, but the cards were dealt again, and again the
boy won. Then Mogridge and his confederate rose and left the table
while Rodney sat gloating over his winnings.

"One who would accustom himself to the whimsies of Fortune must learn
to lose as well as to win. In your behalf I will endeavour to instruct
you in that part of the game, my boy. Won't you gentlemen remain to
see that I pluck the winner fairly?"

"You're welcome to such small game. We didn't know we were poaching on
your preserves," replied Mogridge in a surly tone, walking away.

Rodney was surprised. He had no desire to play with his friend. Yet in
a masterful way the "Chevalier" appeared to take it for granted that
they would play, and proceeded to deal the cards. The boy shrank from
saying or doing anything which would excite the man's ridicule, for he
had come to regard him as a superior sort of a person, and was
somewhat in awe of his rather grand manner.

The first game Rodney won. Then the "Chevalier" remarked, as though he
were doing the lad a favour, "Now we'll not prolong this; I must be
going. Here's my wager."

To meet it required the last shilling of the boy's winnings, but he
staked it all, and the "Chevalier" won, coolly swept the money into
his pocket, all but a few shillings which he carelessly shoved toward
the boy, saying, "You'll need those to get home. It's bad practice to
wager one's last farthing."

Friends of Rodney Allison would not have recognized him now as the
same fellow he was an hour before. Fury filled him to overflowing.
That coveted money was gone and his own with it, taken by a man whose
life he once had saved, his supposed friend, who now had plucked him
as one would a pigeon. He seized the money and threw it in the
Chevalier's face, then, as he reflected what his act signified, he
grasped the handle of his knife in readiness to defend himself.

[Illustration: "HE SEIZED THE MONEY AND THREW IT IN THE CHEVALIER'S
FACE."]

The "Chevalier" fixed his handsome eyes on the boy. His face was pale
but those burning eyes held the lad as under a spell. Then the man
spoke, his words as cool as ice, his voice low but painfully distinct:
"One might think, my boy, you had staked your character, your soul,
and lost. That's what the gambler does. I did not realize this till I
had killed my best friend. You will understand my motives better when
you learn more."

He turned away. The boy looked after him, and shame quenched the fury