ll see it.  You’ll see it soon.”

He glanced at her under his bent brows.

“I don’t know,” he said, “that I want to see it. That isn’t what’s the matter with me.  You don’t understand the situation.  It isn’t all over.  She’s only being good about it.  She doesn’t care a rap about me.  She can’t.  And what’s more I don’t want her to.”

“You ­don’t ­want her to?”

He burst out.  “My God, I want nothing in this world but you.  And I can’t have you.  That’s what’s the matter with me.”

“No, no, it isn’t,” she cried.  “You don’t know.”

“I do know.  It’s hurting me.  And ­” he looked at her and his voice shook ­“it’s hurting you.  I won’t have you hurt.”

He started forward suddenly as if he would have taken her in his arms.  She put up her hands to keep him off.

“No, no!” she cried.  “I’m all right.  I’m all right.  It isn’t that.  You mustn’t think it.”

“I know it.  That’s why I came.”

He came near again.  He seized her struggling hands.

“Agatha, why can’t we?  Why shouldn’t we?”

“No, no,” she moaned.  “We can’t.  We mustn’t.  Not that way.  I don’t want it, Rodney, that way.”

“It shall be any way you like.  Only don’t beat me off.”

“I’m not ­beating ­you ­off.”

She stood up.  Her face changed suddenly.

“Rodney ­I forgot.  They’re coming.”

“Who are they?”

“The Powells.  They’re coming to lunch.”

“Can’t you put them off?”

“I can, but it wouldn’t be very wise, dear.  They might think ­”

“Confound them ­they would think.”

He was pulling himself visibly together.

“I’m afraid, Aggy, I ought ­”

“I know ­you must.  You must go soon.”  He looked at his watch.

“I must go now, dear.  I daren’t stay.  It’s dangerous.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“But when is the brute going?”

“Poor darling, he’s going next week ­next Thursday.”

“Well then, I’ll ­I’ll ­”

“Please, you must go.”

“I’m going.”

She held out her hand.

“I daren’t touch you,” he whispered.  “I’m going now.  But I’ll come again next Friday, and I’ll stay.”

As she saw his drawn face there was not any strength in her to say
“No.”