Pembroke threw upon the table once more the moccasin of the Indian girl.  John Law picked it up and examined it long and curiously, asking again and again searching questions regarding its origin.

“I have read of this new land of America,” said he.  “Some day it will be more prominent in all plans.”

He laid down the slipper and mused for a moment, apparently forgetful of the scene about him.

“Perhaps,” cried Castleton, the zeal of the gambler now showing in his eye.  “But let us make play here to-night.  Let Pembroke bank.  His luck is best to win this vaunter’s stake.”

Pembroke dealt the cards about for the first round.  The queen fell.  John Law won. “Deux,” he said calmly, and turned away as though it were a matter of course.  The cards went round again. “Trois,” he said, as he glanced at his stakes, now doubled again.

Wilson murmured.  “Luck’s with him for a start,” said he, “but ’tis a long road.”  He himself had lost at the second turn. “Quint!” “Seix!” “Sept et le va!” in turn called Law, still coolly, still regarding with little interest the growing heap of coin upon the board opposite the glittering ring which he had left lying on the table.

“Vingt-un, et le va!”

“Good God!” cried Castleton, the sweat breaking out upon his forehead.  “See the fellow’s luck!—­Pembroke, sure he hath stole thy slipper.  Such a run of cards was never seen in this room since Rigby, of the Tenth, made his great game four years ago.”

“Vingt-cinq; et le va!” said John Law, calmly.

Will touched his sleeve.  The stake had now grown till the money on the hoard meant a matter of hundreds of pounds, which might he removed at any turn the winner chose.  It was there but for the stretching out of the hand.  Yet this strange genius sat there, scarce deigning to smile at the excited faces of those about him.

“I’ll lay thee fifty to one that the next turn sees thee lose!” cried Castleton.

“Done,” said John Law.

The iciness in the air seemed now an actual thing.  There was, in the nature of this play, something which no man at that board, hardened gamesters as they all were, had ever met before.  It was indeed as though Fate were there, with her hand upon the shoulder of a favored son.

“You lose, Mr. Castleton,” said Law, calmly, as the cards came again his way.  He swept his winnings from the coin pushed out to him.

“Now we have thee, Mr. Law!” cried Pembroke.  “One more turn, and I hope your very good nerve will leave the stake on the board, for so we’ll see it all come back to the bank, even as the sheep come home at eventide.  Here your lane turns.  And ’tis at the last stage, for the next is the limit of the rules of the game.  But you’ll not win it.”

“Anything you like for a little personal wager,” said the other, with no excitement in his voice.