ed with its thankfulness to God, and to his saving minister.
When, Miss Wimple opened her eyes, Madeline bent over her and kissed
her on the forehead, and Miss Wimple smiled. Then both arose and put
on their garments,--Madeline the skimped delaine, and Miss Wimple
the flounces. Oh! the grotesque pathos of that exchange!--and
Madeline did not remark with what haste, and a certain awkward
bashfulness, Miss Wimple retired to a far corner and covered her
shoulders with the lace cape.

All that day the two women were very still;--the approaching hour of
parting was not adverted to between them, but the low tone in which
they spake of other and lesser things showed that it was first of
all in their thoughts and on their hearts. To the latest moment they
merely _understood each other_. The cars went from the branch
station at ten o'clock. It was nine when Miss Wimple released from
its old-fashioned bandbox--as naturally as if it had been all along
agreed upon between them, and not, as was truly the case, utterly
forgotten until then--her well-saved and but little used bonnet of
black straw, and put it on Madeline's head, kissing her, as a mother
does her child, as she tied the bow under her chin; and she took
from the bed the faithful shawl, and drew it snugly, tenderly,
around Madeline's shoulders,--Madeline only blushing; to resist, to
remonstrate, she well knew, had been in vain. There had been some
exchanging of characters, you perceive, no less than of costumes.

"And now where shall we put those?" asked Miss Wimple, holding in
her hand Mr. Osgood's check, and a trifle of ready money for the
immediate needs of the journey.

Madeline replied by silently drawing from her bosom the little
pocket-book, and handing it to her friend, who opened it in a
matter-of-course way that was full of delicacy; and--no doubt
accidentally, and innocently, as to any trick of pretty sentiment--
deposited the check and the bank-note beside that card.

And now it was time to part. Miss Wimple took up the dim chamber-lamp,
and led Madeline down the stairs,--both silent, calm: those were not
crying women. As they entered the shop, Miss Wimple immediately set
down the lamp on the nearest end of the counter, and went with
Madeline straight to the door, whither its slender ray hardly reached,
and where the blood-spots and the rents on her shoulder might not be
noticed,--or, at least, not clearly defined. Then, with a
business-like "Ah! I had fo