wing dots two and one.

'Luck's turned,' said his guest philosophically, as he laid down the
notes.

The other flung the dice swiftly on to the green board; the cubes rolled
apart, then as they settled they showed six and five.

A spark of momentary fire flickered in the gambler's eye; he picked up
the notes; then the frown came back to his brow; he shivered, looked at
the clock, then, 'It's damned late,' he said, 'and if you don't want any
more to drink we'd better go to bed.'

So saying Heronsbeck of Heronsbeck lit a candle for his guest, showed
him to his chamber, then went gloomily to his own.

There was no sleep, however, for him that night, for he dreaded the
morning and the astounded look of his darling Lily--his only child--when
he had to tell her of Mosenthal's proposal.

'Of course she won't do it--she couldn't. There'll be no harm done, for
she'd as soon accept a Hottentot as a rich Jew.' So her father reflected
aloud.

But she wouldn't like it. He hated to think of her expression when he
conveyed Mosenthal's offer to her.

The Jew's notes positively burned in his fingers as he had laid them
down on his dressing-table; the fellow's offer was extraordinarily
tempting. Ah, welladay! This was the end, then, of Heronsbeck Hall,
which he prized above every earthly possession after his daughter. His
father had lost the half of it over cards; now he himself had thrown
away the rest in like manner. There was the grouse moor; he counted up
the 'amenities' as he lay in bed, even as a lover enumerates the charms
of his mistress.

The wine-dark moorland--how he loved it! And the great days in autumn
after grouse and blackcock. Then the fishing in the beck for trout as a
boy, and the call of the sounding 'forces.' Then the huntings afoot on
the high fells, and the reckless gallops on the haughs below. No wonder
he loved it, for he and his forefathers were part and parcel of the
land. They had been there and owned it since the days of the Testa de
Nevil. He was 'hefted' to it, as the farmers said of their stock.

Well, all was now over. The 'lament' must sound over Heronsbeck.
Mosenthal must take the estate; he himself would take Lily abroad and
live forgotten, for he had rejected Mosenthal's proposal now,
absolutely.

Just at this decisive moment he distinctly heard the cry of a peacock
sound--weird and discordant--without.

'The peacock's cry!' It was as the wail of the banshee in his ear.

Peacocks had