His last stake was swept away before him, and Dalton, unable to speak, stretched forth his arms across the table to arrest the banker's hand. “A hundred 'Naps,' on the red,” cried he, wildly; “no--two hundred--neck or nothing, I 'll go five--d' ye hear me?--five hundred on the red!” A short conversation in whispers ensued between the croupiers, after which one of them spoke a few words to Dalton in a low voice. “You never said so when I was losing,” cried Peter, savagely. “I heard nothing about the rules of the tables _then_.” “The stake is above our limit, sir; above the limit laid down by law,” said the chief banker, mildly. “I don't care for your laws. I lost my money, and I 'll have my revenge.” “You can make half de stakes in my name, saar,” said a long-moustached and not over-clean-looking personage beside Dalton's chair. “That will do----thank you,” cried Dalton. “Bet two hundred and fifty for me and I'll stake the rest.” A moment more, and the low voice of the croupier proclaimed that red had lost! “What does he say--why won't he speak plainly?” cried Dalton, in a voice of passionate energy. “You lose de stake,” muttered the man behind him. “Of course I do; what other luck could I have? Lose--lose--lose!” said he to himself, in a low, moaning voice. “There they go--the fools!----betting away as fresh as ever. Why won't they take warning by _me?_ beggared, rained as it has left me. May I never! if the red isn't winning every time now!” And, as he spoke, his eyes followed a great heap of gold which some fortunate gambler just drew in before him. “How much did he win, then?” cried Dalton; but none replied to a question so contrary to every etiquette of the table. “He never counts it,” muttered Peter, as he continued to gaze on the lucky player with a kind of envious admiration. “They say it's best not to count one's winnings. I don't know what's best; I believe 't is only the devil knows--for it was _he_ invented the game.--Red, again, the winner!” “Why you no back de red?” whispered the man behind his chair. Dalton started, and was about to give an angry reply, but corrected himself, and merely stared stupidly at him. “You win eleven hundred Napoleons if you do go on,” said the other, showing in proof of his assertion the card on which he had marked all the chances. “And where 's the money?” cried Dalton, as, with a hissing utterance, he spoke, and he pointed to the table before him. “Have I Coutts's bank at my back, or is all Lombard Street in my pocket? 'T is easy to say, go on! Red again, by Jingo!” “I tell you dat!” said the other, gravely.