ave to be crystal to it--crystal without a flaw."

"And--if there were a flaw?"

"The whole thing, don't you see, would break down; it would be no good.
In fact, it would be awfully dangerous."

"To whom?"

"To you--to them, the people you're helping. You make a connection; you
smash down all the walls so that you--you get through to each other, and
supposing there was something wrong with _you_, and It doesn't work any
longer (the Power, I mean), don't you see that you might do harm where
you were trying to help?"

"But--Agatha--there was nothing wrong with you."

"How do I know? Can anybody be sure there's nothing wrong with them?"

"You think," said Milly, "there was a flaw somewhere?"

"There must have been--somewhere ..."

"What was it? Can't you find out? Can't you think? Think."

"Sometimes--I have thought it may have been my fear."

"Fear?"

"Yes, it's the worst thing. Don't you remember, I told you not to be
afraid?"

"But Agatha, you were _not_ afraid."

"I was--afterwards. I got frightened."

"_You?_ And you told _me_ not to be afraid," said Milly.

"I had to tell you."

"And I wasn't afraid--afterwards. I believed in you. He believed in
you."

"You shouldn't have. You shouldn't. That was just it."

"That was it? I suppose you'll say next it was I who frightened you?"

As they faced each other there, Agatha, with the terrible, the almost
supernatural lucidity she had, saw what was making Milly say that.
Milly had been frightened; she felt that she had probably communicated
her fright; she knew that that was dangerous, and she knew that if it
had done harm to Harding, she and not Agatha would be responsible. And
because she couldn't face her responsibility, she was trying to fasten
upon Agatha some other fault than fear.

"No, Milly, I don't say you frightened me, it was my own fear."

"What was there for _you_ to be afraid of?"

Agatha was silent. That was what she must never tell her, not even to
make her understand. She did not know what Milly was trying to think of
her; Milly might think what she liked; but she should never know what
her terror had been and her danger.

Agatha's silence helped Milly.

"Nothing will make me believe," she said, "that it was your fear that
did it. That would never have made you give Harding up. Besides, you
were not afraid at first, though you may have been afterwards."

"Afterwards?"

It was her own word, but it had as yet no significance f