And thus was Madeline’s confession postponed _sine die_, and Madeline felt that she had been reprieved. Yes, the personal fascination of Laurence’s presence had already faded. She wrote a long affectionate letter, and explained the state of the case to Laurence, and sent him constant bulletins of her father’s progress, and except for one flying visit to the Holt Farm and once to church on Sundays, she never left the house for the whole month of November. However, she was cheered in her monotonous duties by the company of Mrs. Leach, who, on hearing of dear Mr. West’s illness, had written from Brighton and volunteered her services to her darling Madeline. Then she had arrived in person, and urged her request with persistence. She would look after the house, see callers, write notes, and leave Madeline unlimited time to spend with the dear invalid. At first Mr. West, fretful and weary, would not hear of her arrangement. It was one thing to look into the fair widow’s eyes and hold her hand and listen to her flatteries, when in good health, on an idle autumn day; it was another to have her coming and quartering herself thus on a sick house. However, after many messages and intrigues and excuses, Madeline gave way. She was weak, the besieger was strong, and she begged her father to accept the proffered favour. “I cannot get rid of her, dear. She is determined to come, and, after all, you won’t see her, you know.” But here she reckoned without her guest. In less than a week Mrs. Leach was frequently smoothing the sick man’s pillow. She paid him a little visit daily, to which he actually looked forward. She told him all the latest news, she flattered him, and she made an agreeable object in the sick-room, with her charming gowns and handsome face.