The looks and glances which were interchanged by those about during this brief colloquy showed how little sympathy there was felt with the generosity of either side. The bettors had set their hearts on gain, and cared little for the feelings of the players. “You see he was right,” whispered the red-whiskered squire to his neighbor; “my Lord has won the game in one hand.” And so it was; in less than five minutes the party was over. “Now for the conqueror,” cried the Knight of Gwynne, who, somewhat nettled at a success which seemed to lessen the generous character of his own proposal, dealt the cards hastily, as if anxious to conclude. “Now, Darcy, we have a better opportunity,” said Lord Drogheda, smiling; “what say you to draw stakes as we stand?” “Willingly, most willingly, my Lord. If a bad cause saps courage, I have reason to be low at heart. This foolish wager has cost me the loss of three nights' sleep, and if you are content--” “But are these gentlemen here satisfied?” said Lord Drogheda; and an almost universal cry of “No” was the reply. “Then if we are to play for the bystanders, my Lord, let us not delay them,” said the Knight, as he took up his cards and began to arrange them. “Darcy has it, by Jove!--the game is his,” was muttered from one to another in the crowd behind his chair, and the report, gaining currency, was soon circulated in the larger room without. “Have you anything heavy on it, Con?” said a fashionably dressed man to Heffernan, who endeavored to force his way through the crowd to where the Knight sat. “Look at Heffernan!” said another. “They say he never bets; but mark the excitement of his face now!” “What is it, Heffernan?” said the Knight, as the other leaned over his chair and tried to whisper something in his ear. “Is that a queen, my Lord? In that case I believe the game is mine.--What is it, Heffernan?” and he bent his ear to listen; then, suddenly dashing the cards upon the table, cried out, “Great Heaven! is this true?--the young fellow I met at Kilbeggan?” “The same,” whispered Heffernan, rapidly; “a brother officer of your son Lionel's--a cousin of Lord Castle-reagh's--a fine, dashing fellow, too.” “Where is he wounded?” asked Darcy, eagerly. “Finish your game--I must tell you all about it,” said Heffernan, folding up a letter which he had taken from his pocket a few minutes before. “Your pardon, my Lord,” said Darcy, with a look full of agitation; “I have just heard very bad news.--I play the knave.” A murmur ran through the crowd behind him. “You meant the king, I know, Knight,” said Lord Drogheda, restoring the card to his hand as he spoke, but a loud expression of dissatisfaction arose from those at his side. “You are right, my Lord, I did intend the king,” said the Knight; “but these gentlemen insist upon the knave, and, if you 'll permit me, I 'll play it.” The whole fortune of the game hung upon the card, and, after a brief struggle, the Knight was beaten.