"Oh," said Mr. Tiplady, "embarked money in that, has he? I heard that same mine spoken of yesterday--quite incidentally." "It is a very rich mine, is it not, sir?" cried young Plympton with enthusiasm. "Very," drily responded the architect. "Captain Lennox got him the shares, sir. He is one of the directors, and has gone in for it himself largely." "Sorry for him," cried Mr. Tiplady. "The mine has come to grief." "No!" exclaimed the young man, opening his eyes widely. "You don't mean that, sir! Then"--a thought striking him--"it must be that which has been keeping Lennox so much in town lately." "Ay, no doubt. That will do, Mr. Plympton. I wonder whether Philip has risked much upon this worthless thing?" added the architect to Lady Cleeve, as his clerk withdrew. "It is sad news for me," she sighed, wiping her pale face. "We can soon ascertain, by inquiring at the bank how much money he has drawn out. Of course, anything is better than that he should be lost." "Of course," smiled Mr. Tiplady. "Still I don't myself see why this matter should be keeping Philip in London. It has been known to the public some days now. Shall I make the inquiry at the bank for you, Lady Cleeve?" "If you will take the trouble. I shall be very much obliged to you." "I may want your authority before they'll answer me. I'm not quite sure, though; they know me for Philip's good friend." It was arranged that he should get into the fly now with Lady Cleeve. The driver was directed to stop at the bank. Mr. Tiplady went in, and came out with a serious face. "Will they not answer you?" cried Lady Cleeve. "Oh yes; they made no difficulty about that." "Well! How much has he drawn out?" "Nearly every pound he had there." So poor Lady Cleeve had to go home with her anxiety augmented, instead of lessened. Suppose Philip, in his dismay at the loss of all his money, should--should have done something rash! Saturday wore itself away. The look on the mother's face was pitiful to see. She sat at the window which faced the entrance-gate, looking for one that did not appear. And when dusk had closed in she still sat on in the same spot, listening in the dark with straining eyes for the well-known footfall that was so long in coming. Sunday morning came and with it the postman, for there was an early postal delivery on that day at Nullington. But there was no letter from Philip. Dr. Spreckley was in the act of brushing his hat preparatory to setting out for church, when in rushed Bridget. Her lady had suddenly been taken with one of her old attacks, and the Doctor must hasten to her. Dr. Spreckley had another patient on his hands at that time--the Reverend Francis Kettle; he was laid up with gout. When Dr. Spreckley called there after church, he mentioned Lady Cleeve's illness to Maria. "She had been getting on so well lately," he lamented. "Anxiety of mind has brought on this attack; nothing else." "Anxiety of mind?" repeated Maria.