"What! down, my boy?" she cried. "They shall never see me hoist signals of distress. We must all die, and the secret of the thing is to die game, by Jove! Did you ever hear of Laura Fern? a superb girl! handsomer than your humble servant--if you'll believe it--a 'Miss' in the bargain, and as a consequence, I suppose, a much greater rake. She was in the hunting-field. Her horse threw her, and she fell plump on a stake. It went into her left breast. All the fellows crowded round her, and one young man, who was in love with her--he sits in the House of Peers now--we used to call him `Duck' because he was such a dear--he dropped from his horse to his knees: 'Laura! Laura! my darling! speak a word to me!--the last!' She turned over all white and bloody! 'I--I shan't be in at the death!' and gave up the ghost! Wasn't that dying game? Here's to the example of Laura Fenn! Why, what's the matter? See! it makes a man turn pale to hear how a woman can die. Fill the glasses, John. Why, you're as bad!" "It's give me a turn, my lady," pleaded John, and the man's hand was unsteady as he poured out the wine. "You ought not to listen. Go, and, drink some brandy." John footman went from the room. "My brave Dick! Richard! what a face you've got!" He showed a deep frown on a colourless face. "Can't you bear to hear of blood? You know, it was only one naughty woman out of the world. The clergyman of the parish didn't refuse to give her decent burial. We Christians! Hurrah!" She cheered, and laughed. A lurid splendour glanced about her like lights from the pit. "Pledge me, Dick! Drink, and recover yourself. Who minds? We must all die--the good and the bad. Ashes to ashes--dust to dust--and wine for living lips! That's poetry--almost. Sentiment: `May we never say die till we've drunk our fill! Not bad--eh? A little vulgar, perhaps, by Jove! Do you think me horrid?" "Where's the wine?" Richard shouted. He drank a couple of glasses in succession, and stared about. Was he in hell, with a lost soul raving to him? "Nobly spoken! and nobly acted upon, my brave Dick! Now we'll be companions." She wished that heaven had made her such a man. "Ah! Dick! Dick! too late! too late!" Softly fell her voice. Her eyes threw slanting beams. "Do you see this?" She pointed to a symbolic golden anchor studded with gems and coiled with a rope of hair in her bosom. It was a gift of his. "Do you know when I stole the lock? Foolish Dick! you gave me an anchor without a rope. Come and see." She rose from the table, and threw herself on the sofa. "Don't you recognize your own hair! I should know a thread of mine among a million." Something of the strength of Samson went out of him as he inspected his hair on the bosom of Delilah.