"Why, yes, I can. I spent an evening or two there with Lennox in the summer."
Philip took the address, and went to Wandsworth. He found the people, but could not hear anything of Captain Lennox; they supposed him to be at Nullington. It was after leaving their house that Philip met with the accident. It is probable that his previous night's vigil, and the troubled state his mind was in, rendered him less quick and agile than he might otherwise have been.
When Philip had gained sufficient strength, he poured into Maria Kettle's ear all the story of his folly and ruin, the latter culminating with these dreadful mines. He was yet so weak and ill that when he had done he cried like a child. Maria pressed his hand to her soft, warm cheek, and soothed and comforted him.
"I think sometimes, Maria, that if you had not cast me off as you did all this would not have happened," he continued; "and yet how weak and foolish I have been all through, no one knows better than myself."
"I will never leave you again," she murmured, with scarlet cheeks: and they sealed the promise with a kiss.
"I shall always say, Maria, your father was harder to me than he need have been."
"Yes. But the truth is, Philip, he has had more on his mind than he would speak of," she returned. "It was about----"
"About, what?" queried Philip, as she stopped.
"I am almost ashamed to mention it."
"I shall never rest now, till you have told me."