"By Jove! you take me up sharply. On my soul I am sorry, d--d sorry--poor Edith! I am awfully cut up about her. As I live I meant not what I said. Come, Ned, don't look so savage! Come, and we'll have a bottle of wine, and drown this horrid remembrance. Egad! I am awfully sorry, I am sure I would it had been any one else! Come, Ned, I didn't mean anything, only it came so pat!" And with these words he actually dismissed his sister's death, and to drown his sorrow plunged into every kind of dissipation for the next three months, until he made St. Petersburgh too hot for himself by shooting Count Strogonoff in an affair of honour, and probably saved ending his days in Siberian mines by a speedy escape in sleighs through Poland to Germany, where he and L'Estrange spent the summer at Baden-Baden, which was even then notorious as a gambling-place. Here the Captain had a run of luck at the roulette-tables, and pocketed an almost incredible amount. Many a hapless gambler was ruined by him, and on one occasion when he had won every farthing from a luckless Baron, the unfortunate loser blew his brains out over the table! "Kelner, wipe up that mess," said the Captain, with a sneer. "I wish to G-- people would blow out their brains in their own houses, and not choose the saloons for such purposes!"[B] These two associates in evil soon made Baden too hot for them also, and travelled about till they again reached Hamburgh, where Bill met them with important news from England. After a long conversation with L'Estrange, whose conscience was getting more and more seared from his intercourse with such a reprobate, they both set sail for Scotland, taking Stacy with them. It was then about the middle of December, a time when Christmas festivities are in preparation--those at the Towers would be of the most private character--and the Captain spoke of showing his face again at home, thinking the duel would be pretty well blown over; however, the large debts he had incurred both in Scotland and England would not so easily be forgotten, and he determined he would not risk incarceration in Fleet Street Prison again, for he had once tasted its joys, until released by the Earl's paying off his liabilities. These, however, had now reached a pass which the Earl would probably be unable, even if willing to defray. The coming of these birds of ill omen so near the home of the Countess seems to bode no good, but we must leave the result to another chapter. CHAPTER VII. "'Tis long since I beheld that eye Which gave me bliss or misery; And I have striven, but in vain, Never to think of it again; For though I fly from Albion, I still can only love but one. "And I will cross the whitening foam, And I will seek a foreign home; Till I forget a false fair face, I ne'er shall find a resting-place; My own dark thoughts I cannot shun, But ever love, and love but one."--_Byron._