All that day the two women were very still;—­the approaching hour of parting was not adverted to between them, but the low tone in which they spake of other and lesser things showed that it was first of all in their thoughts and on their hearts.  To the latest moment they merely understood each other.  The cars went from the branch station at ten o’clock.  It was nine when Miss Wimple released from its old-fashioned bandbox—­as naturally as if it had been all along agreed upon between them, and not, as was truly the case, utterly forgotten until then—­her well-saved and but little used bonnet of black straw, and put it on Madeline’s head, kissing her, as a mother does her child, as she tied the bow under her chin; and she took from the bed the faithful shawl, and drew it snugly, tenderly, around Madeline’s shoulders,—­Madeline only blushing; to resist, to remonstrate, she well knew, had been in vain.  There had been some exchanging of characters, you perceive, no less than of costumes.

“And now where shall we put those?” asked Miss Wimple, holding in her hand Mr. Osgood’s check, and a trifle of ready money for the immediate needs of the journey.

Madeline replied by silently drawing from her bosom the little pocket-book, and handing it to her friend, who opened it in a matter-of-course way that was full of delicacy; and—­no doubt accidentally, and innocently, as to any trick of pretty sentiment—­ deposited the check and the bank-note beside that card.

And now it was time to part.  Miss Wimple took up the dim chamber-lamp, and led Madeline down the stairs,—­both silent, calm:  those were not crying women.  As they entered the shop, Miss Wimple immediately set down the lamp on the nearest end of the counter, and went with Madeline straight to the door, whither its slender ray hardly reached, and where the blood-spots and the rents on her shoulder might not be noticed,—­or, at least, not clearly defined.  Then, with a business-like “Ah!  I had forgotten,”—­admirably feigned,—­she hastily removed the shawl from Madeline’s shoulders, and the lace cape from her own; and she put the lace cape on Madeline, and covered it with the shawl.  This time Madeline shrank, and would have forbidden the charitable surprise; but Miss Wimple moved as though to open the door, and said,—­

“Madeline, in mind, and heart, and soul, do you feel ready?”

“Yes!”

“Then go!—­Believe in God and yourself, and do the best you can.”

And Madeline said,—­

“And you, also, must believe in me, and pray for me; be patient with me, and wait.  If the time should ever come when I can comfort you, with God’s help I will hasten to you, wherever you may be.”

And they kissed each other, and both said, “God bless you!”

So Madeline departed quickly, and presently was lost in the shadows beyond the shop-lamps.

[Next morning, when Sally Wimple went to take down the bars, her neighbors were astonished; for it was already reported and believed that she had been seen going from the Athenaeum to the ten o’clock train the night before.]