Mr.
Edwards, who could not keep his eyes off of her face, from which the veil had entirely fallen, saw that she was trembling with eagerness and anxiety.
"Eleven shillings!" repeated the auctioneer, glancing at the first bidder, a coarse-looking man, and the only one who seemed disposed to bid against the young woman.
"Twelve shillings," said the man resolutely.
A paleness went over the face of the other bidder, and a quick tremor passed through her frame.
"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.