“No, sir,” said he; “I think not. All that I possessed in the world was depending upon the result of a certain game at écarté. If I had lost it, I should have been a beggar. If I won it, I resolutely resolved never to touch a card again--never to run the risk of experiencing a second time the mental agony I was then undergoing. I am not ashamed to confess, sir, that in such a strait I prayed to win; and I _did_ win.” “All I have to say, sir,” replied I, “is this: that it was uncommonly hard upon the other man.” Good resolutions are indeed by no means uncommon among tolerably young persons in positions of pecuniary peril, such as that of Captain Lisgard. They vow their candles to this and that patron saint if they should but escape shipwreck upon the green baize this once. Master Walter's bid was confined to a few “dips,” if one may use so humble a metaphor, of which about fifty went to the pound, and even those were not offered in a penitent spirit. He would never play whist with the Landrails any more. He would never lay the long odds beyond “couters”--a foolish word he and his set used for sovereigns. He would never back himself at all when playing with “that fool Pompus”--his present partner. He would become, in short, exceedingly wise and prudent, if he should only “pull off” this present rubber. There was “life in the Mussel” yet. They were at “three all” when Pompus led his knave instead of his ten, from ten, knave, king, and only got the trick when he should have got the game. “We shall never have another chance now,” sighed Walter, as his left-hand adversary turned up the queen. But privately he thought that fortune would not be quite so cruel as all that came to; moreover, he had an excellent hand. His fingers trembled as he arranged the long suit of clubs, headed by tierce major, and saw that he had four trumps to bring them in with.