“I say, let’s knock off,” said Carthew.

“Give that man a glass of Buckle,” said some one, and a fresh bottle was opened, and the game went inexorably on.

Carthew was himself too heavy a winner to withdraw or to say more; and all the rest of the night he must look on at the progress of this folly, and make gallant attempts to lose with the not uncommon consequence of winning more.  The first dawn of the 11th February found him well-nigh desperate.  It chanced he was then dealer, and still winning.  He had just dealt a round of many tens; every one had staked heavily; the captain had put up all that remained to him, twelve pounds in gold and a few dollars; and Carthew, looking privately at his cards before he showed them, found he held a natural.

“See here, you fellows,” he broke out, “this is a sickening business, and I’m done with it for one.”  So saying, he showed his cards, tore them across, and rose from the ground.

The company stared and murmured in mere amazement; but Mac stepped gallantly to his support.

“We’ve had enough of it, I do believe,” said he.  “But of course it was all fun, and here’s my counters back.  All counters in, boys!” and he began to pour his winnings into the chest, which stood fortunately near him.

Carthew stepped across and wrung him by the hand.  “I’ll never forget this,” he said.

“And what are ye going to do with the Highway boy and the plumber?” inquired Mac, in a low tone of voice.  “They’ve both wan, ye see.”

“That’s true!” said Carthew aloud.  “Amalu and Hemstead, count your winnings; Tommy and I pay that.”

It was carried without speech:  the pair glad enough to receive their winnings, it mattered not from whence; and Tommy, who had lost about five hundred pounds, delighted with the compromise.

“And how about Mac?” asked Hemstead.  “Is he to lose all?”

“I beg your pardon, plumber.  I’m sure ye mean well,” returned the Irishman, “but you’d better shut your face, for I’m not that kind of a man.  If I t’ought I had wan that money fair, there’s never a soul here could get it from me.  But I t’ought it was in fun; that was my mistake, ye see; and there’s no man big enough upon this island to give a present to my mother’s son.  So there’s my opinion to ye, plumber, and you can put it in your pockut till required.”

“Well, I will say, Mac, you’re a gentleman,” said Carthew, as he helped him to shovel back his winnings into the treasure chest.

“Divil a fear of it, sir! a drunken sailor-man,” said Mac.

The captain had sat somewhile with his face in his hands:  now he rose mechanically, shaking and stumbling like a drunkard after a debauch.  But as he rose, his face was altered, and his voice rang out over the isle, “Sail, ho!”

All turned at the cry, and there, in the wild light of the morning, heading straight for Midway Reef, was the brig Flying Scud of Hull.