CHAPTER I.


NORA.

"Why, then, Miss Nora--"

"Yes, Hannah?"

"You didn't see the masther going this way, miss?"

"What do you mean, Hannah? Father is never at home at this hour."

"I thought maybe--" said Hannah. She spoke in a dubious voice,
backing a little away.

Hannah was a small, squat woman, of a truly Irish type. Her nose was
celestial, her mouth wide, her eyes dark, and sparkling with fun.
She was dressed in a short, coarse serge petticoat, with what is
called a bedgown over it; the bedgown was made of striped calico,
yellow and red, and was tied in at the waist with a broad band of
the same. Hannah's hair was strongly inclined to gray, and her
humorous face was covered with a perfect network of wrinkles. She
showed a gleam of snowy teeth now, as she looked full at the young
girl whom she was addressing.

"Ah, then, Miss Nora," she said, "it's I that am sorry for yez."

Before Nora O'Shanaghgan could utter a word Hannah had turned on her
heel.