“There was, to begin with,” the girl answered.  “You see, miss, he sent for me to meet him in New York, and ’twas he paid me way over.  He’d bought land in Oregon, and irritated it, as they calls it—­and was doin’ wonderful.  The idea was he should meet me at the ship, and we’d get married and go West, man and wife.  But his partner cheated him out of his eyes, and the trick only come out when I was on the water.  So instead o’ findin’ me Tim I found a letter.  The poor boy’s had to start all over again; and I tuk service, waitin’ till he can scrape up the money to fetch me out.”

“I may be going quite near Oregon myself before long,” said Angela impulsively.  “Do you think you could learn to be my maid, and would you like to go with me?”

“Like it!” the girl echoed, turning white and then red. “’Twould be heaven.  I’m not too happy here.  The housekeeper’s got a ‘clow’ on me.  And indade, I’ve done a bit of maidin’ to a lady in the ould country.  I’d work early and late to please ye, miss!”

“I feel sure you would,” Angela said.  “But you know, if you’re going to be my maid, you must give up calling me ‘miss,’ for I am—­Mrs. May.”

“I beg your pardon, I’m sure, ma’am.  But ’twas because ye look so young, it never entered me head ye could be married, and perhaps even a widow.”

Angela did not speak, and at once the girl made sure that she had hit upon the truth with her last words.  The lovely lady was in black for her husband, to whom she must have been married when almost a child.  “My name’s Kate McGinnis, ma’am,” she went quickly on, “and though I’ve got no recommendations in writin’, because I thought to take a husband and not service, I can get a good word from the priest, and——­”

“Your face tells me enough,” Angela broke in.  “I know you’re a good girl, and that you’ll be a comfort to me on the journey.  But if you go, you mustn’t expect to get out to Oregon immediately.  I mean to travel to California, and I should like you to stay with me until I settle somewhere.  Then I’ll send you to the place where your fiance lives.”

“That’s what I’d like best of anything,” exclaimed Kate.  “Tim ain’t ready yet, but he will be soon—­now the worry about payin’ the big price of me railway ticket will be off our minds.  Oh, but doesn’t it seem too good to be true?”

“Why not say too good not to be true?” asked Angela, whose optimism to-day was ready to triumph over past stumbling-blocks.  “It’s settled, then—­if the hotel will let you off.”

“I’ve giv’ in me notice, miss—­madam, I mean,” replied the girl hastily.  “There’s some things I don’t think Tim would like about me bein’ in a hotel, and I was lookin’ out for a private place.  Me time’s up here day after to-morrow.  But, oh, ma’am, there’s a thing I haven’t told ye—­indade, ’twas because I forgot, not that I meant to desave.  Maybe, when ye know what it is ye’ll change yer mind about havin’ me—­and I couldn’t blame ye.”