trembling, and began to think.

"Tarnation!" said Eliphalet. "There's my boss, Colonel Carvel across the
street. Guess I'd better move on. But what d'ye think of him for a real
Southern gentleman?"

"The young dandy is his nephew, Clarence Colfax. He callates to own this
town." Eliphalet was speaking leisurely, as usual, while preparing to
move. "That's Virginia Carvel, in red. Any gals down Boston-way to beat
her? Guess you won't find many as proud."

He departed. And Stephen glanced absently at the group. They were picking
their way over the muddy crossing toward him. Was it possible that these
people were coming to a slave auction? Surely not. And yet here they were
on the pavement at his very side.

She wore a long Talma of crimson cashmere, and her face was in that most
seductive of frames, a scoop bonnet of dark green velvet, For a fleeting
second her eyes met his, and then her lashes fell. But he was aware, when
he had turned away, that she was looking at him again. He grew uneasy. He
wondered whether his appearance betrayed his purpose, or made a question
of his sanity.

Sanity! Yes, probably he was insane from her point of view. A sudden
anger shook him that she should be there calmly watching such a scene.

Just then there was a hush among the crowd. The beautiful slave-girl was
seized roughly by the man in charge and thrust forward, half fainting,
into view. Stephen winced. But unconsciously he turned, to see the effect
upon Virginia Carvel.