“Stop, Crisp, not so hard; don’t you see you are killing her?”
Zula’s head sank upon her breast and an ashen paleness overspread her face.
“Yes, stop,” said a voice close behind him, and at that moment a form appeared among the trees.
“Who are you?” Crisp asked, angrily.
“It matters not who I am, but I command you to cease your cruelty, and untie that poor girl. Shame on a man who would commit such a cowardly deed. If you have a spark of manhood about you let her go.”
“What business have you to interfere, I should like 57 to know? She stays there till she knows how to behave herself.”
The stranger deliberately placed his hand behind him, and drawing a pistol from his pocket pointed it at Crisp, who instantly dropped his hand by his side, while his ugly face became purple with anger and fright, as he advanced a step toward Zula.
“I will give you just three minutes to release that girl, and if you do not do as I bid you your worthless head shall pay the forfeit. You have already intended murder, and had you been allowed to proceed, would have ended her life.”
Crisp began the work of untying the ropes which bound Zula, whose head lay upon her breast as motionless as though death had done its work.
When the cords were loosened, the young man bade Crisp carry her to her bed, which he did, while the stranger followed him. Old Meg brought a basin of water and bathed her face.