This little window was Madeline's chosen seat; and hither she brought, sometimes a book, but more frequently a portion of Miss Wimple's work from the millinery department, and wholesomely employed her mind, skilfully her fingers. Here she could look out upon the earth and sky, and enjoy, unspied, the sympathy of their desolation,--never daring to think of all the maddening memories that lay under the front windows: those she had never once approached, never even turned her eyes towards; Miss Wimple had observed that. But on the day of the installation of the basque and the flounces, 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.