The man facing me was Spencer,
the other sat with his back my way, but I could now and then catch
a glimpse of his profile as he started at some flash or lifted his
head in terror of the thunder-claps.
"We'll play till the hands point to three," announced Spencer,
taking out his watch and laying it down where both could see it.
"Do you agree to that?--Unless I win and your funds go a-begging
before the hour."
"I agree." The tone was harsh; it was almost smothered. The man
was staring at the watch; there was a strange set look to his
figure; a pausing as of thought--of sinister thought, I should now
say; then I never stopped to characterise it; it was followed too
quickly by a loud laugh and a sudden grab at the cards.
"You'll win! I feel it in my bones," came in encouraging tones
from the rich man. "If you do"--here the storm lulled and his
voice sank to an encouraging whisper--"you can buy the old tavern
up the road. It's going for a song; and then we'll be neighbours
and can play--play--"
Thunder!--a terrific peal. It shook the house; it shook my boyish
heart, but it no longer had power to move the two gamesters. The
fever of play had reached its height, and I heard nothing more
from their lips, but such phrases as belong to the game. Why
didn't I take advantage of their absorption to fly? The sill above
my head was within easy reach, the sash was open and no sound that
I could make would reach them in this hurly-burly of storm.
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