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"She is withdrawn, uncle," said John Penhallow distinctly.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"I said, withdrawn, sir," John repeated.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.

Neither he nor any man could have realized what she felt as her uncle
talked wildly--and she had been put up for sale. She used none of the
resources of reason. All her body was hot with the same flush of shame
which burned in her face. In her passion of disgust and anger, she
hurried out into the storm. The chill of the east wind was friendly. She
gave no other thought to the wind-driven rain, but ran through the woods
like a wild thing, all virginal woman, unreasonable, insulted, angry as a
child is angry--even her uncle was forgotten. She ran upstairs, the glory
of her rain-soaked hair in tumbled