"Yes'm," said Jane, apparently equally relieved. "Only, I thought I'd
just tell you."

A few minutes later, in crossing the upper hall, Mrs. Rylands heard
Jane's voice from the kitchen raised in rustic laughter. Had she been
satirically inclined, she might have understood Jane's willingness to
relieve her mistress of the duty of entertaining the stranger; had
she been philosophical, she might have considered the girl's dreary,
monotonous life at the rancho, and made allowance for her joy at this
rare interruption of it. But I fear that Mrs. Rylands was neither
satirical nor philosophical, and presently, when Jane reentered, with
color in her alkaline face, and light in her huckleberry eyes, and said
she was going over to the cattle-sheds in the "far pasture," to see
if the hired man didn't know of some horse that could be got for the
stranger, Mrs. Rylands felt a little bitterness in the thought that the
girl would have scarcely volunteered to go all that distance in the rain
for HER. Yet, in a few moments she forgot all about it, and even the
presence of her guest in the house, and in one of her fitful abstracted
employments passed through the dining-room into the kitchen, and had
opened the door with an "Oh, Jane!" before she remembered her absence.

The kitchen, lit by a single candle, could be only partly seen by her
as she stood with her hand on the lock, although she herself was plainly
visible. There was a pause, and then a quiet, self-possessed, yet
amused, voice answered:--

"My name isn't Jane, and if you're the lady of the house, I reckon yours
wasn't ALWAYS Rylands."