Jasper Carew appeared but seldom in public, and then with a moody brow and a preoccupied air. For the most part he kept to his own chamber, attended only by Swartz, who was as silent and reserved as his master. In the daily incidents of the siege he appeared to take no interest whatever, seeming regardless of his own safety and wholly careless of the safety of his friends. He seldom saw his sister, and then only in the most casual way. It was in vain that she endeavoured to break through the icy barrier that had grown up between them. He repelled her efforts and frequently left her in tears. It is true he had seldom troubled himself with any display of affection, but latterly his entire character seemed to have undergone a change. Between himself and De Laprade a close intimacy had sprung up. They were closeted together for hours, and it not unfrequently happened that their evening sitting was prolonged far into the morning following.

Sitting in her lonely room when the household had retired for the night, Dorothy would hear the gay laugh of the Vicomte breaking at times on 223the quiet of the house, the rattling of the dice box, and the muttered oaths of her brother as fortune went against him. To her high spirit the shame of it was intolerable; she did not dare to speak and she could not be silent. With De Laprade she knew that she had much influence, but she had now reasons of her own for declining to make him her confidant--with her brother she was long since aware that entreaties would prove unavailing. But the fact could not be denied. A fatal passion for play had seized upon his heart; it had completely absorbed and overmastered him; he was entirely its slave. Night after night and day after day, the two--De Laprade and himself--were closeted together, and the cloud upon her brother′s brow grew blacker and his speech harsher and more abrupt. In De Laprade there had been no change perceptible. He carried himself with an easy insouciance and treated her with tender deference.

On the day in which De Rosen had executed his barbarous threat they had spent many hours together in the little chamber in the basement. The roar of the cannon that had been sounding all day, the marching of men, and the tumult of the crowded street, had been hushed to a still and almost unnatural quiet. Swartz had carried away the remains of the supper that had been served to them here, and had lighted the candles in the tall silver candlesticks that stood upon the table. They had both already drunk more than enough, but this was perceptibly 224the case with Jasper. His face was flushed, his eyes were bloodshot, and his hands shook upon the dice-box: he had loosened his lace cravat from his throat and it lay on the floor beside him. He frowned heavily and flung down the dice-box with an oath.

“Seven′s the main,” said the Vicomte, gaily rattling the box. “We who woo fortune should court her lovingly. Ah, grace de Dieu! I told you so!”

Carew pushing back his chair and walking to the window, threw it wide open. The cool air blowing freshly through the lattice, caused the candles to flicker where they stood. The night was cold and the sky was full of stars. All the while the Vicomte sat watching him with a faint smile on his face and balancing the dice in his hand. The other after a moment turned round and looked at him. His face was now deadly pale. Neither spoke a word. Only the distant challenging of the sentinels broke the silence of the chamber.

The Vicomte pushed back his chair and gently snuffed the candles. His face displayed no emotion. Then after a while he said, “That completes the play. Your revenge has been a costly one, my friend.”

“My revenge has been a costly one,” answered Carew; “there remains but one thing more.”

“And that?”

“To send my life after my houses and lands. There is nothing more left.”

225“Bah! you are but a fool; I have gone the same way myself. With a light heart I have lost more in a night than would buy your barren acres three times over. I, who was already a pauper, have staked my mistress, my buckles, my rings, nay, my very peruke itself and lost them too. And I did not complain. I had my sword and my honour, and could wait on fortune with a cheerful mind. I laughed at misfortune.”

“Oh! ′tis very well for you to talk thus,” cried Carew moodily, “with the first estate in the country in your pocket--a rare exchange for your castles in Spain.”

“Monsieur Carew will remember that I did not press him to play. He who tempts the fortunes of the hazard should learn to bear his loss with equanimity. One should bear misfortune like a gentleman.”

“I will have no sermons, my lord; ′tis enough that you should have stripped me of every rood of my land and every doit that I could raise, without presuming to lecture me on deportment. I would have you know that I will follow my own manner. I find no fault with you--′tis my own accursed folly that has made my heirship of the briefest, and left me a beggar before I had entered on my inheritance.”

“Play is an admirable moralist,” said De Laprade, altering the position of the candlesticks, "and preaches excellent homilies. You have had three weeks in the society of the coyest mistress in the world, and now you grudge the tavern charges.
226‘Je crois Jeanneton,
Aussi douce que belle;
Je crois Jeanneton
Plus douce qu‘un--mouton.′"

“You are mocking me, my lord.”

“In good faith I do not think I am. Sit down, Carew, and let us look the matter in the face as sensible men should. I have no wish to put your money in my pocket or act the country squire on your beggarly paternal fields, but my ears are for ever itching for the pleasant rattle of the dice-board, and I thirst for the sight of a royal hand at cards. Fortune, which hath hitherto treated me so scurvily, hath taken a turn at last, and I am richer by some thousands than when I landed in your island with nothing in the world but a sword and two portmanteaux. For that, I am wholly indifferent, and will stake my new possessions as readily as I threw away my old. I am sorry for you, but I do not think you would take back what you have lost as a gift, even if I offered it now.”

“Would I not?” said Carew, with a hoarse laugh, throwing up his hand.

“I do not think you would,” answered the Vicomte gravely, but with a certain elevation of his eyebrows. “Your sense of honour would forbid. But there is a matter for which I have some concern--how will this affect your sister?”

“Leave my sister out of the question. I am her protector and allow no man to question me on that head.”

227The two looked at one another steadily--the one frowning, the other coldly impassive, but there was that look in De Laprade′s eyes that made Carew shift his gaze. To carry off his confusion, he poured himself out a full glass and drank it at a breath.

“There need be no secrets between us, my good cousin. I have never doubted that you have already staked your sister′s fortune and that it has gone after the rest into my pocket. I have known even honourable men tempted to do such things, but for my own part, I do not care to lend myself to aid them. The question still remains--how does this affect your sister?”

“In the name of God, do you purpose driving me mad?” cried Carew, flinging his empty glass into the fireplace, and leaping to his feet in the access of ungoverned passion. “You have stripped me bare as a bone and brought me to shame and dishonour; now you sit laughing at your handiwork.”

“Your own, sir,” said the Vicomte sternly. “These heroics will not serve their purpose; the question still remains unanswered. I would not willingly take on my shoulders any portion of your disgrace, though indeed I think you would not be loath to let me bear it all. In fine, what do you purpose doing?”

“Oh! you are a rare moralist.”

“There is not a better in the world. From the pulpit of my own transgressions I shall read you an excellent sermon. But, again, this is not to the purpose. I would have you know, my excellent 228cousin, I love your sister and would willingly make her my wife.”

“Before that I will see you----”

“You may spare yourself the trouble. Were the lady willing, I think not that I should ask your favour. But she is not willing. I fear she loves a better man who deserves her better--for which I do not find fault with her taste.”

“You appear to have studied my family affairs to some purpose, sir.”

“Mr. Orme is a better man than I, nor would I willingly do him an injury,” continued De Laprade softly, “but all things are fair in love, and I think I must ask your help.”

“What hath Mr. Orme to do with the matter? You put more, sir, on me than I can bear, and by heaven, I will put up with your gibes no longer. I am not a schoolboy to be lectured by a bully.”

“I have told you that we will not quarrel. I ask not your friendship but your help, and it may be also much to your own advantage. Therefore listen to me with all the patience you can command. I am mad enough to love Miss Carew--I, the prodigal, the spendthrift, whose career was run before I was a man, but so it is! She is much under your influence--the wise and prudent elder brother. Lend me your assistance, not to coerce her affections or thwart her will, for by heaven, I would not wrong her tender heart! but to bring her with all kindness to think favourably of her poor kinsman, and in the end it may be to return his passion. Hear me to the 229conclusion. I would not buy your help--you would not sell your aid. We both love the rattle of the dice-box. On the one side I place my gains, the rich lands, the fair demesnes, the ancestral house, the broad pieces--and on the other you will stake your persuasive speeches and fraternal affection. Let chance decide the fate: I would not do dishonour to your sister even by a thought. I do not think the stakes unequal; why should you?”

Carew stared at the speaker, unable to gather his meaning, and said never a word.

“Why, my friend, there is your chance of redemption,” said the Vicomte, taking up the box and rattling it gaily, “three is the number of the Graces; three throws for fortune and love; three throws for honour, riches, and reputation. Ah! there is a royal stake, and heaven send me favour.”

“This is but a piece of midsummer fooling; you do not mean this?”

“Truly I am in a sad and serious vein. Your barren acres grow heavy on my back and I would be rid of them.”

“Then have with you,” cried the other eagerly.

But hardly had he spoken than the sound of footsteps was heard on the stone passage, and an importunate knocking upon the door. Carew rose to his feet, pushing back his chair with an oath. The Vicomte did not stir.

“It is best to see your impatient visitor,” he said. “Do not hurry fortune.”

Carew went to the door and threw it open. 230“Well, sir, what is your errand at this unseasonable hour?” he said, peering out into the darkness which screened the intruder.

“My errand is with Vicomte de Laprade,” said a voice, “and is of the most urgent. I must see him immediately.”

“Ah! that is the true Israelite, Mr. Orme,” said the Vicomte, in his usual nonchalant tone, without turning in his chair. “You are arrived most opportunely. This is the Temple of Fortune and here are her worshippers.”

“This is no time for jesting, my lord,” said Gervase, gravely. “I have come to carry you to the guardhouse, where I can promise you no favourable reception. Our hearts have been sadly stirred; your life even is in danger.”

“So much the more reason that we should decide this matter now. Look you, Mr. Orme, my friend and I have a difference, the nature of which I cannot now make clear to you, though it may also concern you nearly, and we have agreed to leave it to the arbitrament of chance. A few minutes more or less will not imperil the safety of the city. Pray be seated, and see how fortune deals her favours.”

“Oh! this is past a jest,” cried Gervase, “I tell you, my lord, you are in deadly peril.”

“And I tell you, sir, this is a matter of more importance. Nay, my good friend”--and here he held out his hand, “my mind is set on this, and I pray you to indulge me.”

Though his eyes and lips laughed, there was a 231serious undertone in his voice, and after hesitating for a moment, Gervase finally said, “Ten minutes you may have, my lord, but with your pardon, I shall wait without. My mind is full of care and my heart is heavy as a stone. I can take no part in this. I have seen this day that which I shall not forget did I live a thousand years. Good night, Mr. Carew. My lord, you will not keep me waiting.”

His steps rang along the stone pavement; then there was the sound of an opening door and the whispering of voices in the basement hall.

“‘Jacob was a plain man and dwelt in tents,′” murmured De Laprade. “Come, Carew, we who tempt the fickle goddess must not sleep. Jacob yonder would filch my birthright, and I will not lose the lovely Rachel.”

Carew, who had been as one bewildered and suddenly awakened out of a dream with the terror of it still upon him, drew a chair to the table and caught up the dice-box with a trembling hand. As his fingers closed upon the box, his face grew deadly pale; his heart stood still in his breast in an overmastering agony of fear and hope and hate. To him this meant everything in the world. The man opposite to him had stripped him naked--the man whose smile stabbed him like a knife, and whom he hated with a bitterness of hatred that he had no language to measure. Should he retrieve his fortune, and on how little that depended, not all the powers on earth would again tempt him to such 232unspeakable folly. A mere gull who had flung away his inheritance before he had possessed it! The happy chance of redemption had come to him unexpectedly. What had moved De Laprade to make this strange and curious proposal, he did not stop to ask, he did not care to know. It was enough for him that it had been made. He knew that he could exert no influence on his sister′s mind; that his intercession would rather injure than advance the cause he advocated. That was the Vicomte′s business. He was a gambler and accustomed to take the chances, and it was he who had proposed the stakes. He passed his hand across his eyes to clear away the mists; the room seemed full of moving haze through which the candles burned with a feeble and uncertain light. He drew a deep breath.

The first throw Carew won; the second fell to the Vicomte. Then there happened a curious thing--when Carew was about to throw for the third time, the Vicomte stooped down to lift his handkerchief from the floor where it had fallen a moment before. While he did this somewhat clumsily for one in general so dexterous, the dice rattled on the table. Making a slight motion with his fingers Carew, hardly pausing, cried “Sixes.”

The Vicomte slowly raised his head. “Your play improves, sir,” he said drily; “that was a lucky throw. Come, sir, you are not yet out of the wood, and perhaps I shall yet see you through.” Then he threw himself. “By all the saints, the 233Venus! This grows interesting. We must have one more cast for fortune.”

“The devil′s in them,” cries Carew, his eyes fairly aglow and his lips twitching like one in a fit.

This time the Vicomte won. “I knew how it would be,” he said, with an air of pensive sadness; “I have no luck, I can do no more.”

Carew laughed loudly, almost as if this last stroke had touched his brain. “Luck, what more would you have? Here have I been sitting for three weeks while you plucked me like a hen feather by feather, with a smile on your face, and I know not what devil′s craft in your fingers.”

“These are foolish words, sir, for which I will not ask you to account. To talk of craft comes but ill from one who himself----” Here he stopped and looked at C............