“At sixty-five!” cried the Auctioneer, leaning towards Grimes with his hammer poised, “at sixty-five—­Will you make it another pound, sir!—­come,—­what do you say?”

“I say—­no sir!” returned the Corn-chandler, slowly, and impressively, “I say no, sir,—­I say—­make it another—­twenty pound, sir!” Hereupon heads were shaken, or nodded, and there rose the sudden shuffle of feet as the crowd closed in nearer.

“I get eighty-five! any advance on eighty-five?”

“Eighty-six!” said Bellew, settling the tobacco in his pipe-bowl with his thumb.

Once again the Auctioneer leaned over and appealed to the Corn-chandler, who stood in the same attitude, jingling the money in his pocket, “Come sir, don’t let a pound or so stand between you and a side-board that can’t be matched in the length and breadth of the United Kingdom,—­come, what do you say to another ten shillings?”

“I say, sir,” said Grimes, with his gaze still riveted upon Bellew, “I say—­no sir,—­I say make it another—­twenty pound sir!”

Again there rose the shuffle of feet, again heads were nodded, and elbows nudged neighbouring ribs, and all eyes were focussed upon Bellew who was in the act of lighting his pipe.

“One hundred and six pounds!” cried the Auctioneer, “at one six!—­at one six!—­”

Bellew struck a match, but the wind from the open casement behind him, extinguished it.

“I have one hundred and six pounds! is there any advance, yes or no?—­going at one hundred and six!”

Adam who, up till now, had enjoyed the struggle to the utmost, experienced a sudden qualm of fear.

Bellew struck another match.

“At one hundred and six pounds!—­at one six,—­going at one hundred and six pounds—!”

A cold moisture started out on Adam’s brow, he clenched his hands, and muttered between his teeth.  Supposing the money were all gone, like his own share, supposing they had to lose this famous old side-board,—­and to Grimes of all people!  This, and much more, was in Adam’s mind while the Auctioneer held his hammer poised, and Bellew went on lighting his pipe.

“Going at one hundred and six!—­going!—­going!—­”

“Fifty up!” said Bellew.  His pipe was well alight at last, and he was nodding to the Auctioneer through a fragrant cloud.

“What!” cried Grimes, “’ow much?”

“Gent in the corner gives me one hundred and fifty six pounds,” said the Auctioneer, with a jovial eye upon the Corn-chandler’s lowering visage, “one five six,—­all done?—­any advance?  Going at one five six,—­going! going!—­gone!” The hammer fell, and with its tap a sudden silence came upon the old hall.  Then, all at once, the Corn-chandler turned, caught up his hat, clapped it on, shook a fat fist at Bellew, and crossing to the door, lumbered away, muttering maledictions as he went.

By twos and threes the others followed him until there remained only Adam, Bellew, the Auctioneer, and the red-nosed Theodore.  And yet, there was one other, for, chancing to raise his eyes to the minstrel’s gallery, Bellew espied Miss Priscilla, who, meeting his smiling glance, leaned down suddenly over the carved rail, and very deliberately, threw him a kiss, and then hurried away with a quick, light tap-tap of her stick.