In the portico of the theatre Marston was waiting. A thick fog had fallen with the evening, and snatching a torch from one of the link-boys who stood gathered within the light of the entrance, he beckoned to me to follow him, and stepped quickly across the square into a deserted alley. There he waited for me to come up with him, holding the torch above his head so that the brown glare of the flame was reflected in his eyes. "So," he said, "luck sets us on opposite sides of the table again, Mr. Buckler. But the game has not begun. You have still time to draw back." For the moment his words and vehement manner fairly staggered me. I had not expected from him so frank an avowal of rivalry. "The stakes are high," he went on, pressing his advantage, "and call for a player of more experience than you." "None the less," said I, meeting his gaze squarely, "I play my hand." Instantly his manner changed. He looked at me silently for a second, and then with a calmness which intimidated me far more than his passion: "Are you wise? Are you wise?" he asked slowly. "Think! What will the loser keep?" "What will the winner gain?" We stood measuring each other for the space of a minute in the flare of the torch. Then he dropped it on the ground, and stamped out the sparks with his heel. 'Twas too dark for me to see his face, but I heard his voice at my elbow very smooth and soft, and I knew that he was stooping by my side. "You will find this the very worst day's work," he said, "to which ever you set your hand;" and I heard his footsteps ring hollow down the street. He had certainly won the first trick in the game, for he left me to pay the link-boy. CHAPTER X. DOUBTS, PERPLEXITIES, AND A COMPROMISE. Two days later the Countess paid her first visit to my lodging. I had looked forward to the moment with a great longing, deeming that her presence would in a measure consecrate the rooms, and that the memory of what she did and said would linger about them afterwards like a soft and tender light. We had journeyed that morning in a party to view the Italian Glass-house at Greenwich, and dining at a hostelry in the neighbourhood, had returned by water. We disembarked at Westminster steps, and I induced the company to favour me with their presence and drink a dish of bohea in my apartment. Now the sitting-rooms which I occupied were two in number and opened upon each other, the first, which was the larger, lying along the front of the house, and the second, an inner chamber, giving upon a little garden at the back. Ilga, I noticed, wandered from one room to the other, examining my possessions with an indefatigable curiosity. For, said she: "It is only by such means that one discovers the true nature of one's friends. Conversation is but the pretty scabbard that hides the sword. The blade may be lath for all that we can tell." "You distrust your friends so much?"