"Young man, no! moments in life are agony, but life itself is a blessing. Life is a mystery that defies all calculation. You can never say, 'To-day is wretched, therefore to-morrow must be the same!' And for the loss of a little gold you, in the full vigour of youth, with all the future before you, will dare to rush into the chances of eternity! You, who have never, perhaps, thought what eternity is! Yet," added the stranger, in a soft and melancholy voice, "you are young and beautiful,--perhaps the pride and hope of others! Have you no tie, no affection, no kindred; are you lord of yourself?" Legard was moved by the tone of the stranger, as well as by the words. "It is not the loss of money," said he, gloomily,--"it is the loss of honour. To-morrow I must go forth a shunned and despised man,--I, a gentleman and a soldier! They may insult me--and I have no reply!" The Englishman seemed to muse, for his brow lowered, and he made no answer. Legard threw himself back, overcome with his own excitement, and wept like a child. The stranger, who imagined himself above the indulgence of emotion (vain man!), woke from his revery at this burst of passion. He gazed at first (I grieve to write) with a curl of the haughty lip that had in it contempt; but it passed quickly away; and the hard man remembered that he too had been young and weak, and his own errors greater perhaps than those of the one he had ventured to despise. He walked to and fro the room, still without speaking. At last he approached the gamester, and took his hand. "What is your debt?" he asked gently. "What matters it?--more than I can pay." "If life is a trust, so is wealth: _you_ have the first in charge for others, _I_ may have the last. What is the debt?" Legard started; it was a strong struggle between shame and hope. "If I could borrow it, I could repay it hereafter,--I know I could; I would not think of it otherwise." "Very well, so be it,--I will lend you the money on one condition. Solemnly promise me, on your faith as a soldier and a gentleman, that you will not, for ten years to come--even if you grow rich, and can ruin others--touch card or dice-box. Promise me that you will shun all gaming for gain, under whatever disguise, whatever appellation. I will take your word as my bond." Legard, overjoyed, and scarcely trusting his senses, gave the promise.