“It seems as if it must go on — like this way — always, as if I were chained here with iron.”

“But why? Won’t you tell me so I may help you?”

“I can’t,” she said sadly and with finality. “It must be.”

He brooded a moment, clasping his hands about one knee and gazing at her. “Maybe,” he said at last, “maybe I can help you, even if you can’t tell me what is holding you.”

She smiled a faintly fleeting smile. “Thank you — but I reckon not.”

“Miss Cassandra, when you know I am at your service, and will do anything you ask of me, why do you hold something back from me? I can understand, and I may have ways —