Fitzroy, however, was one of
those men who, when satisfied that what they engage in ought to succeed,
according to the means employed, only derive fresh vigour from every
fresh defeat. He played his game a _sixth_ time, and won. The same
day that saw my uncle rise with thousands, saw him seek his pillow at
night, a frantic beggar! He was too proud a man, too honourable, I will
add, not to throw down his last guinea, in satisfaction of such demands.
He never suspected villany in the business. He paid his losses,
therefore; and in less than a week afterwards, an inquest sat upon his
body, which was found at the bottom of his own fish pond.
I had my share of this infernal plunder; but so ravenous had been
my appetite for revenge, that not one pang of remorse disturbed the
riotous enjoyments in which it was lavished. On the contrary, the very
consciousness that it _was_ my uncle's money I squandered, gave a
zest to every excess, and seemed to appease the gnawing passions which
had so long tormented me. In two or three years, however, boundless
extravagance, and the gaming-table, stripped me of my last shilling.
It was in one of the frenzied moments of this profligate reverse of
fortune, that I committed the crime for which, if to-morrow dawned
upon me, I should be publicly arraigned.
Fitzroy had been fortunate the whole night. I had thrown with constant
bad luck. He had pocketed some hundreds; I had lost more than I could
pay.
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