He had suffered his uncle, who affected a dislike for "Hugh," to call him "Irving." He had also, for no reason at all, suffered Alice to think he was a Stanley, and this was the result.
"I can live on just as I did before," was again the mental cry of his wrung heart.
How changed were all things now, for the certainty that Alice never would be his had cast a pall over everything, and even the autumnal sunshine streaming through the window seemed hateful to him.
Involuntarily his mind wandered to the sale and to Rocket, perhaps at that very moment upon the block.
"If I could have kept him, it would have been some consolation," he sighed, just as the sound of hoofs dashing up to the door met his ear.
It was Claib, and just as Hugh was wondering at his headlong haste, he burst into the room, exclaiming: "Oh, Mas'r Hugh, 'tain't no use now.

He'd done sold, Rocket is.

I hearn him knocked down, and then I comed to tell you, an' he looked so handsome, too,--caperin' like a kitten.

They done made me show him off, for he wouldn't come for nobody else, but the minit he fotched a sight of dis chile, he flung 'em right and left.

I fairly cried to see how he went on." There was no color now in Hugh's face, and his voice trembled as he asked: "Who bought him ?" "Harney, in course, bought him for five-fifty.