“The sale is over, uncle,” said John.

“No, sir—­don’t interrupt.  I’d like to sell Swallow.”

This was much to their taste.  “Guess he’s sold a many of us,” cried an old farmer.

“Why, he’s dead,” said Mrs. Crocker.

The Colonel’s gaze wandered.  The little group of friends became hopelessly uneasy; even Mrs. Ann ceased to smile.  “You stand up, Polly Somers—­you are the handsomest girl in the county,” which was quite true.

The girl, who was near by, sat still embarrassed.  “Get up,” said Penhallow sharply.

“She’s withdrawed these three months,” cried a ready-witted young farmer.

“Oh, is she?  Well, then, we will go on.”  Tom McGregor went quietly up the two steps to the platform.  All those who were near to the much-loved master of Grey Pine stood still aware of something wrong and unable to interfere.  Rivers alone moved towards him and was put aside by an authoritative gesture.  The moment of silence was oppressive, and Leila was hardly conscious of the movement which carried her up beside Dr. McGregor to the level of the platform.

“Oh, do something,” she whispered; “please do something.”

“It is useless—­this can’t last.”

“Uncle Jim,” she exclaimed in her despair, and what more she would have urged was unheard or unsaid as the Colonel turned towards her and cried, “One more for sale!”

No one spoke.  At last these various people who loved the man well saw more or less clearly that he was no longer their James Penhallow of other days.  He went on at once with raised voice:  “Last sale—­Leila Grey—­likely young woman—­warranted sound—­single or double harness.  Fetch her up.”  His confusion of mind was painfuly apparent.  “Who’ll bid?” A suppressed titter rose from the younger people.

“She is withdrawn, uncle,” said John Penhallow distinctly.

“Ah! who did you say—­Like Polly, owner withdraws her—­Can’t you speak out?”

“I said, withdrawn, sir,” John repeated.  As he spoke he saw the Colonel stagger backwards and sink into his chair; his face became white and twitched; his head fell to one side; he breathed stertorously, flushed slightly, and was instantly as one asleep.

Ann Penhallow and the two doctors were at his side.  Rivers called out, “Leave the room, all of you, please.  Open the windows, Grace!”

“Is he dead?” asked Ann of McGregor.

“No, no—­it is a slight fit—­there is no danger.”

A moment later Penhallow opened his eyes, sat up, and said, “Where am I?  What’s all this about?”

John said, “A bit faint, uncle.  The carriage is waiting.”  He staggered to his feet, and seizing Rivers’s arm followed Ann and John in silence.  With Rivers they were driven back to Grey Pine.  Of all Ann Penhallow’s schemes to amuse or interest her husband this had been the most utter failure.

Every one had gone from the hall when John missing Leila returned to the outer room to put on his cloak.  The boy-cap Leila liked to wear in bad weather, her rain-cloak, his umbrella, were as they had been left.  He stood still in the first moment available for thought and knew that here was a new trouble.  She must have been so shocked and ashamed as to have fled in the rain eager to get away.