ravellers going and
coming respectively; there were small windows on each side, and at
either end, on a conspicuous signboard, were the Company's
"Rules,"--"Walk your Horses over this Bridge, or be subject to a Fine
of not less than Five nor exceeding Twenty Dollars"--"Keep to the
Right, as the Law directs."

As Miss Wimple entered the shadow of the bridge on the right hand, she
was startled by hearing excited voices, which seemed to come from the
other side of the central arch, and about the middle of the bridge,
where the darkness was deepest:--

"Speak low, I say, or be silent! Some one will be coming presently;--I
heard steps approaching even now"--Miss Wimple instinctively stopped,
and stood motionless, almost holding her breath, at the end of the arch
where the moonlight did not reach. She was no eavesdropper, mark
you,--the meannesses she scorned included that character in a special
clause. But she had recognised the voice, and with her own true
delicacy would spare the speaker the shame of discovery and the dread
of exposure.--"Speak low, or I will leave you. If you are indifferent
for yourself, you shall not toss me to the geese of Hendrik."

"You are right";--it was a woman's voice; but, whatever her tone had
been before, she spoke so low now, and with a voice so hoarse with
suppressed emotion, so altered by a sort of choking whisper, that Miss
Wimple, if she had ever heard it before, could not recognize it;--"You
are right; the time for that has not come;--I could not stay to enjoy
it;--I am going now, but we will meet again."

"What would you have? I have said I would marry you,--and leave
you,--so soon as I can shake myself clear of that other stupid
infatuation."

"Now, Philip Withers, what a weak, pusillanimous wretch you must be,
having known me so long, and tried my temper so well, to hope to find
me such a fool, after all,--that kind of fool, I mean! My deepest
shame, in this unutterably shameful hour, is that I chose such a
cowardly ass to besot myself with.--There, the subject sickens me, and
I am going. Dare to follow me, and the geese of Hendrik shall have you.
I go scot-free, fearing nothing, having nothing to lose; but I hold
you, my exquisite Joseph Surface--oh, the wit of my sister! oh, the
wisdom of fools!--by your fine sentiments; and when I want you I shall
find you. I can take care of me and _mine_; but beware how you dare to
claim lot or portion in what I choose to call my own, even