We had but one turn more. While we
waited, I marked his black eyes studying every inch of the ground
between him and that small white ball, to strike which, at that
moment, I verily believe he would have given the King's favor. All
men pray, though they pray not to the same god. As he stood there,
when his time had come, weighing the bowl in his hand, I knew
that he prayed to his d‘mon, fate, star, whatever thing he raised an
altar to and bent before. He threw, and I followed, while the throng
held its breath. Master Macocke rose to his feet. "It's a tie, my
masters!" he exclaimed.
The excited crowd surged forward, and a babel of voices arose.
"Silence, all!" cried the Governor. "Let them play it out!"
My lord threw, and his bowl stopped perilously near the shining
mark. As I stepped to my place a low and supplicating "O Lord!"
came to my ears from the lips and the heart of the preacher, who
had that morning thundered against the toys of this world. I drew
back my arm and threw with all my force. A cry arose from the
throng, and my lord ground his heel into the earth. The bowl,
spurning the jack before it, rushed on, until both buried themselves
in the red and yellow leaves that filled the trench.
I turned and bowed to my antagonist. "You bowl well, my lord," I
said. "Had you had the forest training of eye and arm, our fortunes
might have been reversed.
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