"Twelve shillings is bid. Twelve shillings is bid. Twelve
shillings!" And the auctioneer now looked towards the young woman
who, in a faint voice, said--
"Thirteen shillings."
By this time the merchant began to understand the meaning of what
was passing before him. The miniature was that of a middle-aged
lady; and it required no great strength of imagination to determine
that the original was the mother of the young woman who seemed so
anxious to possess the locket.
"But how came it here?" was the involuntary suggestion to the mind
of Mr. Edwards. "Who pawned it? Did she?"
"Fourteen shillings," said the man who was bidding, breaking in upon
the reflections of Mr. Edwards.
The veil that had been drawn aside, fell instantly over the face of
the young woman, and she shrunk back from her prominent position,
yet still remained in the room.
"Fourteen shillings is bid. Fourteen shillings! Are you all done?
Fourteen shillings for a gold locket and miniature. Fourteen!
Once!---"
The companion of Mr. Edwards glanced towards him with a meaning
look. The merchants for a moment bewildered, found his mind clear
again.
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