After they had crossed the notorious Gulf of Lyons, Mrs. Leach appeared, with languid airs, expecting attention, solicitude, and sympathy. Alas! for expectations. What a change was here! Mr. West was entirely engrossed with Madeline, and was positively curt and gruff (he had heard the history of the letter in the bag); and when at last she found an opportunity of talking to him privately, and began with little preamble about “dear Maddie--such a marvellous sailor--so _much_ better--getting away from some dreadful hold on her--and influence--seems to have transformed her into a new creature!” Mr. West looked at the speaker keenly. The sea-breeze is searching, and the southern sun pitiless. Ten days’ sickness had transformed Mrs. Leach into an _old_ creature! She was fifty-five or more, with her sunken cheeks, and all those hard lines about her mouth and eyes. What did they signify? “Do I see Mr. Wynne on board?” she asked, with a tragic air--“over by the boats? How strange, how audacious!” “Do you think so? He is Madeline’s husband, and a great friend of mine.” Mrs. Leach gasped! The wind had been taken out of her sails. “Then _you_ know all about it?” “Yes, I know all about it,” said Mr. West collectedly. “You have not known it for long--not when we sailed?” “No, not quite as long as _you_ have, Mrs. Leach”--looking at her expressively. “What do you mean?” “I mean, for one thing, that I obtained my information through a legitimate channel; that, as you are such a victim to the sea, it will be only humane to land you at Naples. It would be _cruel_ to take you on to Melbourne; and Madeline has a companion entirely to her taste in Laurence Wynne.” “And oh what a tale for London!” she exclaimed with a ghastly sneer. “I am feeling the motion a good deal--perhaps you will be kind enough to assist me to get below? I find I must lie down.” To tell the truth, she had been completely bowled over--thanks to a strong breeze and a strong opponent. Mrs. Leach landed at Naples and enjoyed an exceedingly pleasant winter in Rome--due to a handsome cheque which she had received from Mr. West, nominally as a return for her kind interest in his daughter, and really as a golden padlock for her lips. Mr. West, once in Sydney, contrived to pull a good many chestnuts out of the fire, and returned to England as wealthy as ever, purchased the old estate of the Wynnes, and restored the half-ruined house in a style in keeping with its ancient name. Madeline and her husband spend a great deal of their time at Rivals Wynne, though their headquarters are in London, and some day the old home will descend to the old race. The children are beautiful; another little Harry is the picture of the one that is lost, but not forgotten, as fresh white wreaths upon a certain grave can testify. Mr. Clay, the rector, has seen Mrs. Wynne placing them there with her own hands. She made no secret of it _now_.