Then she prepared tea and toast, and, running down to the street, returned quickly with some fresh eggs and a morsel of golden butter, wherefrom she prepared a toothsome supper, the fragrance of which presently aroused the famished sufferer, so that she opened her eyes feebly, and smiled, and kissed Miss Wimple’s hand when she came to draw her nearer to the table.  Then Madeline ate,—­not heartily, but enough to comfort her; and very soon her head fell back upon the pillow, and she would have slept in the chair again, holding Miss Wimple’s hand.  But Miss Wimple arose and took the sheets from the cot, and, having warmed them by the fire, made up the bed afresh,—­a most smooth, sweet, and comfortable nest; and, raising Madeline in her arms, supporting her still sleeping head upon her shoulder, she very tenderly and skilfully removed her garments, all coarse and torn, soiled and damp, and clad her afresh in pure night-clothes of her own.  But first—­for Madeline began to shiver, and her teeth had chattered slightly—­Miss Wimple untied her own warm petticoat of quilted silk, that for comfort and for decency had been her best friend through the hard winter,—­wherefore it was most dearly prized and ingeniously saved,—­and put it upon Madeline, whom then she led, almost carrying her, as one may lead a worn-out and already slumbering child, to the nest, and laid her gently there, drawing the covering snugly about her, and spreading the faithful shawl over all.  And all the while, not a word had been spoken by either;—­with one, it was the silence of pious carefulness, —­with the other, of newly-found safety and perfect rest.  Then Miss Wimple placed the lamp on the floor behind the door, fed the stove with fresh sticks, and with her feet on the little iron hearth, and her head resting on her knees, thought there all night.

All night poor Madeline’s slumber was broken by incoherent mutterings, convulsive starts, and, more than once, a fearful cry; and when the day dawned, she suddenly sat erect, stared wildly about her, and raved.  A fierce, though brief, fever had seized her; she was delirious, and knew not where she was.  When Miss Wimple would have soothed her, tenderly caressing, and promising her a sister’s kindness and protection,—­a home safely guarded from intrusion,—­ Madeline assailed her savagely, bidding her be off, with her smooth treachery, her pretty lies.

“’Sister!’—­devil!  Do I not know what a hell your ‘home’ is?—­and as for ‘safety,’ shall I seek that among snakes?  Oh, I am sick of all of you!—­have I not told you so a hundred times?—­sick with the contempt I feel for you, and weary of your stupid tricks.”