d aloud, and more than once
she stood still and wrung her hands.

"Ah! if Simon Blount would but come now to advise me what is safest and
best to do!"

Should she go to Mrs. Splurge and tell her all? No,--what right had
she? That would but precipitate an exposure which might not be
necessary. The case was not clear enough to justify so officious a
step. Madeline was in no immediate danger. Perhaps she had only taken a
different road to avoid the odious companionship of Withers. No doubt
she was half-way home already. She would wait till morning, for clearer
judgment and information. Till then she would hope for the best.

When Miss Wimple reached her humble little nest, she knelt beside her
bed and prayed, tearfully, to the God who averts danger and forgives
sin; but she did not sleep all night.

In the morning a gossiping neighbor came with the news;--"that little
cooped-up Wimple never hears anything," she thought.

Miss Madeline Splurge had disappeared. Mr. Philip Withers was searching
for her high and low. She had not been seen since yesterday
afternoon,--had not returned home last night. It was feared she had
drowned herself in the river for spite. She, the knowing neighbor, "had
always said so,--had always said that Madeline Splurge was a quare
girl,--sich high and mighty airs, and _sich_ a temper. Now here it was,
and what would people say,--specially them as had always turned up
their nose at her opinion?"

Miss Wimple said nothing; but she treated Pity to two poor little
lies;--one she told, and the other she looked:--She was not well, she
said, which was the reason why she was so pale; and then she looked
surprised at the news of Madeline's flitting.

Later in the day another report:--A letter left by Madeline had been
found at home. She had taken offence at some sharp thing that sarcastic
Mr. Withers, who always did hate her, had said; and had gone off in a
miff, without even good-by or a carpet-bag, and taken the night train
to New York, where she had an uncle on the mother's side.--And a good
riddance! Now Miss Addy and Mr. Withers would have some peace of their
time. Such a sweet couple, too!

Madeline _had_ left a note:--"I was sick of you all, and I have escaped
from you. You will be foolish to take any trouble about it."

[To be continued.]

THE CUP.

The cup I sing is a cup of gold,
Many and many a century old,
Sculptured fair, and over-filled
With wine of a generous vin