“None,” said Venn.

“Christian had some—­I wonder where he is.  Christian!”

But there was no reply to Wildeve’s shout, save a mournful whining from the herons which were nesting lower down the vale.  Both men looked blankly round without rising.  As their eyes grew accustomed to the darkness they perceived faint greenish points of light among the grass and fern.  These lights dotted the hillside like stars of a low magnitude.

“Ah—­glowworms,” said Wildeve.  “Wait a minute.  We can continue the game.”

Venn sat still, and his companion went hither and thither till he had gathered thirteen glowworms—­as many as he could find in a space of four or five minutes—­upon a foxglove leaf which he pulled for the purpose.  The reddleman vented a low humorous laugh when he saw his adversary return with these.  “Determined to go on, then?” he said drily.

“I always am!” said Wildeve angrily.  And shaking the glowworms from the leaf he ranged them with a trembling hand in a circle on the stone, leaving a space in the middle for the descent of the dice-box, over which the thirteen tiny lamps threw a pale phosphoric shine.  The game was again renewed.  It happened to be that season of the year at which glowworms put forth their greatest brilliancy, and the light they yielded was more than ample for the purpose, since it is possible on such nights to read the handwriting of a letter by the light of two or three.

The incongruity between the men’s deeds and their environment was great.  Amid the soft juicy vegetation of the hollow in which they sat, the motionless and the uninhabited solitude, intruded the chink of guineas, the rattle of dice, the exclamations of the reckless players.

Wildeve had lifted the box as soon as the lights were obtained, and the solitary die proclaimed that the game was still against him.

“I won’t play any more—­you’ve been tampering with the dice,” he shouted.

“How—­when they were your own?” said the reddleman.

“We’ll change the game:  the lowest point shall win the stake—­it may cut off my ill luck.  Do you refuse?”

“No—­go on,” said Venn.

“O, there they are again—­damn them!” cried Wildeve, looking up.  The heath-croppers had returned noiselessly, and were looking on with erect heads just as before, their timid eyes fixed upon the scene, as if they were wondering what mankind and candle-light could have to do in these haunts at this untoward hour.

“What a plague those creatures are—­staring at me so!” he said, and flung a stone, which scattered them; when the game was continued as before.

Wildeve had now ten guineas left; and each laid five.  Wildeve threw three points; Venn two, and raked in the coins.  The other seized the die, and clenched his teeth upon it in sheer rage, as if he would bite it in pieces.  “Never give in—­here are my last five!” he cried, throwing them down.  “Hang the glowworms—­they are going out.  Why don’t you burn, you little fools?  Stir them up with a thorn.”