He looked at her strangely.
"And you cried over Ireland's sorrows?"
"As a child and as a woman," said Angela.
"And ye've gone about here tryin' to help them too, haven't ye?"
"I could do very little"
"Well, the spirit is there—and the heart is there. If they hadn't liked YOU it's the sorry time maybe your brother would have."
He paused again, looking at her intently, whilst his fingers clutched the coverlet convulsively as if to stifle a cry of pain.
"May I ask ye yer name?" he gasped.
"Angela," she said, almost in a whisper.
"Angela," he repeated. "Angela! It's well named ye are. It's the ministering angel ye've been down here—to the people—and—to me."