"Shall we 'play like the devil,' as father used to say?"
Asshlin threw up his head. It was as if flint and steel had struck—the spark followed inevitably.
"Yes!" he cried; "we'll play like the devil!"
At one o'clock they rose from the table. Clodagh's face was white again; but Asshlin's was deeply flushed; and as he stood up, confronting his cousin, it almost seemed that he had drunk more than the two glasses of port to which the bottle testified.
"I must go now, Clo," he said. "May I ring for Burke to get me a lantern?"
Clodagh took a step forward.
"Stay the night, Larry? You can have father's room."
He shook his head and crossed to the fireplace.
"I owe you forty pounds," he said in an unsteady voice. "I'll leave thirty here"—he drew out the notes he had shown her at Carrigmore, and laid them under the clock on the mantelpiece—"the other ten I'll—I'll give you to-morrow."
But Clodagh scarcely heard.