es are, I have been so accustomed to
them, that I generally put down my stake right: when I am once in a run
of luck, I have a method of my own, but what it is I cannot tell; only
this I know, that if I depart from it, I always lose my money. But that
is what you may call good luck, or what you please--it is not a rule."

"Where, then, are your rules?"

"Simply these two. The first it is not difficult to adhere to: I make a
rule never to lose but a certain sum if I am unlucky when I commence--
say twenty stakes, whatever may be the amount of the stake that you
play. This rule is easily adhered to, by not taking more money with
you; and I am not one of those to whom the croupier or porters will lend
money. The second rule is the most difficult, and decides whether you
are a gambler or not. I make a rule always to leave off when I have won
a certain sum--or even before, if the chances of my game fluctuate.
There is the difficulty: it appears very foolish not to follow up luck;
but the fact is, fortune is so capricious, that if you trust her more
than an hour, she will desert you. This is my mode of play, and with me
it answers but it does not follow that it would answer with another.
But it is very late, or, rather, very early--I wish you a good night."

PART TWO, CHAPTER TWENTY NINE.

BECOME PRINCIPAL INSTEAD OF SECOND IN A DUEL, AND RISK MY OWN AND
ANOTHER'S LIFE, MY OWN AND OTHERS' HAPPINESS AND PEACE OF MIND, BECAUSE
I HAVE BEEN PUNISHED AS I DESERVED.

After Captain Atkinson had left me, I stated to Timothy what had passed.
"And do you think you will have to fight a duel, sir?" cried Timothy
with alarm.

"There is no doubt of it," replied I.

"You never will find your father, sir, if you go on this way," said
Timothy, as if to divert my attention from such a purpose.

"Not in this world, perhaps, Tim; perhaps I may be sent the right road
by a bullet, and find him in the next."

"Do you think your father, if dead, has gone to heaven?"

"I hope so, Timothy."

"Then what chance have you of meeting him, if you go out of the world
attempting the life of your old friend?"

"That is what you call a poser, my dear Timothy, but I cannot help
myself: this I can safely say, that I have no animosity against Mr
Harcourt--at least, not sufficient to have any wish to take away his
life."

"Well, that's something, to be sure; but do you know, Japhet, I'm not
quite sure you hit the right road when you set up