"Of course I knew it was the Power, not you. But you had hold of it. You did something. Something that other people can't do. You did it for one night, and that night he was well. You kept on for six weeks and he was well all that time. You leave off for three days—I know when you left off—and he's ill again. And then you tell me that it isn't you. It is you; and if it's you you can't give him up. You can't stand by, Aggy, and refuse to help him. You know what it was. How can you bear to let him suffer? How can you?"
"I can because I must."
"And why must you?"
Milly raised her head more in defiance than in supplication.
"Because—I told you that I might give out. Well—I have given out."
"You told me that the Power can't give out—that you've only got to hold on to it—that it's no effort. I'm only asking you, Aggy, to hold on."
"You don't know what you're asking."
"I'm asking you only to do what you have done, to give five minutes in the day to him. You said it was enough. Only five minutes. It isn't much to ask."
Agatha sighed.
"What difference could it make to you—five minutes?"