el, and most of
the older officers and guests, retire. As the door closes behind them,
a flushed youth with swimming eyes and uncertain step, rushes to the
table and shouts, "Now we'll make a night of it,--the bones! the
bones!" Dice are soon brought, and the work of mischief begins. "Don't
you play, Meynell?" said the flushed youth. "Not to-night, thank you,"
was the answer. Not to-night--for to-night he is cautiously feeling
his way,--the scene's new to him,--he does not yet find himself at
home, or on his strong point. He sits quietly down on the well-worn
sofa and looks on; his head, in spite of the fiery wine and
distracting band, is quite cool; he has watched himself and drunk but
sparingly, and now he watches others.

The players are seated at the round table, with eager faces and
straining eyes watching the chances of the game. One of the guests is
among them, a man with black moustaches and rather foreign
appearance, a billiard-room acquaintance of the flushed youth; a
capital fellow, they said, up to every thing, and very amusing. It was
unlucky, however, for the cause of conviviality, that he was rather
indisposed that day, and could take very little wine. But fortune now
seemed to make amends to him for this deprivation, for he won at
almost every throw. The flushed youth curses his luck, but doubles his
stakes till he has lost a heavy sum. Meynell's quick eye observed that
the foreign-looking gentleman lowered his hand under the table before
each of these very successful throws. "You had better change the
game," said he coolly to the loser, "luck is against you." The youth
dashed the dice on the floor, seized the cards, and challenged the
party to "vingt-et-un;" as he had been the heaviest loser, the others
agreed, and the cards were dealt rapidly around.

It is by this time well on towards the dawn, the gray light already
shows the shadowy outline of the distant hills, the dewy morning air
breathes softly in through the open windows, on the parched lips and
fevered brows of the gamblers; but it is an unheeded warning. Stake
after stake is lost, some light, others heavy, all, perhaps, more than
can be spared; but the worst loser is losing still. The loss is very
great, ruinous indeed; the pale man with the black moustaches has the
same strange luck as ever; he says he quite wonders at it himself. He
is dealer, and turns up a "vingt-et-un" almost every time. Now the
flushed youth flushes deeper, his teeth