"Guess we'll teach you what a slave sale is, Britisher," said another man near Gilbert, cutting a lump of tobacco and thrusting it into his mouth.
Gilbert Margrave's cheek grew pale; he felt that the man he had to deal with was not to be beaten.
"Twelve thousand," "fifteen," "twenty."
For a moment there was a pause; Gilbert drew his breath. For one brief instant he thought that the planter's caprice might be less powerful than his avarice. He knew not that Augustus Horton's love for Cora was full of passionate determination.
"Five-and-twenty thousand dollars," cried the planter.
Gilbert was silent. Throughout this scene the Octoroon had never once lifted her eyes from the ground; but, at this ominous silence, she slowly raised them, and looked imploringly at her lover.
It was a glance of despair which answered this mute appeal. All hope was over.
"Strikes me your pretty well cleaned out, siree," said one of the men who had spoken before.
The bidding continued, the excitement of the scene had become intense. Thirty, five-and-thirty, forty thousand dollars were bid; forty-five, fifty thousand.
The last bid came from Augustus Horton, and the auctioneer's hammer descended with an ominous sound.