ble and her distraction? She recollected now that Simon
had once said, in his odd, significant way, that Mr. Withers was a
charming person to contemplate from a safe distance,--Simon, who never
lent himself to idle detraction. She remembered, too, that she had
often reproached herself for her irrational prejudice against the
man,--that she was forever finding something false and sinister in the
face that every one else said was eminently handsome, and ugly
dissonance in the voice that all Hendrik praised for its music. Was he
on both sides of that card?--Ah, well! it might be just nothing, after
all; the poor lady might be ill, or vexed past endurance at home; or
some unhappy love affair might have come to fret her proud, impatient,
defiant temper. But not Withers,--oh, of course not Withers!--for was
it not well known that Adelaide was his choice, that his assiduous and
graceful attentions to her silenced even his loudest enemies, who could
no longer accuse him of duplicity and disloyalty to women? But she
would feel less disturbed, and sleep better, perhaps, if she knew that
Madeline was safe at home, and tranquil again."

Thinking of sleep reminded Miss Wimple that she had a pious task to
perform before she could betake her to her sweet little cot. A
superannuated and bedridden woman, who had nursed her mother in her
last illness, lived on the northern outskirts of the town; and she must
cross the long covered bridge that spanned the Hendrik River to take a
basket full of comforting trifles to old Hetty that night.

About nine o'clock Miss Wimple had done her charitable errand, and was
on her way home again, with a light step and a happy heart, an empty
basket and old Hetty's abundant blessings. She was alone, but feared
nothing,--the streets of Hendrik at night were familiar to her and she
to them; and although her shy and quiet traits were not sufficiently
understood to make her universally beloved, not a loafing ruffian in
town but knew her modest face, her odd attire, and her straightforward
walk; and the rudest respected her.

As she approached the covered bridge, the moon was shining brightly at
the entrance, making the gloom within profounder. It was a long, wooden
structure, of a kind common enough on the turnpikes of the Atlantic
States, where they cross the broader streams. Stout posts and
cross-beams, and an arch that stretched from end to end, divided the
bridge into two longitudinal compartments, for t