replied Parravicin, shaking off his assailant—'YOUR WIFE HAS THE PLAGUE.'
The profligate had been scared away by the sight of the 'plague spot' on the neck of the unfortunate lady.
The husband entered and found his way to his wife's chamber. Instantaneous explanations ensued. 'He told me you were false—that you loved another—and had abandoned me,' exclaimed the frantic wife.
'He lied!' shouted Disbrowe, in a voice of uncontrollable fury. 'It is true that, in a moment of frenzy, I was tempted to set you—yes, YOU, Margaret—against all I had lost at play, and was compelled to yield up the key of my house to the winner. But I have never been faithless to you—never.'
'Faithless or not,' replied his wife bitterly, 'it is plain you value me less than play, or you would not have acted thus.'
'Reproach me not, Margaret,' replied Disbrowe. 'I would give worlds to undo what I have done.'
'Who shall guard me against the recurrence of such conduct?' said Mrs. Disbrowe, coldly. 'But you have not yet informed me how I was saved!'
Disbrowe averted his head.
'What mean you?' she cried, seizing his arm. 'What has happened? Do not keep me in suspense? Were you my preserver?'
'Your preserver was the plague,' rejoined Disbrowe, mournfully.
The unfortunate lady then, for the first time, perceived that she was attacked by the pestilence, and a long and dreadful pause ensued, broken only by exclamations of anguish from both.
'Disbrowe!' cried Margaret at length, raising herself in bed, 'you have deeply, irrecoverably injured me. But promise me one thing.'
'I swear to do whatever you may desire,' he replied.
'I know not, after what I have heard, whether you have courage for the deed,' she continued. 'But I would have you kill this man.'
'I will do it,' replied Disbrowe.
'Nothing but his blood can wipe out the wrong he has done me,' she rejoined. 'Challenge him to a duel—a mortal duel. If he survives, by my soul, I will give myself to him.'
'Margaret!' exclaimed Disbrowe.
'I swear it,' she rejoined,' and you know my passionate nature too well to doubt I will keep my word.'
'But you have the plague!'
'What does that matter? I may recover.'
'Not so,' muttered Disbrowe. 'If I fall, I will take care you do not recover. … I will fight him to-morrow,' he added aloud.
About noon on the following day Disbrowe proceeded to the Smyrna Coffee-house, where, as he expected, he found Parravicin and his companions. The knight instantly advanced towards him, and laying aside for the moment his reckless air, inquired, with a look of commiseration, after his wife.
'She is better,' replied Disbrowe, fiercely. 'I am come to settle accounts with you.'
'I thought they were settled long ago,' returned Parravicin, instantly resuming his wonted manner. 'But I am glad to find you consider the debt unpaid.'
Disbrowe lifted the cane he held in his hand, and struck the knight with it forcibly on the shoulder. 'Be that my answer,' he said.
'I will have your life first, and your wife afterwards,' replied Parravicin fiercely.
'You shall have her if you slay me, but not otherwise,' retorted Disbrowe. 'It must be a mortal duel.'
'It must,' replied Parravicin. 'I will not spare you this time. I shall instantly proceed to the west side of Hyde Park, beneath the trees. I shall expect you there. On my return I shall call on your wife.'
'I pray you do so, sir,' replied Disbrowe, disdainfully.
Both then quitted the Coffee-house, Parravicin attended by his companions, and Disbrowe accompanied by a military friend, whom he accidentally encountered. Each party taking a coach, they soon reached the ground, a retired spot completely screened from observation by trees. The preliminaries were soon arranged, for neither would admit of delay. The conflict then commenced with great fury on both sides; but Parravicin, in spite of his passion, observed far more caution than his antagonist; and taking advantage of an unguarded movement, occasioned by the other's impetuosity, passed his sword through his body. Disbrowe fell.
'You are again successful,' he groaned, 'but save my wife—save her!'
'What mean you?' cried Parravicin, leaning over him, as he wiped his sword.
But Disbrowe could make no answer. His utterance was choked by a sudden effusion of blood on the lungs, and he instantly expired.
Leaving the body in care of the second, Parravicin and his friends returned to the coach, his friends congratulating him on the issue of the conflict; but the knight looked grave, and pondered upon the words of the dying man. After a time, however, he recovered his spirits, and dined with his friends at the Smyrna; but they observed that he drank more deeply than usual. His excesses did not, however, prevent him from playing with his usual skill, and he won a large sum from one of his companions at Hazard.
Flushed with success, and heated with wine, he walked up to Disbrowe's residence about an hour after midnight. As he approached the house, he observed a strangely-shaped cart at the door, and, halting for a moment, saw a body, wrapped in a shroud, brought out. Could it be Mrs. Disbrowe? Rushing forward to one of the assistants in black cloaks, he asked whom he was about to inter.
'It is a Mrs. Disbrowe,' replied the coffin-maker. 'She died of grief, because her husband was killed this morning in a duel; but as she had the plague, it must be put down to that. We are not particular in such matters, and shall bury her and her husband together; and as there is no money left to pay for coffins, they must go to the grave without them.'
And as the body of his victim also was brought forth, Parravicin fell against the wall in a state of stupefaction. At this moment, Solomon Eagle, the weird plague-prophet, with his burning brazier on his head, suddenly turned the corner of the street, and, stationing himself before the dead-cart, cried in a voice of thunder—'Woe to the libertine! Woe to the homicide! for he shall perish in everlasting fire! Woe! woe!'
Such is this English legend, as related by Ainsworth, but which I have condensed into its main elements. I think it bids fair to equal in interest that of the Hindoo epic; and if it be not true in every particular, so much the better for the sake of human nature.
CHAPTER III. GAMBLING AMONG THE ANCIENT EGYPTIANS, PERSIANS, AND GREEKS.
Concerning the ancient Egyptians we have no particular facts to detail in the matter of gambling; but it is sufficient to determine the existence of any special vice in a nation to find that there are severe laws prohibiting and punishing its practice. Now, this testimony not only exists, but the penalty is of the utmost severity, from which may be inferred both the horror conceived of the practice by the rulers of the Egyptians, and the strong propensity which required that severity to suppress or hold it in check. In Egypt, 'every man was easily admitted to the accusation
