“Now, Darcy, we have a better opportunity,” said Lord Drogheda, smiling; “what say you to draw stakes as we stand?”
“Willingly, most willingly, my Lord. If a bad cause saps courage, I have reason to be low at heart. This foolish wager has cost me the loss of three nights' sleep, and if you are content—”
“But are these gentlemen here satisfied?” said Lord Drogheda; and an almost universal cry of “No” was the reply.
“Then if we are to play for the bystanders, my Lord, let us not delay them,” said the Knight, as he took up his cards and began to arrange them.
“Darcy has it, by Jove!—the game is his,” was muttered from one to another in the crowd behind his chair, and the report, gaining currency, was soon circulated in the larger room without.
“Have you anything heavy on it, Con?” said a fashionably dressed man to Heffernan, who endeavored to force his way through the crowd to where the Knight sat.
“Look at Heffernan!” said another. “They say he never bets; but mark the excitement of his face now!”
“What is it, Heffernan?” said the Knight, as the other leaned over his chair and tried to whisper something in his ear. “Is that a queen, my Lord? In that case I believe the game is mine.—What is it, Heffernan?” and he bent his ear to listen; then, suddenly dashing the cards upon the table, cried out, “Great Heaven! is this true?—the young fellow I met at Kilbeggan?”
“The same,” whispered Heffernan, rapidly; “a brother officer of your son Lionel's—a cousin of Lord Castle-reagh's—a fine, dashing fellow, too.”
“Where is he wounded?” asked Darcy, eagerly.