night, nothing stirring but the Spirit of the North. Twenty, twenty-five
cards were drawn, and then Pierre paused.

"In a minute all will be settled," he said. "Will you go on, or will you
pause?"

But Sherburne had got the madness of chance in his veins now, and he
said: "Quick, quick, go on!" Pierre drew, but the great card held back.
Sherburne drew, then Pierre again. There were three left. Sherburne's
face was as white as the snow around him. His mouth was open, and a
little white cloud of frosted breath came out. His hand hungered for the
card, drew back, then seized it. A moan broke from him. Then Pierre, with
a little weird laugh, reached out and turned over the ace of hearts!

They both stood up. Pierre put the cards in his pocket.

"You have lost," he said.

Sherburne threw back his head with a reckless laugh. The laugh seemed to
echo and echo through the amphitheatre, and then from the frozen seats,
the hillocks of ice and snow, there was a long, low sound, as of sorrow,
and a voice came after:

"Sleep--sleep! Blessed be the just and the keepers of vows."

Sherburne stood shaking, as though he had seen a host of spirits. His
eyes on the great seats of judgment, he said to Pierre:

"See, see, how they sit there, grey and cold and awful!"