Treherne never had them
in her house; in those little parties of which mention has
been made as her only dissipation, they had formed no part of
the entertainment, and the sight of them now roused a thousand
tumultuous emotions of pain and pleasure. A thousand
associations attached themselves to those little bits of
pasteboard, whose black and red figures seemed to dance before
her eyes--recollections of those early years with their for-
ever-gone happiness, of her father, of happy evenings that
she, an innocent, unconscious child, had passed at his side,
building houses with old packs of cards, or spinning the
little gold pieces that passed backwards and forwards so
freely. She was happy then, happier than she could ever be
again, she thought despairingly, now that she had been taught
so sore a knowledge of good and evil. The last evening of her
father's life came suddenly before her; she seemed to hear
again his last words to herself, to see the scene with Legros,
the cards tumbling in a heap on the floor, his dying face. A
kind of terror seized her, and she stood gazing as though
fascinated at the dozen respectable gentlemen dealing their
cards and marking their games, till Graham's step and voice
aroused her.
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