All the ready money that the ruined planter could command consisted of a few thousand dollars, and Gilbert Margrave had only the sum which he had brought with him for his traveling expenses. To communicate with England was impossible, though the young man had ample resources there; he had also letters of credit on a banking-house in New York, but he well knew that nothing but ready money could save Cora from her infamous persecutors. The entire sum at his command was a little over twenty thousand dollars. Gilbert Margrave was the first to bid. "Five thousand dollars!" "Six thousand!" cried Augustus Horton. A laugh circulated among the assembly. "I guess you begun a bit too low, stranger," said one of the planters. "Seven thousand." "Ten!" cried Augustus. "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. Cora was his. Gilbert Margrave sprang forward, as if he would have struck the planter, but a friendly hand was laid upon his shoulder, and he was dragged back by a group of Americans. "Better keep your dander down, stranger," one of the men whispered in his ear, "our folks are not over fond of your countrymen just now, and they wouldn't make much work of taking out their bowie knives. Let him have the gal. Was there ever such a noise about a handsome slave?" Augustus Horton walked up to the place where Gilbert was standing, surrounded by these men. "I've beaten you before to-day, Mr. Margrave," he said, with a sneer, "and I think I've had the pleasure of giving you a second licking this afternoon." Again Gilbert would have sprung upon him, but again he was restrained by those about him. "We've another duel to fight yet, Mr. Horton," said the Englishman, "and in that you may not come off so easily."