"The voice of the gentleman was familiar to me; the lady's I did not, at first, recognize,--something had changed its quality. Supposing themselves alone,--for it was plain they had not heard me approach and enter the bridge,--they were incautious; their words reached me distinctly. I might have retraced my steps and waited till they had gone; but the moon was shining brightly, and the night was very still, --in a pause of their conversation they might have heard or seen me; I chose to _spare_ them that. So I fell back into a corner, where the shadows were deepest, and remained quite quiet until they went away. I have told you that I heard their words; but I did not understand them then;--now, I do." Madeline bowed her head. Miss Wimple seemed not to observe that, but continued in the same quiet, even tone:-- "When they had gone, I found, lying in the moonlight near the bridge--this." Miss Wimple held out the little pocket-book. Madeline started, made a quick movement, as though to snatch the book, but checked herself with an effort, and said, with stern composure,-- "Well?" "Well," said Miss Wimple, "there it is, and it is yours. It contains a card, for the safety of which you were once concerned. It has remained as safe, from that hour to this,--not only from my curiosity, but that of all others, be they friends or foes of yours,--as though you had kept it hidden in your bosom, and defended it with your teeth and nails; _on my honor_!" In these last words, and only then, Miss Wimple showed that she could remember an insult, and avenge it--in her own way. She dropped the pocket-book into the lap of Madeline, who, without a word, placed it in her bosom. "And now, my poor Madeline," said Miss Wimple, "we will speak no more of these things. I beg you to understand me clearly,"--and Miss Wimple suddenly altered her tone,--"we must not recur to this subject. You will remain with me until we shall have decided what is best for us to do. You are quite safe in this house; that you were ever here need not be known hereafter, unless your honor or your happiness should require that we divulge it. I must go now and open the shop; and when I return to you, we will speak, if you please, of other things." "_But Miss Wimple's Hoop,--will you never come to that? Or is it your intention to 'omit the part of Hamlet by particular request_?'" Slowly and fairly,--we come to it now. CHAPTER IV.