“Strange!” thought Florence, “this benevolent stranger can surely be no other than my unknown friend. He is, then, all I first imagined him—kind, noble, disinterested—and yet I have doubted him; how am I reproved! but for him, my own fate might, perhaps, have resembled that of the unfortunate girl before me!” While lost in these reflections, she was suddenly startled by a slight scream from Effie, who, grasping her arm tightly, said, while her pale face crimsoned, and her bosom heaved tumultuously, “Hark! _his_ voice—it _is_ his voice!” “Whose voice—what is the matter?” demanded Florence. “Do you not know,” continued Effie, as half rising she bent her little head, and raised her finger in an attitude of deep attention, “Do you not know Belmont’s voice? Ah, I see now very well you do not love him.” “Belmont! good heavens, what shall I do!” exclaimed Florence, starting up, “is there no way for me to escape—not for worlds would I have him find me here!” “Go in there,” said Effie, pointing to a small door; “but you will be obliged to remain there—there is no other way.” “Then I must, of course, hear all you say,” said Florence, shrinking instinctively from thus intruding upon the young girl’s privacy. Effie looked up confidently and answered, “It is well; if this meeting is to restore me my happiness, you will rejoice with me; if it plunge me in still greater wo, then, dear lady, it is better for you to know it!” Florence had no time to reply, for now a man’s step was heard quickly ascending the stairs. Springing into the little room adjoining, she closed the door, and panting with agitation, awaited the result. Again the words of the unknown recurred to her, “Fear not! one will be near you, who will protect you with his life.” Scarcely had Florence withdrawn, when the other door was opened, and a man wearing a cloak, with his hat drawn far down over his face, entered, then closing it, and carefully turning the key, he advanced toward Effie, who had risen, and stood clinging to the easy-chair to support her trembling limbs. “You are surprised to see me, I suppose, child,” said he, throwing off his cloak and hat, and revealing the form and features of Crayford. “My dear husband, do we then meet again!” cried Effie, feebly extending her arms, as she sunk back into the chair. Crayford folded his arms across his breast, and throwing himself carelessly upon a seat, said, “I have come to settle matters with you, that’s all. What the d——l are you doing here!” “Don’t speak so cruelly to me—don’t, Belmont!” cried poor Effie, bursting into tears. “O, if you knew the anguish I have endured since you left me; if you knew, that, driven to despair, I even sought to take my own life, you would pity me! If you knew how I have watched for you—sought for you—how I have waited for you, you would at least have compassion on me!”