The voices of several men were to be heard in the vestibule below, and at the same time hurried footsteps sounded on the stairs. Toby rushed breathless into the room. "Oh, massa, massa, the dreadful day has come at last! Mr. Craig is below with the sheriffs; he has come to take possession of the estate--of all!" "Already?" exclaimed Gerald Leslie; "then we are lost." The agitation of the morning had been too much for the Octoroon; the last shock completely prostrated her, and she sunk, fainting, into her father's arms. "My daughter!" cried Gerald; "my child--Toby, the one you nursed--is there no escape, no way to save her?" The mulatto wrung his hands in silent anguish; then with a gleam of hope illumining his dusky face, exclaimed,-- "Stay, massa; the garden below this communicates with the plantation; if we could reach that they could never find us. They are all below in the vestibule--wait, wait!" He rushed from the room, leaving Gerald Leslie in utter bewilderment as to what he was about to do; but in three minutes he appeared at the open window of the apartment, standing at the top of a ladder. "See, massa," he cried, "we will save her yet. Give her into Toby's arms, and he will save her, though his own life pays the price of her liberty." It was too late. As the faithful mulatto stretched forth his arms to receive the prostrate form of the unconscious girl, a harsh voice in the garden below exclaimed-- "What are you up to, there, you nigger? I see you. If you don't come down quicker than a streak of greased lightning, I guess you'll get a bit of lead in your precious carcass that'll bring you down a sight faster than you went up. Come down, you old cuss, will you?" The speaker was one of the men employed by the sheriff, who had crept round from the vestibule to the gardens to see if there were any doors or windows by which some of the live stock might escape. The "live stock" is the name given to the slaves upon a plantation. Human beings, with hearts capable of grief and affection, fidelity and love--but in the eyes of the auctioneer, mere cattle to be knocked down by his hammer to the highest bidder. Amongst the live stock was counted Cora, the Octoroon, the lovely and accomplished daughter of Gerald Leslie, the destined bride of Gilbert Margrave. CHAPTER XXIV. THE SEPARATION. All hope of escape was over. The mulatto slowly descended the ladder, muttering to the man below that he had only been making some alterations in the window shutters. Cora Leslie re-opened her eyes to behold her father bending over her, his face almost ghastly with agitation. The Octoroon was terrified by the pale and horror-stricken countenance. "Is it all a dream?" she murmured, passing her hand across her forehead; "speak, dearest father, what has happened?"