go home and tell my story, I shall have to
meet reproaches, and even a wounded
surprise from Dora. "If you could do all
this I think a few pounds for our pressing
necessities could have been no great sin."
No great sin! Certainly not, my pet; and
your gentle soul is scarcely trained enough
to appreciate these niceties. The example
is something; but you would hardly follow
me if I said that by way of punishment to
them it would be no such harm.

With light heart I went in again. I saw
a ruefulness and distrust in the pinched
face of M. B. He knew that I knew
him and his ways. He knew, too—for
these men note the most trifling incidents
of the day—that I had got back from them
everything they had tricked me out of,
and more. I could see the mortification in
his eyes. Studying the game more
carefully, it is amazing what fresh lights and
instincts break in on me. If I had but
time I could develop the whole into a
science, whose certainty and accuracy
would be assured. But your pedant, even
if he knew its rules, would infallibly break
down; because, like the skilful general,
there are moments when you must fling
away rule and trust to instinct—a glorious
instinct, quite as infallible. I felt it all
today, and scarcely ever was at fault. The
strangest "power" I see is that of Zero,
and there is one man present, who I admit,
has some of this instinct with a true
knowledge of the laws and seasons that relate
to this Zero. I see too plainly the most
amazing results could be obtained .....

I am half provoked with myself for not
obeying the silent supernatural invitations I
received a dozen times to-day—it is like
flinging away the blessings of nature, ever
bountiful. If they challenge me in this
way so persistently—well, before I go, a
few minutes—as an experiment——

Midnight.——wretched, miserable, weak
fool, I deserve it all, every bit of it! It
was blind, cursed folly, and madness! 0,
what is to become of me now? All gone!
All this money—I don't know how much,
and what does it matter now? 0, I must
hold my very heart—- I cannot breathe.
O wicked, wicked, vile scoundrel! What
am I to do? Nothing left—all gone—and
I cannot fly from this place! O den of
thieves and worse than murderers, you
have undone me at last! Let me see, now,
let me turn out these pockets. Yes, five,
six florins, and three wretched kreutzers;
and one—yes, and another—just two
napoleons left. you fool, you base, mean,
pitiful scoundrel! What is to become of
me now? Their devilish seduction—letting
me win at first, then a little loss, and that
desperate doubling to get all back! My
brains, my wits, all fled, and I saw nothing
but the cursed green board. If I had had a
hundred more it must have followed, for it
was a necessity I should get it back. O,
it will never come back, and I am ruined
and disgraced for ever. Let me die. I
cannot show my face.

Thus the whole of that day went by—I,
with a sort of restless demon locked up in
me, which would not allow me to remain
quiet three minutes in one position. If I
sit for a few minutes, flutter, flutter, begins
every nerve in my whole system. My
heart throbs as if from machinery, and the
only thing, it seems, that can save me, is
to leap up and walk walk furiously, in
any direction. Passing by objects swiftly,
—trees, men, and women—that gives me a
relief, that headlong motion disturbs the
beat of the pendulum, and whirling wheels.
I have not time to think from the physical
action. Oh, such a long, long day! O
the leaden wings of the hours dragging
on like the foreshadowed eternity! . . . I
dared not go near that terrible red-stone
palace. I shrank from it as from a burning
furnace, whose glow spread for half a
mile round—from itself, from its gardens,
from the very look, seen so far off. I was
carrying the raging glowing embers of a
stove within me. Oh, the miles I paced
up and down and round those streets,
something drawing me, and I struggling against
the influence, to the red sandstone palace.

But at last the noon was past—the evening
came; and then I knew the lamps had
been brought in there, and the true business
begun. The brigands and ruffians who
had stopped me and pillaged me, had other
prey now. Oh, those hours!—then the
night! . . .

  MR. CHARLES DICKENS'S FAREWELL
                         READINGS.

MR. CHARLES DICKENS will read at St. James's
Hall, London, February 16; Glasgow, February 18;
Edinburgh, February 19; Glasgow, February 22;
Edinburgh, February 24; Glasgow, February 25;
Edinburgh, February 26; St. James's Hall, London. March
2; Wolverhampton, March 4; Manchester, March 6
and 8; Hull, March, 10; York, March 11; Hull,
March 12.

All communications to be addressed to MESSRS.
CHAPPELL AND Co., 50, New Bond-street, London, W.