Now what did that dashing Miss Wimple-Quixote—­of such is the Kingdom of Heaven!—­but sit down and pour her enormous little heart out in a letter to a person she had never seen or heard of,—­telling him everything but names and localities, and appealing, with an inspiration, to his divine spark.  There is no doubt that, “for that occasion only,” Providence sent an advertiser to the “Tribune” to justify the large faith of Pity in skimped delaine; for the word of Hope and Love that Miss Wimple let fall, unstudied, from the heart, fell upon a genial mind, and lo!—­

  “It raised a sister from the dust,
     It saved a soul from death!”

The gentleman—­the nobleman!—­thanked his unknown correspondent, whose hand he would esteem it an honor to touch, for the opportunity she had afforded him to do good in a graceful way.  Mrs. Morris (Miss Wimple had written:  “Let us know this poor lady as ‘Mrs. Morris,’ a childless widow”) should be most welcome to his house; she need never be aware that the sad passages of her history had come to his knowledge, and by all over whom he exercised authority or influence her sorrows should be reverenced.  He took the liberty to inclose a check, which Mrs. Morris would have the goodness to regard as a small advance on her salary; she would make whatever preparation she might deem necessary, at her perfect leisure; he would be happy to see her as soon as it should be quite agreeable to her to come.  Once more, with all his heart, he thanked the admirable lady who had in so remarkable a manner distinguished him by her noble impulse of confidence.  It would be his dearest duty hereafter to deserve it.  And he gave his address:  “Lawrence Osgood, Fourteenth St., New York.”

It was evident that the “necessary preparations” for Madeline’s appearance in this new role could not be made in Hendrik.  Miss Wimple was distressingly sensitive for the safety of her protegee from scandalous discovery.  Even she herself could not expend any considerable portion of Mr. Osgood’s advance without arousing surmise and provoking dangerous prying.  Besides, how should she get the money for the check?—­to whom dare she confess herself in possession of it?  Of course, there was a conclusive impossibility.  Nevertheless, something must be done at once to put Madeline at least in travelling trim; for the things of which—­to use her own sensitive expression—­Miss Wimple had “cleansed” her when she came were out of the question.  It was as true of this poor young lady in her trunkless plight, as of any dishevelled Marius in crinoline, who sits down and weeps among the brand-new ruins of a Carthage of satin, lawns, and laces, that she had Nothing to Wear.  So Miss Wimple, encouraged by the happy success of the Hoop stratagem, forthwith began to cast about her; and for the present Mr. Osgood’s letter and the check were hushed up in her bosom.