ire a good deal of resolution for one who has become fond
of the indulgence to give it up," remarked Mr. Daly.

"No doubt, no doubt," returned Mr. Lilburn, "but, 'If thy right eye
offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee, for it is profitable
for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole
body should be cast into hell.'"

There was a pause broken by young Horace, who had been watching a group
of men gathered about a table at the further end of the room.

"They are gambling yonder, and I'm afraid that young fellow is being
badly fleeced by that middle aged man opposite."

The eyes of the whole party were at once turned in that direction.

"I'm afraid you're right, Horace," said Mr. Travilla, recalling with an
inward shudder, the scene he had witnessed in a gambling hell many years
ago, in which the son of his friend Beresford so nearly lost his life.
"What can be done to save him? some effort must be made!" and he started
up as if with the intention of approaching the players.

"Stay a moment," exclaimed Lilburn in an undertone, and laying a
detaining hand upon Travilla's arm, but with his gaze intently fixed
upon the older gamester. "Ah ha! um h'm! that fellow is certainly
cheating. I saw him slip a card from his coat sleeve."

The words had scarcely passed his lips when a voice spoke apparently
close at the villain's side.

"Ah ha, I zees you vell, how you runs de goat shleeve down mit de gards
and sheats dat boor poy vat ish blay mit you. Yoh, sir, you ish von pig
sheat!"

"How dare you, sir? who are you?" cried the rascal, starting up white
with rage and turning to face his accuser.

"Who was it? where is that Dutch scoundrel that dared accuse me of
cheating?" he cried, sending a fierce glance about the room.

"Vat ish dat you galls me? von Dutch scoundrel? you man mit de proken
nose; I say it again: you ish von pig sheat."

This time the voice seemed to come from a stateroom behind the gambler.
Towering with rage, he rushed to the door and tried to open it. Failing
in that, he demanded admittance in loud angry tones, at the same time
shaking the door violently, and kicking against it with a force that
seemed likely to break in the panels.

There was an answering yell, a sound as of some one bouncing out of his
berth upon the floor, the key turned hastily in the lock, the door was
thrown wide open, and a little Frenchman appeared on its threshold in
night attire, bowie k