Colonel Carvel, in annoyance, started to move on.  “Come Jinny,” he said, “I had no business to bring you aver.”

But Virginia caught his arm.  “Pa,” she cried, “it’s Mr. Benbow’s Hester.  Don’t go, dear.  Buy her for me You know that I always wanted her.  Please!”

The Colonel halted, irresolute, and pulled his goatee Young Colfax stepped in between them.

“I’ll buy her for you, Jinny.  Mother promised you a present, you know, and you shall have her.”

Virginia had calmed.

“Do buy her, one of you,” was all she said

“You may do the bidding, Clarence,” said the Colonel, “and we’ll settle the ownership afterward.”  Taking Virginia’s arm, he escorted her across the street.

Stephen was left in a quandary.  Here was a home for the girl, and a good one.  Why should me spend the money which meant so much to him.  He saw the man Jenkin elbowing to the front.  And yet—­suppose Mr. Colfax did not get her?  He had promised to buy her if he could, and to set her free: 

Stephen had made up his mind:  He shouldered his way after Jenkins.

CHAPTER V

THE FIRST SPARK PASSES

“Now, gentlemen,” shouted the auctioneer when he had finished his oration upon the girl’s attractions, “what ’tin I bid?  Eight hundred?”

Stephen caught his breath.  There was a long pause no one cared to start the bidding.

“Come, gentlemen, come!  There’s my friend Alf Jenkins.  He knows what she’s worth to a cent.  What’ll you give, Alf?  Is it eight hundred?”

Mr. Jenkins winked at the auction joined in the laugh.

“Three hundred!” he said.

The auctioneer was mortally offended.  Then some one cried:—­“Three hundred and fifty!”

It was young Colfax.  He was recognized at once, by name, evidently as a person of importance.

“Thank you, Mistah Colfax, suh,” said the auctioneer, with a servile wave of the hand in his direction, while the crowd twisted their necks to see him.  He stood very straight, very haughty, as if entirely oblivious to his conspicuous position.

“Three seventy-five!”

“That’s better, Mistah Jenkins,” said the auctioneer, sarcastically.  He turned to the girl, who might have stood to a sculptor for a figure of despair.  Her hands were folded in front of her, her head bowed down.  The auctioneer put his hand under her chin and raised it roughly.  “Cheer up, my gal,” he said, “you ain’t got nothing to blubber about now.”

Hester’s breast heaved and from her black eyes there shot a magnificent look of defiance.  He laughed.  That was the white blood.

The white blood!

Clarence Colfax had his bid taken from his lips.  Above the heads of the people he had a quick vision of a young man with a determined face, whose voice rang clear and strong,—­ “Four hundred!”