“I wish to Heaven I could!” her father replied, great drops of sweat beginning to gather upon his face. “It is true. I had a room fitted up with everything to make it attractive, for cards and games of all kinds. It was first-class in every way as to order and appearance, and books and magazines for those who cared to read were there, and men and boys frequented it night after night, sometimes losing, sometimes gaining, while I looked on unconcernedly at the harm I was doing, but excitedly, like the war horse rushing into battle. I had fits of conscience, which shook me like an ague, and I would close the room and swear to myself never to open it again. But the disease was greater than I could conquer. It mastered me and I went back to my old ways. I was a gambler of the worst type, while passing for a high-souled, honorable gentleman; popular with everybody, I believe. But if that were all, my dying pillow would not be as full of thorns as it is now, nor would the faces of those I have lead to ruin confront me as they do. There is a blacker sin on my soul than gambling. I am a murderer!” “Oh, father!” Louie cried, starting back from him in horror, and trying to withdraw her hand. “Don’t let go, Louie,” he said, holding fast to her. “I shall sink to perdition, if you do. I never killed a man the way you think. I was the means of his death, and this is how it was: “When we came to Merivale I had firmly resolved to reform and earn my living honestly. But life was monotonous, and I longed for the flesh pots I had left behind. I would try once more, I thought and then renounce gambling forever. I felt sure of winning and I wanted to raise you and your mother to a better position than we occupied in White’s Row.