single card. Once again he lost.

Dunwody drew back with a deep sigh. "Look!" he said, "of my three
cards, two were what I wanted--aces, aces, man!--four of them! By
every token, I have won. It's fate!"

The face of his opponent was a study. His eyebrows went up in
pleasant expostulation at the other's eagerness. "So, then," said
he, "I suppose I must pay my stake, much to my regret. Ah! how
fortune has run against me to-day. And so, here it is,--I write
her name for you once more--this time her real name, so far as any
in America know it--thus,--Josephine, Countess St. Auban, of
France, of Hungary, of America, abolitionist, visionary, firebrand.
There, then,--though I think you will find the matter of taking
possession somewhat difficult to compass--so far as I am concerned,
she is, with all my heart, yours to have and to hold, _if you can_!
My duty to her is over. Yours begins, I hope!"

Dunwody found no speech. He was pale, and breathing fast.

Gravity increased in the other's demeanor. His face now looked
drawn, weary. "I beg, my dear sir," he said, "nay, I entreat and
command you, to make all gentle and kind use of this which the gods
have given you. I confess nothing whatever, except that I am
hungry and tired to extinction. I congratulate the winner, and
consider myself fortunate to be allowed to go in peace to my own
place--penniless, it is true, but at least with a conscience quite
clear." The frown on his face, the troubled gaze of his eyes,
belied his last words. "It's no part of my conscience to coerce a
woman," he added defiantly. "I can't do it--not any longer."

"It is well to be a cheerful loser," returned Dunwody, at last. "I
couldn't blame any man for being coerced by--her! I admit that I
am. But after this, what will be your plans?"

"I purpose leaving the boat at the first suitable stop, not farther
down than Louisville, at least. Perhaps Cincinnati would be yet
better. By the fortunes of war you will, therefore, stand in my
stead. I've changed my mind, suddenly. I told the young lady that
we would continue on together, even beyond Cairo. But now--well,
to the victor, as Mr. Marcy has said, belong the spoils. Only,
there are some titles which may not be negotiated. A quitclaim is
by no means a warranty. You'll discover that." He smiled grimly.

The other made no answer. He only stood to his full height and
stretched out his great arms. He seemed a figure come d