"A thousand more to hear the sound of her step--another thousand for one smile!" Carlisle's voice trembled, but he forced himself under control. "My dear sir, you shall have all you wish! I am sure if she could see you now she herself would be disposed to smile. You do not yet understand that woman. But now, suppose that the betting has gone far enough? What cards have you? For myself, I discover that I have drawn four kings. I trust that you have four aces of your own." There was sincerity in this wish, but Dunwody answered gloomily: "You gave me three tens and a pair of fives, with what I held. You have won the first round." He dashed a hand, and cleared the square of matted hair from his forehead, which now was beaded. Red, florid, full-blooded, balked in his eagerness, he looked as savage as some denizen of the ancient forest, in pursuit as reckless, as ill-suited with ill-fortune. "My deal," said he, at length, in a voice half a growl. And later, "How many?" "I shall, if you please, require but one card," was the quiet answer. Dunwody himself required two. They sat narrowly eying each other, although there was in this close duel small advantage for either except in the run of the cards themselves. "It is perhaps needless for us to waste time, since I can not divide my stakes," smiled the younger gentleman. Again with a half growl, Dunwody threw down his cards, face upward. His teeth were clenched, all his muscles set, all his attitude strained, tense. "You have won, my dear Senator! I failed to improve my four cards, which, it is true, were of one color, but which I regret to say still remain of the one color and of no better company!" "It is even!" exclaimed Dunwody. "Come!" The cards went around once more, and once more the officer asked for a single card. Once again he lost. Dunwody drew back with a deep sigh. "Look!" he said, "of my three cards, two were what I wanted--aces, aces, man!--four of them! By every token, I have won. It's fate!" The face of his opponent was a study. His eyebrows went up in pleasant expostulation at the other's eagerness. "So, then," said he, "I suppose I must pay my stake, much to my regret. Ah! how fortune has run against me to-day. And so, here it is,--I write her name for you once more--this time her real name, so far as any in America know it--thus,--Josephine, Countess St. Auban, of France, of Hungary, of America, abolitionist, visionary, firebrand. There, then,--though I think you will find the matter of taking possession somewhat difficult to compass--so far as I am concerned, she is, with all my heart, yours to have and to hold, _if you can_! My duty to her is over. Yours begins, I hope!" Dunwody found no speech. He was pale, and breathing fast.