"What do they care?"
"Do you mean to say they are such wretches—"
"I mean that they do not care one fig what may happen so long as they get the money."
Markham was struck speechless with horror as he heard this cold-blooded announcement. Chichester had however stated nothing but the truth.
The proceedings were now fearfully interesting. The young officer was worked up to a most horrible state of excitement: his losses continued to be unvaried by a single gleam of good fortune. Still he persisted in his ruinous career: note after note was changed. At length his last was melted into gold. He now became absolutely desperate: his countenance was appalling;—the frenzy of gambling and the inflammatory effects of the liquors he had been drinking, rendered his really handsome features positively hideous.
Markham had never beheld such a scene before, and felt afraid. His companions surveyed it with remarkable coolness.
The play proceeded; and in a few moments the officer's last stake was swept away.
Then the croupiers paused, as it were, by common consent; and all eyes were directed towards the object of universal interest.
"Well—I said I would play until I won all or lost all," he said; "and I have done so. Waiter, give me another tumbler of claret: it will compose me."
He laughed bitterly as he uttered these words.