And so to be sure the Highlander did. He staked pound after pound, gained once in thrice, got furious, and staked on and on till the seven was nil.
Then rose the Highlander’s revenge; the watch was tabled against seven pounds, and went at a sweep.
“And now, py Cot, to croon a’, ta Pritannia will be gone,” he cried, as he rushed out in agony.
Frantic as he was, he could yet find his way to the part of the pier where he expected to see the vessel with the noble captain on board. The steamer was gone; and as he stood transfixed in despair, a man came up to him.
“Was it you who carried some luggage on board the Britannia about an hour ago?”
“Ay, just me.”
“Well, then, I saw a man dressed in seaman’s clothes carry it away. He seemed to make for Edinburgh, likely by the Easter Road.”
“And whaur is ta Easter Road?” cried the Gael, as he turned round to run in some direction, though in what he knew not.
At length, after many inquiries, he got into the said road, and hurrying along at the top of his speed, he expected every moment to see the captain. He questioned every one he met, got no trace, and began to lose hope with breath; for, long ere this, he had seen the full scope of his folly, and suspected that the captain was one of the cardsharpers. Fairly worn out,—more the consequence of the excited play of his lungs and galloping blood than the effect of his chase,—he slackened his pace when he came to the Canongate. There he was—a ruined man, not a penny left, the hopes of a fortune blasted, even his tool-chest, with which he might have cut his way anywhere, gone,—a terrible condition, no doubt, not to be even conceived properly by those who have not experienced the shock of sudden and total ruin. No sight had any interest for him, no face any beauty or ugliness, except as it carried any feature like what he recollected of his cruel and heartless companions. Nor was he free from self-impeachment, blaming his love of money as well as the blindness of his credulity. While in this humour, and making his way by inquiry to the Police-office, he met right in the face, and seemed to spring up three inches as he detected the features of one of his spoilers. In an instant, his hand clutched, with the tension of a tiger’s muscle, the gasping throat of the villain. The Highland blood was boiling, and you might have seen the red glare of his eye, as if all his revenge for what he considered to be the ruin of a life had been concentrated in that one terrible glance. The sharper, strong, and with all the recklessness of a tribe of the most desperate kind, was only as a sapling in his grasp.
“My money and my watch, you tam villain!”