Of what chanced after this I knew for a time but little, until I was in one instant sobered. This was an hour later, and nigh to twelve o’clock. What took place I heard from others; and, as it concerns a turning-point in my life, I shall try to relate it as if I myself had been conscious all the while. The better for air, I went over to a table in the centre of the room not far from the door. Leaning heavily on Captain Small’s shoulder, I threw on the table the last gold joe my aunt had given me with her final lesson in morals. “Best in three, Etherington.” “Take it,” he cried. I threw double sixes, he threes, and I deuce ace. Then he cast some numbers as good. Certainly the devil meant to have me. I threw a third time; a six and a five turned up, and he an ace and a four. I had won. “Double or quits,” I said; “one throw.” I won again, and at this I went on until the pile of gold grew beneath my eyes, amid laughter, curses, and all manner of vileness. Presently I heard the colonel exclaim, “This won’t do, gentlemen,” and I felt some one trying to draw me from the table. It was Captain Wynne. I cried out, “Hands off! no liberties with me! I am the head of thy house; thou art only a cadet.” He laughed as I pushed him aside. “You said double or quits,” cried the stout major. How he got into the game I knew not. “It is a mere boy! for shame!” cried the colonel. “I forbid it.” “I am a gentleman,” I said. “Thou canst order thy officers; thou canst not order me,” and as I spoke I cast so hard that I crushed the box. I heard some one cry, “A damn pretty Quaker! By George, he has lost! A clean hundred pounds!” Even in this drunken revel there was a pause for a moment. I was, after all, but a tipsy lad of twenty, and some were just not far enough gone to feel that it might look to others an ugly business. The colonel said something to Major Milewood as to disrespect, I hardly know what; for at this moment there was a loud knocking at the door. In the lull that followed I heard the colonel’s voice. Then the tumult broke out anew. “By Jove, it is a woman!” cried Wynne. “I hear her. Wine and women! A guinea to a guinea she’s pretty!” “Done!” cried some one. “Here’s the key,” said the major; “let’s have her in.” “_Place aux dames_,” hiccoughed a cornet. The colonel rose, but it was too late. Wynne, seizing the key, unlocked the door and threw it wide open, as my mother, followed by Jack Warder, entered the room, and stood still a moment, dazed. Captain Wynne, leering and unsteady, caught at her waist, exclaiming, “By George! she might be younger, but I’ve won. A toast! a toast! A Quaker, by George!” Whether I was sobered or not, I know not. I can only say that of a sudden I was myself, and strangely quiet. I saw the dear lady, brave, beautiful, and with her curls falling about her neck, as she shrank back from the man’s touch. “Come, Hugh,” she said.