his favour, and from that moment it seemed that his luck had turned.
Once or twice he lost, but these occasions were far outbalanced by
several brilliant _coups_. The tide had turned at last in his favour.

He played as a man possessed, swiftly and feverishly. It seemed that he
and West were to divide the honours. For West's luck scarcely varied,
and Rudd continued to look at him askance.

For the greater part of an hour young Bathurst won with scarcely a
break, till the spectators began to chaff him upon his outrageous
success.

"You'd better stop," one man warned him. "She's a fickle jade, you know,
Bathurst. Take too much for granted, and she'll desert you."

But Bathurst did not even seem to hear. He played with lowered eyes and
twitching mouth, and his hands shook perceptibly. The gambler's lust was
upon him.

"He'll go on all night," murmured the onlookers.

But this prophecy was not to be fulfilled.

It was a very small thing that stemmed the racing current of the boy's
success--no more than a slight click audible only to a few, and the
tinkle of something falling--but in an instant, swift as a thunderbolt,
the wings of tragedy swept down upon the little party gathered about the
table.

Young Bathurst uttered a queer, half-choked exclamation, and dived