stranger. "What will you have?" she asked.
But the woman only followed Simon with her eyes, not heeding the
question.

"Do you hear me?" repeated she; "I say, what will you have, Madam?"

By that time, Simon had disappeared among the distant shadows of the
street. The woman turned suddenly and confronted Miss Wimple.

"Look at me," she said.

Miss Wimple looked, and saw a pale and haggard, almost fierce, face,
that had once been fair,--one that she might, she fancied, have met
somewhere before.

"You seem to have suffered,--to suffer now. What can I do for you?"

"Look at me!"

"I see; you are very wretched, and you were not always as you are now.
You are cold; are you hungry also? I, too, am very poor; but I will
do all I can. I will warm you and give you food."

The woman walked to where the bright camphene lamp hung, and stood
under it.

"Now look at me, Miss Wimple."

"I have looked enough; desperation on a young woman's face is not a
pleasant sight to see. If you have a secret, best keep it. I have to
deal only with your weariness, your hunger, and your half-frozen
limbs. If I can do nothing for those, you must go.--Merciful Heaven!
Miss Madeline Splurge!"

"Yes!--Now hide me, quick, or some one will be coming; and warm me,
and feed me, or I shall surely die on your hands."

Not another word said Miss Wimple,--asked no question, uttered no
exclamation of surprise; but straightway ran and closed the windows,
put up the bars, adjusted the shutters in the glass door, and
screwed them down. Next she took Madeline's hand and led her up the
narrow staircase to the nest, seated her in the little Yankee
rocking-chair, and wrapped her in the scanty, faded shawl that
served for a coverlet. Then she ran quickly down into the cellar, and,
with a hammer, broke in pieces an old packing-box;--it was a brave
achievement for her tender hands. Back to the nest again with the
sticks;--Madeline slept in the chair, poor heart!

Miss Wimple made a fire in her little stove, and when some water was
hot, she roused her guest with a kiss. Silently, languidly, and with
closed eyes, Madeline yielded herself to the kind offices of her
gentle nurse, who bathed her face and neck, her hands and feet, and
dressed her hair; and when that was done, she placed a pillow under
the wanderer's head, and, with another kiss, dismissed her to sleep
again.

Then she prepared tea and toast, and, running down to the street,
returned quickly