in a low, husky voice. "Mr Stoutley," he added, turning to Lewis, "by
what mischance you came here I know not but I trust that you were not--
were not--present. I mean--do you know the cause of my conduct--this--"

He stopped abruptly.

"My dear sir," said Lewis, in a low, kind voice, at the same time
grasping the Count's hand, and leading him aside, "I was in the rooms; I
saw you there; but believe me when I assure you, that no feeling but
that of sympathy can touch the heart of one who has been involved in the
meshes of the same net."

The Count's manner changed instantly. He returned the grasp of the
young man, and looked eagerly in his face, as he repeated--

"_Has_ been involved! How, then, did you escape?"

"I'm not sure that I _have_ escaped," answered Lewis, sadly.

"Not sure! Oh, young man, _make_ sure. Give no rest to your soul till
you are quite sure. It is a dreadful net--terrible! When once wrapped
tightly round one there is no escape--no escape. In this it resembles
its sister passion--the love of strong drink."

The Count spoke with such deep pathos, and in tones so utterly hopeless,
that Lewis's ready sympathies were touched, and he would have given
anything to be able to comfort his friend, but never before having been
called upon to act as a comforter, he felt sorely perplexed.

"Call it not a passion," he said. "The love of gaming, as of drink, is
a disease; and a disease may be cured--has been cured, even when
desperate."

The Count shook his head.

"You speak in ignorance, Mr Stoutley. You know nothing of the
struggles I have made. It is impossible."

"With God _all_ things are possible," replied Lewis, quoting, almost to
his own surprise, a text of Scripture. "But forgive my delay," he
added; "I came here on purpose to look for you. Your daughter Nita is
ill--not seriously ill, I believe," he said, on observing the Count's
startled look, "but ill enough to warrant your being sent for."

"I know--I know," cried the Count, with a troubled look, as he passed
his hand across his brow. "I might have expected it. She cannot
sustain the misery I have brought on her. Oh! why was I prevented from
freeing her from such a father. Is she very ill? Did she send for me?
Did she tell you what I am?"

The excited manner and wild aspect of the gambler, more than the words,
told of a mind almost, if not altogether, unhinged. Observing this with
some anxiety, Lewis tried to soothe h