made violent love to Mrs. Catherine, while her lord and master was
playing at dice with the other gentlemen: and on this night,
strange to say, the Captain's fortune seemed to desert him. The
Warwickshire Squire, from whom he had won so much, had an amazing
run of good luck. The Captain called perpetually for more drink,
and higher stakes, and lost almost every throw. Three hundred, four
hundred, six hundred--all his winnings of the previous months were
swallowed up in the course of a few hours. The Corporal looked on;
and, to do him justice, seemed very grave as, sum by sum, the Squire
scored down the Count's losses on the paper before him.

Most of the company had taken their hats and staggered off. The
Squire and Mr. Trippet were the only two that remained, the latter
still lingering by Mrs. Catherine's sofa and table; and as she, as
we have stated, had been employed all the evening in mixing the
liquor for the gamesters, he was at the headquarters of love and
drink, and had swallowed so much of each as hardly to be able to
speak.

The dice went rattling on; the candles were burning dim, with great
long wicks. Mr. Trippet could hardly see the Captain, and thought,
as far as his muzzy reason would let him, that the Captain could not
see him: so he rose from his chair as well as he could, and fell
down on Mrs. Catherine's sofa. His eyes were fixed, his face was
pale, his jaw hung down; and he flung out his arms and said, in a
maudlin voice, "Oh, you byoo-oo-oo-tifile Cathrine, I must have a
kick-kick-iss."

"Beast!" said Mrs. Catherine, and pushed him away. The drunken
wretch fell off the sofa, and on to the floor, where he stayed; and,