"I mean working day in and day out, as you do. You have grown much thinner since I saw you first, and look at your hands." He took one of them in his and gently stroked it. "See how thin they are, and here are callous places. And you are stooping over with weariness, and, except when you have been exercising, your face is far too white."
She looked off toward the mountain top and slowly drew her hand from his. "I must do it. There is no one else," she said in a low voice.
"But it can't go on always—this way."
"I reckon so. Once I thought—it might—be some different, but now—" She waited an instant in silence.
"But now—what?"
"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."