A whispered communication ensued. 'Oh! the Paycock, a study in wools, is withdrawn. Filial feelings, which we all respect, et cetera. But what have we here? Daniel in the Lions' Den, with crimson velvet curtains fringed with gold bullion, hanging down in the den, and the prophet depicted, very properly, in adoration. Light streaming from above. In the remote distance aloft――King Ahasuerus, wasn't it?――gazing on the sublime scene with emotion. A scriptural subject――Daniel in the Lions' Den――one shilling. Yes, ma'am, eighteen pence――sir――two shillings. The velvet curtains are alone worth that. Half-a-crown. So good for your children, help to make them realise the sacred narrative. Three shillings. Give pleasure and instruction combined to little Tommy, and make him say, "Mammy, I have read about Daniel in my Bible"――give――thank you, three and six. Right――four shillings. Going, going, gone.' Thus went on the sale, briskly, each article fetching more than it was actually worth, as is generally the case in small sales to which the Jew dealers do not think it worth their while to go. At a large auction they combine against the public, and control the sale in their own interest, running up an article only when bid for by some one outside the ring. In a small sale the profits go into the pocket of the seller, in a large one into those of the dealers. When the sale was in full swing, the bidders were warm, and rivalry had been excited, some bidding out of mere wantonness, some out of ostentation, some to prevent others from possessing what they themselves did not want. Then Mr. Hawkes put up the little house and scrap of land on which it stood. Considerable hesitation at once manifested itself, and there was a long pause before an offer was made. The Undercliff was a snug spot for a man to live at who had no business, and could afford to be idle; it was unsuitable for any one else. However, the agent for the owner of the Bindon estate offered thirty pounds. It might serve as a labourer's cottage. It would not let for above four pounds, and would require some outlay in repairs. But the main objection against it lay in its situation near the cliff, as it was uncertain how long it would continue habitable. It might last a lifetime or go to pieces like Jane Marley's cottage on the morrow. Then a retired tradesman of Seaton held up his hand. The agent again offered; a third bid; then an old maid from Lyme. The sale moved but sluggishly. Mr. Hawkes looked towards the agent. But he shook his head; he had been instructed not to go above a certain specified sum. Jane Marley stood by the window. She had thrust her way to the front, and was near the auctioneer; she leaned one elbow on the sill and looked up into his face. He held the hammer aloft, gazing about him, with an encouraging word cast at one, then another, but without response. 'Seventy,' said Jane.