"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.
All the doors were shut in the passage, and it was dark there. Milly opened a door on the left at the foot of the steep stairs.