sing?" asked he, half angrily.

"If you wish it," said she, coldly.

"Nor play?" continued he, as though not hearing her reply.

"If you desire it," said she, rising, and taking her place at the piano.

He muttered something, and she began. Her fingers at first strayed
in half-careless chords over the instrument; and then, imperceptibly,
struck out into a wild, plaintive melody of singular feeling and
pathos,--one of those Hungarian airs which, more than any other national
music, seem to dispense with words for their expression.

Beecher listened for a few moments, and then, muttering indignantly
below his breath, he left the room, banging the door as he went out.
Lizzy did not seem to have noticed his departure, but played on, air
succeeding air, of the same character and sentiment; but at last she
leaned her head upon the instrument and fell into a deep revery.
The pale moonlight, as it lay upon the polished floor, was not more
motionless. Beecher, meanwhile, had issued forth into the street,
crossed the little rustic bridge, and held his way towards the Cursaal.
His humor was not an enviable nor an amiable one. It was such a mood as
makes a courageous man very dangerous company, but fills an individual
of the Beecher type with all that can be imagined of suspicion and
distrust. Every thought that crossed his mind was a doubt of somebody or
something. He had been duped, cheated, "done," he did n't exactly know
when, how, or by whom, with what object, or to what extent. But the fact
was so. He entered the rooms and walked towards the play-table. There
were many of the old faces he remembered to have seen years ago. He
exchanged bows and recognitions with several foreigners whose names he
had forgotten, and acknowledged suitably the polite obeisance of the
croupiers, as they rose to salute him. It was an interesting moment as
he entered, and the whole table were intently watching the game of one
player, whose single Louis d'or had gone on doubling with each deal,
till it had swelled into a sum that formed the limit of the bank. Even
the croupiers, models as they are of impassive serenity, showed a touch
of human sentiment as the deal began, and seemed to feel that they were
in presence of one who stood higher in Fortune's favor than themselves.

"Won again!" cried out a number of voices; "the thirteenth pass! Who
ever saw the like? It is fabulous, monstrous!" Amid the din of incessant
commentaries, few of them utt