t us have the dollars on the table, if you
please; or, if not the money, the worth of it."

"Always the way with you rich men," grumbled Will. "Never lend except on
security--always win because you are rich."

"Faith, cousin, you have been of late for ever flinging my riches into
my face. I have enough for my wants and for my creditors."

"Oh, that we could all say as much!" groaned the chaplain. "How happy
we, and how happy the duns would be! What have we got to play against
our conqueror? There is my new gown, Mr. Warrington. Will you set me
five pieces against it? I have but to preach in stuff if I lose. Stop! I
have a Chrysostom, a Foxe's Martyrs, a Baker's Chronicle, and a cow and
her calf. What shall we set against these?"

"I will bet one of cousin Will's notes for twenty pounds," cried Mr.
Warrington, producing one of those documents.

"Or I have my brown mare, and will back her red against your honour's
notes of hand, but against ready money."

"I have my horse. I will back my horse against you for fifty," bawls out
Will.

Harry took the offers of both gentlemen. In the course of ten minutes
the horse and the bay mare had both changed owners. Cousin William swore
more fiercely than ever. The parson dashed his wig to the ground,
and emulated his pupil in the loudness of his objurgations. Mr. Harry
Warrington was quite calm, and not the least elated by his triumph.
They had asked him to play, and he had played. He knew he should win. O
beloved slumbering angel! he thought, am I not sure of victory when you
are kind to me? He was looking out from his window towards the casement
on the opposite side of the court, which he knew to be hers. He had
forgot about his victims and their groans, and ill-luck, ere they
crossed the court. Under yonder brilliant flickering star, behind yonder
casement where the lamp was burning faintly, was his joy, and heart, and
treasure.

CHAPTER XX. Facilis Descensus

Whilst the good old Bishop of Cambray, in his romance lately mentioned,
described the disconsolate condition of Calypso at the departure of
Ulysses, I forget whether he mentioned the grief of Calypso's lady's
maid on taking leave of Odysseus's own gentleman. The menials must have
wept together in the kitchen precincts whilst the master and mistress
took a last wild embrace in the drawing-room; they must have hung round
each other in the fore-cabin, whilst their principals broke their hearts
in the grand sa