"I trust you will accept," he continued, speaking to my cousin with courteous gentleness. "As I have said, I am very tired. Luck is on your side, and, if I may be permitted to add, the advantage of the stakes." Elmscott glanced at me, paused for a second, and then, with a forced laugh: "Very well; so be it," he said. The dice were brought; he rattled them vigorously, and flung them down. "Four!" cried one of the gentlemen. "Damn!" said my cousin, and he mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. His antagonist picked up the dice with inimitable nonchalance, barely shook them in the cup, and let them roll idly out on to the table. "Three!" Elmscott heaved a sigh of relief. The other stretched his arms above his head and yawned. "'Tis a noble house, your house in Monmouth Square," he remarked. At the second throw, Elmscott discovered a most nervous anxiety. He held the cup so long in his hand that I feared he would lose the courage to complete the game. I felt, in truth, a personal shame at his indecision, and I gazed around with the full expectation of seeing a like feeling expressed upon the features of those who watched. But they wore one common look of strained expectancy. At last Elmscott threw. "Nine!" cried one, and a low murmur of voices buzzed for an instant and suddenly ceased as the other took up the dice. "Two!" Both players rose as with one motion. Elmscott tossed down his throat the brandy in his tumbler--it had stood by his side untasted since the early part of the night--and then turned to me with an almost hysterical outburst. "One moment." It was the youth who spoke, and his voice rang loud and strong. His weariness had slipped from him like a mask. He bent across the table and stretched out his arm, with his forefinger pointing at my cousin. "I will play you one more bout, Lord Elmscott. Against all that you have won back from me to-night--the money, your house, your estate--I will pit my docks in the city of Bristol. But I claim one condition," and he glanced at me and paused. "If it affects my cousin's presence----" Elmscott began. "It does not," the other interrupted. "'Tis a trivial condition--a whim of mine, a mere whim." "What is it, then?" I asked, for in some unaccountable way I was much disquieted by his change of manner, and dreaded the event of his proposal. "That while your cousin throws you hold his buckles in your hands."