“That is my business. Don't you go mad now, and break my heart.”
“Well, my friend, we will talk of it tomorrow morning. It certainly is not very clear; and perhaps, after I have prayed and slept, I may see more plainly what is right.”
Ashmead observed she was pale, and asked her, with concern, if she was ill.
“No, not ill,” said she, “but worn out. My friend, I knew not at the time how great was my excitement; but now I am conscious that this afternoon I have lived a week. My very knees give way under me.”
Upon this admission, Ashmead hurried her to bed.
She slept soundly for some hours; but, having once awakened, she fell into a half-sleepless state, and was full of dreams and fancies. These preyed on her so, that she rose and dispatched a servant to Ashmead, with a line in pencil begging him to take an early breakfast with her, at nine o'clock.
As soon as ever he came she began upon the topic of last night. She had thought it over, and said, frankly, she was not without hopes the gentleman, if he was really a gentleman, might be contented with something less than half. But she really did not see how she could refuse him some share of her winnings, should he demand it. “Think of it,” said she. “The poor man loses—four hundred pounds, I think you said. Then he says, 'Bet you for me,' and goes away, trusting to your honor. His luck changes in my hands. Is he to lose all when he loses, and win nothing when he wins, merely because I am so fortunate as to win much? However, we shall hear what he says. You gave him your address.”
“I said I was at 'The Golden Star,'” growled Ashmead, in a tone that plainly showed he was vexed with himself for being so communicative.
“Then he will pay us a visit as soon as he hears: so I need give myself no further trouble.”
“Why should you? Wait till he comes,” said crafty Ashmead.