The Daltons Volume II Part 44

"So much the worse for the bank," remarked another, laughing, "for it's easy to see what will win."

"Pray declare your color, sir," said an impatient gambler at Dalton's side; "the whole table is waiting for you."

Dalton started, and, darting an angry look at the speaker, made an effort to rise from the table. He failed at first, but grasping the shoulder of the croupier, he arose to his full height, and stared around him. All was hushed and still, not a sound was heard, as in that a.s.sembly, torn with so many pa.s.sions, every eye was turned towards the gigantic old man, who, with red eyeb.a.l.l.s and outstretched hands, seemed to hurl defiance at them. Backwards and forwards he swayed for a second or two, and then, with a low, faint cry,--the last wail of a broken heart,--he fell with a crash upon the table. There he lay, his white hairs streaming over the gold and silver pieces, and his bony fingers flattened upon the cards. "A fit!----he's in a fit!" cried some, as they endeavored to raise him.--"Worse still!" remarked another, and he pa.s.sed his hand from the pulse to the heart, "he is dead!"

The hero of a hundred fights, he who has seen death in every shape and on every field, must yield the palm of indifference to its terrors to the gambler. All the glorious insanity of a battle, all the reckless enthusiasm of a storm, even the headlong impetuosity of a charge, cannot supply the cold apathy of the gambler's heart; and so was it that they saw in that lifeless form nothing beyond a disagreeable interruption to their game, and muttered their impatience at the delay in its removal.

"Well," said Mrs. Ricketts, as she sat in an adjoining apartment, "have you any tidings of our dear 'Amphytrion?'----is he winning to-night?"

The question was addressed to the tall, dark man, who so lately had been standing behind Dalton's chair, and was our old acquaintance, Count Petrolaffsky.

"He no win no more, Madame," replied he, solemnly.

"Has he gone away, then?--has he gone home without us?"

"He has gone home, indeed----into the other world," said he, shaking his head.

"What do you mean, Count? For Heaven's sake, speak intelligibly."

"I mean as I do say, Madame. He play a game as would ruin Rothschild; always change, and always at de wrong time, and never know when to make his 'paroli.' Ah, dat is de gran' secret of all play; when you know when to make your 'paroli' you win de whole world! Well, he is gone now; poor man, he cannot play no more!"

"Martha--Scroope, do go--learn something--see what has happened."

"Oh, here's the Colonel. Colonel Haggerstone, what is this dreadful news I hear?"

"Your accomplished friend has taken French leave of you, Madame, and was in such a hurry to go that he wouldn't wait for another turn of the cards."

"He ain't d-d-dead?" screamed Purvis.

"I'm very much afraid they insist on burying him tomorrow or next day, under that impression, sir," said Haggerstone.

"What a terrible event!--how dreadful!" said Martha, feelingly; "and his poor daughter, who loved him so ardently!"

"That must be thought of," interrupted Mrs. Ricketts, at once roused to activity by thoughts of self-interest. "Scroope, order the carriage at once. I must break it to her myself. Have you any particulars for me, Colonel?"

"None, Madame! If coroners were the fas.h.i.+on here, thay 'd bring in a verdict of died from backing the wrong color, with a deodand against the rake!'"

"Yes, it is ver' true, he always play bad," muttered the Pole.

And now the room began to fill with people discussing the late incident in every possible mood and with every imaginable shade of sentiment. A few--a very few--dropped some expressions of pity and compa.s.sion.

Many preferred to make a display of their own courage by a bantering, scornful tone, and some only saw in the event how unsuited certain natures were to contend with the changeful fortunes of high play. These were, for the most part, Dalton's acquaintances, and who had often told him--at least, so they now took credit for--that "he had no head for play." Interspersed with these were little discussions as to the immediate cause of death, as full of ignorance and as ingenious as such explanations usually are, all being contemptuously wound up by Haggerstone's remark, "That death was like matrimony,--very difficult when wanted, but impossible to escape when you sought to avoid it!" As this remark had the benefit of causing a blush to poor Martha, he gave his arm to the ladies, with a sense of gratification that came as near happiness as anything he could imagine.

"Is Miss Dalton in the drawing-room?" said Mrs. Rick-etts, as with an air of deep importance she swept through the hall of the villa.

"She's in her room, Madame," said the maid.

"Ask if she will receive me,--if I may speak to her."

The maid went out, and returned with the answer that Miss Dalton was sleeping.

"Oh, let her sleep!" cried Martha. "Who knows when she will taste such rest again?"

Mrs. Ricketts bestowed a glance of withering scorn on her sister, and pushed roughly past her, towards Nelly's chamber. A few minutes after a wild, shrill shriek was heard through the house, and then all was still.

CHAPTER XXI. NELLY'S SORROWS

Stunned, but not overcome, by the terrible shock, Nelly Dalton sat beside the bed where the dead man lay in all that stern mockery of calm so dreadful to look upon. Some candles burned on either side, and threw a yellowish glare over the bold strong features on which her tears had fallen, as, with a cold hand clasped in his, she sat and watched him.

With all its frequency, Death never loses its terrors for us! Let a man be callous as a hard world and a gloomy road in it can make him; let him drug his mind with every anodyne of infidelity; let him be bereft of all affection, and walk alone on his life road; there is yet that which can thrill his heart in the aspect of the lips that are never to move more, and the eyes that are fixed forever. But what agony of suffering is it when the lost one has been the link that tied us to life,--the daily object of our care, the motive of every thought and every action! Such had been her father to poor Nelly. His wayward, capricious humors, all his infirmities of temper and body, had called forth those exertions which made the business of her life, and gave a purpose and direction to her existence; now repaid by some pa.s.sing expression of thankfulness or affection, or, better still, by some transient gleam of hope that he was stronger in health or better in spirits than his wont; now rallied by that sense of duty which can enn.o.ble the humblest as it can the greatest of human efforts, she watched over him as might a mother over an ailing child. Catching at his allusions to "home," as he still called it, she used to feed her hopes with thinking that at some distant day they were to return to their own land again, and pa.s.s their last years in tranquil retirement together; and now hope and duty were alike extinguished.

"The fount that fed the river of her thoughts" was dry, and she was alone--utterly alone--in the world!

Old Andy, recalled by some curious instinct to a momentary activity, shuffled about the room, snuffing the candles, or muttering a faint prayer at the bedside; but she did not notice him any more than the figure who, in an att.i.tude of deep devotion, knelt at the foot of the bed. This was Hanserl, who, book in hand, recited the offices with all the fervent rapidity of a true Catholic. Twice he started and looked up from his task, disturbed by some noise without; but when it occurred a third time, he laid his book gently down and stole noiselessly from the room. Pa.s.sing rapidly through the little chamber which used to be called Nelly's drawing-room, he entered the larger dining-room, in which now three or four ill-dressed men were standing, in the midst of whom was Abel Kraus in active colloquy with Mr. Purvis. Hanserl made a gesture to enforce silence, and pointed to the room from whence he had just come.

"Ah!" cried Scroope, eagerly, "You 're a kind of co-co-connection, or friend, at least, of these people, ain't you? Well, then, speak to this wo-worthy man, and tell him that he mustn't detain our things here; we were merely on a visit."

"I will suffer nothing to leave the house till I am paid to the last kreutzer," said Kraus, sternly; "the law is with me, and I know it."

"Be patient; but, above all, respect the dead," said Hans, solemnly. "It is not here nor at this time these things should be discussed."

"But we wa-want to go; we have ta-ta-taken our apartments at the 'Russie.' The sight of a funeral and a--a--a hea.r.s.e, and all that, would kill my sister."

"Let her pay these moneys, then, and go in peace," said Kraus, holding forth a handful of papers.

"Not a gr-groschen, not a kreutzer will we pay. It's an infamy, it's a sh-sh-shameful attempt at robbery. It's as bad as st-stopping a man on the highway."

"Go on, sir,--go on. You never made a speech which cost you dearer,"

said Kraus, as he took down the words in his pocket-book.

"I--I--I did n't mean that; I did n't say you were a housebreaker."

"Speak lower," said Hans, sternly. "And you, sir; what is this demand?"

"Two thousand francs,----rent of this house; which, with damage to the furniture and other charges, will make two thousand eight hundred."

"I will pay it," said Hans, stopping him.

"Your credit would be somewhat better, Master Hans, had you not given a certain bail bond that you know of," said Kraus, sneeringly.

"I have wherewith to meet my debts," said Hans, calmly.

"I will claim my bond within a week; I give you notice of it," said Kraus.

"You shall be paid to-morrow. Let us be in peace to-night; bethink you what that room contains."

"He ain't black, is he? I--I would n't look at him for a thousand pounds," said Purvis, with a shudder.

"If she remain here after noon, to-morrow," said Kraus, in a low voice, "a new month will have begun."