"Madeline," said Miss Wimple, "look at me! Here,--touch my face, my dress! Do you not know me now? Do you not see that I am not your mother, nor Josephine, nor Adelaide, but only Sally Wimple, little Miss Wimple, of the bookstore? What harm could I do you?--how could I offend or hurt you? Look me in the eyes, I say, and know me, and be calm. See! this is my chamber,--this is my bed; below is the little shop,--the Athenæum, you remember. We are alone in the house; there is no one to hear or see. You came to me,--did you not?--over the long, weary road, through the darkness and the bitter cold, for warmth and food, for rest and safety; and I have hidden you away, and watched by you. Look around you,--look through that window; do you not know those trees, the mulberries by the Athenæum?--they are bare now; but you have seen them so before, a dozen winters. Look at this face,--look at this dress,--look at this dress!--Ah! now you know all about it,--'little Miss Wimple,' of course; and this shall be your home, and you are safe here." When Miss Wimple began to speak, she stood somewhat off from the bed; for Madeline, with a gesture full of hate, and close-set lips that looked dangerous, had thrust her back. But as she proceeded with her calm and clear appeal, Madeline was arrested, in the very movement of springing from the bed, in an attitude "worth a painter's eye," half-sitting, half-reclining, supported by her right arm, which, rigidly extended, was planted pillar-like in the bed,--with her left hand tossing aside the bed-clothes,--her knees drawn up, as for the instant of stepping out upon the floor,--her right shoulder, bare, round, and white, thrust from the night-dress, which in the restlessness of her distraction had burst its chaste fastenings, bestowing a chance glimpse of a most proud and beauteous bosom,--a glimpse but dimly caught through the thick brown meshes of her dishevelled hair. So, now, with impatient eyes and eager lips, she rested and listened. And when Miss Wimple said,--"I have hidden you away and watched by you," the fierce look was softened to one of pitiful reflection and recollection; and at the words, "Look at this dress! Ah! now you know all about it,--'little Miss Wimple,' of course!" she sat up and stretched forth her arms beseechingly, and in a moment was sobbing helplessly on Sally's neck. A little while Miss Wimple, still and thoughtful, held her so, that her soul's bitterness might pour itself out in wholesome tears; then she gently stroked the tangled brown hair, and said,--"Sit close beside me now, and lean upon my bosom, and tell me all,--where you have been, and how you have fared, and what you would have me do." With a brave effort, Madeline controlled herself, and replied, firmly, though with averted face, "You remember, dear Miss Wimple, our last interview. I insulted you then." Miss Wimple made no sign. Madeline blushed,--brow, neck, and bosom, --crimson.