“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.
“It is the grave,” she explained, “of our eldest little boy. I will bring his brother and sister here by-and-by.”
The rector, when he takes strangers round the churchyard, and points out the most noticeable tombstones, halts for a good while before a certain marble cross, and relates the story of a mysterious young couple who visited the grave separately, but who now come together, with other children in their train.