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!"

Even the auctioneer, braced two ways, was thrown off his balance by t