you shall have your own way."

Monty rose to his feet and balanced himself against the post.

"Never mind - about the brandy," he faltered. "Give me back the
photograph."

Trent shrugged his shoulders. "Why?" he asked coolly. "Full hand
beats three, don't it? It was my win and my stake."

"Then - then take that!" But the blow never touched Trent. He
thrust out his hand and held his assailant away at arm's length.

Monty burst into tears.

"You don't want it," he moaned; "what's my little girl to you? You
never saw her, and you never will see her in your life."

"She is nothing to me of course," Trent answered. "A moment or so
ago her picture was worth less to you than a quarter of a bottle of
brandy."

"I was mad," Monty moaned. "She was my own little daughter, God
help her!"

"I never heard you speak of her before," Trent remarked.

There was a moment's silence. Then Monty crept out between the
posts into the soft darkness, and his voice seemed to come from a
great distance.