Overwhelmed with confusion, and taken by surprise at the sudden appearance of one whom he had hoped never to see more, Crayford for half a minute stood irresolute, then struggling to disengage himself from her embrace, he exclaimed angrily,
“Off, woman—none of your tricks with me; off, I say!”
Casting roughly aside those tender arms which clung to him so despairingly, poor Effie would have fallen to the ground but for another of the party, who, seizing her just as she was sinking, cried with mock pathos,
“Here, pretty one, the fellow is a monster; here, I will take care of you—come, kiss me!”
But Effie sprung from his arms, and clasping the knees of Crayford as she saw the heartless wretch moving on,
“Belmont, my husband!” she cried, in tones of piercing anguish, “do not, O, do not leave me again; no, you will not be so cruel—take me with you!”
“That’s cool, by heavens!—ha! ha! ha!” shouted Crayford, with infernal daring, “you are crazy, child! I am not your Belmont; perhaps this is he—or this,” pointing from one to the other of his companions.
The look of wo with which the poor girl received this cruel speech, did not escape their notice, and, hardened as they were, they were moved to pity, and the rude jests died on their lips.
Effie rose from her knees, and tottering a step forward, placed her trembling hand upon the outstretched arm of Crayford. With an oath he spurned her from him, when in his path there suddenly arose one whose cold, searching glance, struck terror to his guilty soul.
“Crayford, I know you!” exclaimed the stranger. “This, then, is your infernal work; ay, tremble, thou base destroyer of innocence. Away, I say, ere I am tempted to do a deed shall shame my manhood!”