and was in no need of coffee. "We'll
throw this out and make fresh," he said gayly. "Then you must have a cup
with me. Why, you have enough to eat here for three people!" She seemed
weary and sad, and he determined to probe far enough to elicit some
confidence, but the more fluent he became, the more effectively she
withdrew from him.

"See here," he said at last, "sit by the table with me, and I will eat
to your heart's content. I'll prepare you a cup of tea as I do my own,
and then I want you to drink it. Come."

She yielded. His way of saying "Come" seemed like a command to be
obeyed.

"Now, that is more like." He began his dinner with a relish. "Won't you
share this game with me? It is fine, you know."

He could not think her silent from embarrassment, for her poise seemed
undisturbed except for the anxious look in her eyes. He determined to
fathom the cause, and since no finesse availed, there remained but one
way,--the direct question.

"What is it?" he said kindly. "Tell me the trouble, and let me help
you."

She looked full into his eyes then, and her lips quivered. Something
rose in her throat, and she swallowed helplessly. It was so hard for her
to speak. The trouble had struck deeper than he dreamed.

"It is a trouble, isn't it? Can't you tell it to me?"

"Yes. I reckon there isn't any trouble worse than ours--no, I reckon
there is nothing worse."

"Why, Miss Cassandra!"

"Because it's sin, and--and 'the wages of sin is death.'" Her tone was
hopeless, and the sadness of it went to his heart.

"Is it whiskey?" he asked.

"Yes--it's whiskey 'stilling and--worse; it's--" She turned deathly
white. Too sad to weep, she still held control of her voice. "It's a
heap worse--"

"Don't try to tell me what it is," he cried. "Only tell me how I may
help you. It's not your sin, surely, so you don't have to bear it."

"It's not mine, but I do have to bear it. I wish my bearing it was all.
Tell me, if--if a man has done--such a sin, is it right to help him get
away?"

"If it is that big brother of yours, whom I saw last night, I can't
believe he has done anything so very wicked. You say it is not the
whiskey?"

"Maybe it was the whiskey first--then--I don't know exactly how came
it--I reckon he doesn't himself. I--he's not my brothah--not rightly,
but he has been the same as such. They telegraphed me to come home
quick. Bishop Towahs told me a little--all he knew,--but he didn't know
what all was it,