ces,
and the promotion of the skimped delaine, late in the afternoon,
the twilight (falling, as Madeline sat at the side-window, gazing
vacantly down upon the forlornness of the little yard, and Miss Wimple
stood at the front window, gazing as abstractedly down upon the hard,
pitiless coldness of the street),--the thoughts of both intent on the
_must_ of their parting on the morrow, and the _how_ of Madeline's
going,--suddenly Madeline left her safe seat, and came and leaned upon
Miss Wimple's shoulder, looking over it into the street. Only a
minute, half a minute, but--surely the Enemy tempted her!--too long;
for ere Miss Wimple, quick as she was to take the alarm, could turn
and lead her away, Madeline's vigilant, fierce glance had caught
sight of him, (alack! Philip Withers!) and, ashen-pale, with parted
lips and suspended breath, and wide, blazing eyes, she stood, rooted
there, and stared at him. But Miss Wimple dragged her away just in
time,--no, he had not seen her,--and for a brief space the two women
stood together, near the bed, in the corner farthest from the window;
and Miss Wimple held Madeline's face close down upon her own shoulder,
and pressed her hand commandingly, and whispered, "Hush!"

So they stood in silence,--no cry, no word, escaped. And when,
presently, Madeline, with a long heart-heaved sigh, raised her head
and looked Miss Wimple in the face, there was blood on her lips. And
blood was on Miss Wimple's dress. Yea! the basqued and flounced
disguise was raggedly rent at the shoulder.

Then Madeline went and lay down upon the bed, and turned her face to
the wall,--and there was no noise. And Miss Wimple covered the blood
and the rents on her shoulder with her mother's lace cape,--the
familiar companion of the skimped delaine,--and went down into the
shop.

When Miss Wimple, having put up the bars, ascended to the nest to
join Madeline in the little cot,--Madeline slept quietly enough; but
a trace of blood, with all its sad story, was on her lips, and a
lingering frown of pain on her brow. Very carefully, not to disturb
her, Miss Wimple lay down by her side, but not to sleep;--her
thoughts were anxiously busy with the morrow.

In the morning, when Miss Wimple awoke, her eyes met the eyes of
Madeline, no longer fierce and wild, but full of patience and tender
gratitude. The brave Magdalen, leaning on her elbow in the bed, had
been watching Miss Wimple as she slept, her poor heart fairly
oppress