features, which, not all the dishevelled length of his hair and whiskers
could disguise, was lighted up with a joyous but savage expression, which
made me turn away, almost with a sensation of fear.

Just as Tyrrell was leaving the room, Warburton put his hand upon his
shoulder--"Stay," said he, "I am going your way, and will accompany you."
He turned round to Thornton (who was already talking with the marquis) as
he said this, and waved his hand, as if to prevent his following; the
next moment, Tyrrell and himself had left the room.

I could not now remain longer. I felt a feverish restlessness, which
impelled me onwards. I quitted the salon, and was on the escalier before
the gamesters had descended. Warburton was, indeed, but a few steps
before me; the stairs were but very dimly lighted by one expiring lamp;
he did not turn round to see me, and was probably too much engrossed to
hear me.

"You may yet have a favourable reverse," said he to Tyrrell.

"Impossible!" replied the latter, in a tone of such deep anguish, that it
thrilled me to the very heart. "I am an utter beggar--I have nothing in
the world--I have no expectation but to starve!"

While he was saying this, I perceived by the faint and uncertain light,
that Warburton's hand was raised to his own countenance.

"Have you no hope--no spot wherein to look for comfort--is beggary your
absolute and only possible resource from famine?" he replied, in a low
and suppressed tone.