On board the emigrant ship that brought her to America, she became
acquainted with a sailor, who, being touched by Kitty's forlorn
condition, was very good to her. Long before the end of the voyage,
which had been tedious and perilous, she was heartbroken at the thought
of separating from her kindly protector; but they were not to part just
yet, for the sailor returned Kitty's affection, and the two were married
on their arrival at port. Kitty's husband--she would never mention his
name, but kept it locked in her bosom like some precious relic--had a
considerable sum of money when the crew were paid off; and the young
couple--for Kitty was young then--lived very happily in a lodging-house on
South Street, near the docks. This was in New York.

The days flew by like hours, and the stocking in which the little bride
kept the funds shrunk and shrunk, until at last there were only three
or four dollars left in the toe of it. Then Kitty was troubled; for
she knew her sailor would have to go to sea again unless he could
get employment on shore. This he endeavored to do, but not with much
success. One morning as usual he kissed her good day, and set out in
search of work.

"Kissed me goodby, and called me his little Irish lass," sobbed Kitty,
telling the story, "kissed me goodby, and, Heaven help me, I niver set
oi on him nor on the likes of him again!"

He never came back. Day after day dragged on, night after night, and
then the weary weeks. What had become of him? Had he been murdered? Had
he fallen into the docks? Had he--deserted her? No! She could not believe
that; he was too brave and tender and true. She couldn't believe that.
He was dead, dead, or he'd come back to her.