The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Brontë (sci fi books to read TXT) 📕

or won. He had often so determined before, to be sure, and as often broken his determination; and so it was this time. He lost; and while his antagonist smilingly swept away the stakes, he turned chalky white, drew back in silence, and wiped his forehead. I was present at the time; and while he stood with folded arms and eyes fixed on the ground, I knew well enough what was passing in his mind.

“ ‘Is it to be the last, Lowborough?’ said I, stepping up to him.

“ ‘The last but one,’ he answered, with a grim smile; and then, rushing back to the table, he struck his hand upon it, and, raising his voice high above all the confusion of jingling coins and muttered oaths and curses in the room, he swore a deep and solemn oath that, come what would, this trial should be the last, and imprecated unspeakable curses on his head if ever he should shuffle a card or rattle a dice-box again. He then doubled his former stake, and challenged anyone present to play against him. Grimsby instantly presented himself. Lowborough glared fiercely at him, for Grimsby was almost as celebrated for his luck as he was for his ill-fortune. However, they fell to work. But Grimsby had much skill and little scruple, and whether he took advantage of the other’s trembling, blinded eagerness to deal unfairly by him, I cannot undertake to say; but Lowborough lost again, and fell dead sick.

“ ‘You’d better try once more,’ said Grimsby, leaning across the table. And then he winked at me.

“ ‘I’ve nothing to try with,’ said the poor devil, with a ghastly smile.

“ ‘Oh, Huntingdon will lend you what you want,’ said the other.

“ ‘No; you heard my oath,’ answered Lowborough, turning away in quiet despair. And I took him by the arm and led him out.

“ ‘Is it to be the last, Lowborough?’ I asked, when I got him into the street.

“ ‘The last,’ he answered, somewhat against my expectation. And I took him home⁠—that is, to our club⁠—for he was as submissive as a child⁠—and plied him with brandy-and-water till he began to look rather brighter⁠—rather more alive, at least.

“ ‘Huntingdon, I’m ruined!’ said he, taking the third glass from my hand⁠—he had drunk the others in dead silence.

“ ‘Not you,’ said I. ‘You’ll find a man can live without his money as merrily as a tortoise without its head, or a wasp without its body.’

“ ‘But I’m in debt,’ said he⁠—‘deep in debt. And I can never, never get out of it.’

“ ‘Well, what of that? Many a better man than you has lived and died in debt; and they can’t put you in prison, you know, because you’re a peer.’ And I handed him his fourth tumbler.

“ ‘But I hate to be in debt!’ he shouted. ‘I wasn’t born for it, and I cannot bear it.’

“ ‘What can’t be cured must be endured,’ said I, beginning to mix the fifth.

“ ‘And then, I’ve lost my Caroline.’ And he began to snivel then, for the brandy had softened his heart.

“ ‘No matter,’ I answered, ‘there are more Carolines in the world than one.’

“ ‘There’s only one for me,’ he replied, with a dolorous sigh. ‘And if there were fifty more, who’s to get them, I wonder, without money?’

“ ‘Oh, somebody will take you for your title; and then you’ve your family estate yet; that’s entailed, you know.’

“ ‘I wish to God I could sell it to pay my debts,’ he muttered.

“ ‘And then,’ said Grimsby, who had just come in, ‘you can try again, you know. I would have more than one chance, if I were you. I’d never stop here.’

“ ‘I won’t, I tell you!’ shouted he. And he started up, and left the room⁠—walking rather unsteadily, for the liquor had got into his head. He was not so much used to it then, but after that he took to it kindly to solace his cares.

“He kept his oath about gambling (not a little to the surprise of us all), though Grimsby did his utmost to tempt him to break it, but now he had got hold of another habit that bothered him nearly as much, for he soon discovered that the demon of drink was as black as the demon of play, and nearly as hard to get rid of⁠—especially as his kind friends did all they could to second the promptings of his own insatiable cravings.”

“Then, they were demons themselves,” cried I, unable to contain my indignation. “And you, Mr. Huntingdon, it seems, were the first to tempt him.”

“Well, what could we do?” replied he, deprecatingly.⁠—“We meant it in kindness⁠—we couldn’t bear to see the poor fellow so miserable:⁠—and besides, he was such a damper upon us, sitting there silent and glum, when he was under the threefold influence⁠—of the loss of his sweetheart, the loss of his fortune, and the reaction of the lost night’s debauch; whereas, when he had something in him, if he was not merry himself, he was an unfailing source of merriment to us. Even Grimsby could chuckle over his odd sayings: they delighted him far more than my merry jests, or Hattersley’s riotous mirth. But one evening, when we were sitting over our wine, after one of our club dinners, and all had been hearty together⁠—Lowborough giving us mad toasts, and hearing our wild songs, and bearing a hand in the applause, if he did not help us to sing them himself⁠—he suddenly relapsed into silence, sinking his head on his hand, and never lifting his glass to his lips;⁠—but this was nothing new; so we let him alone, and went on with our jollification, till, suddenly raising his head, he interrupted us in the middle of a roar of laughter by exclaiming⁠—‘Gentlemen, where is all this to end?⁠—Will you just tell me that now?⁠—Where is it all to end?’ He rose.

“ ‘A speech, a speech!’ shouted we. ‘Hear, hear! Lowborough’s going to give us a speech!’

“He waited calmly till the thunders of applause and jingling of glasses had ceased, and then proceeded⁠—‘It’s only this, gentlemen⁠—that I