It was indeed Harold--thinner, perhaps, than when he had left England, but bronzed and hardened, and fit in every way for the arduous work of the campaign. Brenda clung to him as though she would never let him go. She looked upon him as one who had been snatched from the jaws of death; and assuredly he would have found a grave in Pretoria had he been left to the tender mercies of Van Zwieten. He, on his side, was delighted and moved beyond words at her tenderness, and at her pluck in undertaking a toilsome and dangerous journey to be near him. It was some time before husband and wife recovered themselves sufficiently to exchange confidences. Brenda cried in spite of her brave spirit, for the joy of this unexpected meeting had shaken her nerves. When she had regained her composure, and was able to speak, it was to congratulate her husband on his escape from Pretoria, and from the dangerous custody of Van Zwieten. He laughed outright.
"That is just where you make the mistake, my love!" he said. "I never was in or near Pretoria, and I have seen nothing of Van Zwieten since I left England. What on earth makes you think so?"
She sat down and looked at him in astonishment. "I don't understand you," she said. "You were reported missing. I went to the War Office myself and made certain that the report was correct."
"That is true enough. I was out on patrol duty with a small force while the General was trying to force the passage of the Tugela. A party of Boers took us by surprise and captured us; but after a week in their custody I was lucky enough to escape. I'll tell you all about it later. What I want to know now is how you come to be out in these parts."
"Don't you know? Van Zwieten wrote to me saying that you were at Pretoria and under his charge, and that he would have you shot if I did not come out to see him. Father and I set off at once, and we were on our way to Pretoria to see the President and implore him to save you from that man."
"Brenda, are you sure of what you are saying? It is all new to me."
"Here is his letter. I always carry it with me. I was going to show it to Kruger when I saw him."
Harold took the letter, which his wife produced from her pocketbook, and read it with a frown. "Well, he is a scoundrel!" he remarked as he gave it back to her. "Of course, it is a trap, and a very clever one. I suppose he heard that I was missing, through the Boer spies, and he turned the information to his own advantage. Don't you see, Brenda, he wanted you to come out to the Transvaal so that you might be in his power."
"The beast!" cried she, crimson at having been so tricked. "I assure you, Harold, I believed the letter was written in all good faith. The War Office said you were missing, and I thought you would be transferred with the other prisoners to Pretoria. That Van Zwieten should be there, and that you should be in his power, did not surprise me in the least. I never dreamed for a moment that it was a trick. Oh, how lucky it was that you were able to stop me! How did you know I was on board theKaiser Fritz?"
"Easily enough. You cabled to Wilfred telling him so. He was at Spearman's Camp at the time, and so was I. When he showed it to me I could not understand at first how it was that you were going to Pretoria; but it struck me that, as I was reported missing, you might think that I had been transferred to the Transvaal capital. I made up my mind that I would stop you at Cape Town. My first idea was to wire to meet you there; but the General wanted some one to send down to Durban about some business, and I contrived to have myself selected for the task. There I heard that theKaiser Fritzwas suspected of having contraband on board, and that she would be stopped by theJuno. I knew the captain, and I told him all about you and your journey out here. He was good enough to have me on board; and so it all came about. Oh, my dear wife!" he cried, clasping her in his arms, "how thankful I am that you are safe. If I had heard that you were at Pretoria, and in the power of that villain, it would have driven me silly."
"He is a bitter enemy," she said. "I should have killed him if he had done you any harm."
"I was never in any danger of my life, dearest--at least, not from him."
"No; I see it now." She paused, and then went on. "After all, I can find it in my heart to forgive him, even for this trick, since it has brought me to you. I won't go home again until you do."
"But, my darling, I must go to the front. I leave Durban to-morrow. You can't come with me."
"Yes, I can--and I will," she insisted. "Oh, I know what you would say, that it is not a woman's place; but it is a woman's place, and her duty, to nurse the wounded, and that is what I shall do. I know a good deal about nursing, and I'm sure the doctors will let me help; they can't refuse."
"But think of the terrible hardships!"
"It is far more hardship for me to have to sit at home when you are in danger. At least, I shall be near you; and perhaps, if Van Zwieten does any more of his plotting, I may be able to frustrate him. It is no use your looking at me like that, Harold; I won't leave you again. You are all I have in the world. If you were to die I should die also."
"There is your father."
"Yes, father is very dear to me, now that we understand one another, but he is not you. Oh, my love, my love, don't send me away again! It will break my heart to leave you!" She paused, then added, defiantly, "I won't go, there!"
He laughed, and he tried to persuade her to stay at Durban or Pietermaritzburg, where she would be in comfort and safety; but he might have saved his breath. To the front she would go, and nothing would move her. In the end--as might have been expected--she got her own way, and her husband promised that she should go with him up the Tugela, if he could procure passports for her and her father. He admired her spirit more than a little, and he was only too glad to have her with him; but it was against his better judgment that he consented. However, there was this to be said--she would be in no greater danger from the intrigues of Van Zwieten at the front than she would be at Durban. After all, it might be as well, with such an enemy, that she should be beside her husband.
"Then that's all right," she said, taking this hardly-earned consent quite as a matter of course. "And now tell me how you managed to escape from the Boers?"
"Well, it came about in this way. As you may guess, when we found ourselves surrounded we made a hard fight for it. We killed a few of the enemy. A boy of seventeen rushed at me; he fired, but missed, and I had him at my mercy. I raised my revolver, but I could not bring myself to shoot so young a lad. When he was about to fire again--for I was turning away--I managed to knock him down. Then we were overpowered and had to lay down our arms. The lad I had spared proved to be the son of the Boer leader, a fine old fellow called Piet Bok. He was so pleased with me that he offered to let me go free; but I could not leave my men. Then, when we were about to be sent on to Pretoria, he renewed his offer. I had by this time been separated from my men, so I accepted. He had kept me all the time under his own charge, and had treated me very well. So one night he led me out of their camp, gave me a horse and gun, and sent me on my way."
"God bless him!" cried Brenda, fervently.
"I was in the Tugela district," he continued, "somewhere in the neighborhood of a place called Spion Kop, which has been very strongly fortified by the Boers. The country was swarming with the enemy, and it was difficult enough to find my way back to camp; then my map--thanks to our Intelligence Department--was all wrong. By day I hid in gullies and behind kopjes, and kept my eyes open. I managed to fetch the river, but I could not get over at first. Then one night I determined to make the best of a bad job, so I made my horse swim for it. The current was strong, and it was pretty hard work to keep on at all; but at last I was forced to let go, and I was swept by the current on to the further side. I kept myself hidden all through that day, and got on when night came. I reached our camp about dawn, and was very nearly shot by a sentry. However, I made myself known, and got in safely. I was dead beat too."
"My poor Harold, how you have suffered!"
"Nonsense. Don't make a fuss over a little thing like that. You must be a true soldier's wife and laugh at these things. But now that I have told you everything, and we have settled what is to be done, I must see your father."
They found Mr. Scarse on deck with the captain. He received Harold with unaffected pleasure.
"I am thankful to see you alive," he said. "The captain has been telling me all about your miraculous escape."
"I am glad to be able to strike another blow for Old England, sir; but I have to thank you for your kindness in coming out. You were going into the very jaws of the lion to find me!"
"To Pretoria--yes," he said simply. "But I am glad there is no need to do that. And yet I should have enjoyed meeting Kruger."
"You shall see him when we take the capital," Harold said. "Brenda has made up her mind to stay until the end of the war."
"Brenda?--what nonsense!"
"Oh, I must, father--if only to protect Harold from Van Zwieten."
"Ah! Van Zwieten! What about that letter, Harold?"
"A trap, Mr. Scarse; a trap to catch Brenda!"
"Why, the man's a villain!"
"He is all that. I hope to get a shot at him some day; I have a long score to settle with the brute!"
"I agree with you. I hope you will," Mr. Scarse said emphatically. "Punish the scoundrel! Do you know that it was he who murdered Malet?"
"No, really?--I suspected as much; but he accused me, you know, at Chippingholt. That was why I went away so suddenly. I could not face Brenda with that hanging over me."
"You should have trusted me, Harold," she said somewhat reproachfully; "I never would have believed you guilty."
"I was wrong, I know dear, but for the moment I lost my head. You see he had got my revolver, and with that apparently the murder was committed."
"It was, and by Van Zwieten himself. You left the revolver at the Manor."
"I did, the last time I stayed there. I left two in a case."
"The case was in the library, and he must have taken one of them out."
"Why--in Heaven's name?"
"Ah, that is a long and painful story," Mr. Scarse said significantly. "You tell it, Brenda."
And so Brenda related the story of Malet's treachery, and the reasons which had led Lady Jenny to conceal the dead man's shame.
Harold could hardly contain his indignation when he heard that an Englishman had acted so base a part. To be bought and sold by a scoundrelly Dutchman; to be the creature of a foreign power; and all the while to be acting therôleof Judas toward the land which had borne him--these things were almost beyond the soldier's comprehension.
"I'd have shot him with my own hand," he cried, striding to and fro, "the low blackguard! The most honest action Van Zwieten ever did in his life was to kill the wretch."
"Don't talk so loud, Harold!" said his wife; "we must keep this to ourselves for Lady Jenny's sake."
"Yes, you are right, Brenda; and I will make quite sure of the silence of Van Zwieten by shooting him at sight. I am certain to come across him, and when I do I'll finish him; not because he murdered Malet, but because he tempted him to be a traitor!"
When at last his indignation had cooled down somewhat, Harold introduced his wife to the captain and the other officers. Without revealing too much, he related how, hearing he had been taken prisoner, and that he was at Pretoria, she had started out in search of him, when she had been intercepted by theJuno. And she received so many compliments on her pluck that she blushed as she had never before blushed in her life. Her beauty was greatly admired by the susceptible tars; and Harold was considered a lucky fellow to have so charming and clever and brave a wife. Mr. Scarse, after all he had recently heard of the Boers, was not inclined to champion them quite so openly, and therefore he got on well enough. On the whole, the short voyage was most enjoyable, and recompensed Brenda for all that she had suffered on board theKaiser Fritz. Indeed, it was with great regret that she left theJunoat Durban. And she vowed ever after that sailors were the finest and most delightful of men. Harold reminded her laughingly that she belonged to the junior branch of the Service. When they were leaving, the captain gave Captain Burton a parting word of warning.
"See here!" he said, with a broad smile, "don't you lose any more of our guns or I'm blest if we won't take up the war ourselves," whereat. Harold laughed, though in truth the shaft went home.
He parted excellent friends with his hosts, and as for Brenda, the officers gave her three hearty cheers as she stepped off theJunoat Durban; and the bluejackets grinned and thoroughly endorsed their officers' good taste.
They found out the best hotel in the place, and took up their quarters there for the short time they had to spend in Durban before leaving for the front. Harold went off to see if he could get a permit for his wife and her father to accompany him. Meanwhile, they wandered about the town together. This was Brenda's first experience of Africa, and she enjoyed it. It was as though she had dropped on to a new planet. The wide streets, with the verandas before the shops, the troops, the throng of Kaffirs, and the brilliant color of the whole scene amused and delighted her beyond words. The air was full of rumors of what was doing at the front. False reports and true came in frequently, so there was no lack of excitement. Even Mr. Scarse caught the fever and was not half so eager in his denunciation of the Government as he had been. Moreover, he was beginning to find out that the Boers were not the simple, harmless creatures Dr. Leyds in Europe was representing them to be. In the smoking-room of the hotel he heard stories about them which made what remaining hairs he had stand upright with horror. On mature consideration it seemed to him that if the Government handed back South Africa to the Boers, as the Little England party wished, the clock of time would be put back a hundred years, and the black races would be exterminated. In his dismay at this idea, Mr. Scarse could not help revealing something of what he was feeling to his daughter. She was delighted at his return to what she called a sane state of mind, and she openly expressed her pleasure.
"I wish you could bring out a dozen men or so, father--men of your party, I mean. It might teach them that England is not so invariably in the wrong as they seem to think."
"My dear," he confessed with some show of penitence, "I fear our race is too insular; we have many things to learn."
"We have not to learn how to colonize or how to fight, father," she said, with true imperial spirit. "It is my belief that Providence gave us those gifts that we might civilize the world. If our Empire were to dwindle to nought it would be a bad day for the world."
"Yes, my dear, it would. After all, we are the only nation that thinks twice before we do anything."
In short, Mr. Scarse was rapidly turning his back upon the old narrow views to which he had so long clung, and with a broadening mind the true meaning of the Imperialistic policy was becoming apparent. Discarding the parish politics of Clapham, he took to looking around him well; and in doing so he found much to occupy his thoughts. Old and crusted ideas cannot easily be dislodged, and--to use Oliver Wendell Holmes's image--Mr. Scarse had been polarized for years.
Harold succeeded in getting the permit for his wife and father-in-law to go to the front, and it was arranged that they should start the next day. In the morning Captain Burton went about his military business--for he had to carry a report concerning some stores back to his general--and Mr. Scarse being occupied in a political discussion with a South African whom he had met at the hotel, Brenda thought she would take a stroll. She bought a few things she wanted, explored the principal streets, and--as she had ample time--turned her attention to the suburbs. It was very hot, and she walked slowly under the blaze of the African sun. The red dust rose in clouds; there was a drowsy hum of insects all around, and patient oxen toiled along the dusty roads. There were plenty of Colonials about, and a good deal of attention was attracted to Mrs. Burton both on account of her great beauty and her dress. Now and again a body of soldiers in khaki would march through the streets followed by a crowd of people. The Kaffirs lined up under the verandas, and grinned from ear to ear as the "rooibaatjes" went by, although they missed the red coats which had procured them that name from the Boers. From what she could gather Brenda learned that these Kaffirs were all in favor of the English cause, for they both hated and dreaded the Boers. And small wonder, considering how they were terrorized by the inhuman sjambok.
At length, getting tired of novelty, Brenda turned her steps back to the hotel. It was drawing near midday, and she wanted something to eat before they left. As she took a turning up a side street which led into the principal thoroughfare, she saw a man standing under a veranda--a tall, bulky man with golden hair and golden beard, and he was coolly watching her.
A shiver passed through her as she caught sight of him. For it was her enemy, Van Zwieten.
Van Zwieten's sins had evidently made no difference in his fortunes. He appeared to be flourishing like the proverbial green bay tree. He was dressed in a smart riding suit, with long brown boots, and a smasher hat of the approved Boer type. Quite unabashed at sight of Brenda, he crossed the road with an impudent smile and held out his hand. She shot one glance of indignation at him, and drew aside as though to avoid contact with an unclean thing--a proceeding which appeared to cause the man some shame, although he tried to assume an air of unconcern and amusement.
"You won't shake hands with me, Mrs. Burton?" he said, quite jauntily.
"How dare you speak to me?" she said, drawing back. "I wonder you are not ashamed to look me in the face after that trick about the letter."
"Ah! that was what the Boers call 'slim,'" he said, wincing, nevertheless, at her open contempt for him. "All's fair in love and war, you know, but your husband has been rather in advance of himself on this occasion, and the plot has failed. Yes, you see I admit that it is a plot, and I admit that it has failed."
"I have nothing to say to you," said Brenda, coldly, "except to tell you that if you attempt to molest either my husband or myself further I shall have you arrested as a spy."
He looked uneasily down the road and at the stern, set faces of the passing soldiers. He knew that from such men as they he might expect precious little mercy once the word spy had gone out against him, followed by damning evidence of his complicity. Boer treachery had to be avenged; there had been plenty of it about, and he did not fancy being a scapegoat for others.
"My dear Mrs. Burton," he went on calmly, "I wonder you spare me at all. Why not have me arrested now and have done with it? I am completely in your power, am I not? You have but to raise your voice and the thing would be done. Indeed, I am not at all sure that I should reach the jail alive. They hate spies here, and it is true they have good reason to. You may not have such a chance again, so cry out upon me now and revenge yourself on me once and for all for my crime--my crime of loving you."
"No, I will not," replied Brenda, firmly; "but I give you fair warning, Mr. van Zwieten, that if you do not leave this place immediately I shall at once inform the authorities about you. In luring me to Pretoria you made one mistake; you thought I should come unprepared. I did no such thing. I have ample evidence with me to prove that in London your occupation was that of a spy. Lady Jenny gave me the papers."
"I'm very much obliged to Lady Jenny, I'm sure," he said, with a bow. "At Pretoria--for Oom Paul--you could hardly have brought credentials calculated to speak more highly in my favor. He would be quick to appreciate my services."
"Why did you wish me to come to Pretoria? You know I am married."
"Yes, I know you are married; but marriage can be severed as all else is severed--by death," he said significantly. "If you had come to Pretoria--but there is no need to talk about that," he broke off impatiently. "I was duly informed that your husband was missing, but he escaped before I could reach the Tugela and myself take him to Pretoria, where he would have been completely in my power. I wrote the letter thinking you would really find him there. But he escaped and got your telegram--the one you sent to Wilfred Burton. I followed him down here, and learned how he intended to intercept theKaiser Fritz. You see I am well informed, Mrs. Burton."
Brenda was astonished at the extent of the man's knowledge and the dogged fierceness with which he seemed to follow her and Harold. She wondered if it would not be wise to have so dangerous an enemy arrested at once. But the thought of Lady Jenny and the shame which it would bring upon her through the deeds of her late husband--which Van Zwieten would assuredly reveal in such a contingency--prevented her from deciding upon so severe a course. Later on she had reason bitterly to regret that she had not acted upon her first impulse. Had she done so it would have saved both her husband and herself endless trouble. Van Zwieten half guessed what was in her mind, but he made no move, and seemed quite content to abide by her decision. There was even a smile on his face as he looked at her. Villain as he was, his courage was undeniable. The pity was that such a virtue should not have been linked to others. But then that was the man all over. He was a belated Conrad the Corsair. "A man of one virtue and ten thousand crimes." Yet another virtue might be added. He loved Brenda, and he loved her honestly.
"I see you know your business as a spy, Mr. van Zwieten," she said coldly. "But all your work is thrown away. If you succeeded in killing my husband, as you seem anxious to do, I should kill myself!"
Van Zwieten turned a shade paler. For once he was moved out of his attitude of sneering insolence. "No, no," he said hoarsely, "do not think of such a thing! I won't harm your husband, on my honor----"
"Your honor! The honor of a spy?"
"The honor of a man who loves you!" he said with some dignity.
She shrugged her shoulders. She had not much belief in a love which was so selfish in its aims and so unscrupulous in the carrying out of them. But she would not argue further with him, she thought. The conversation was taking a turn of a personal character highly repugnant to her, and she moved away. "Well, Mr. van Zwieten, I have warned you! If you don't leave British territory I shall inform the authorities of your London career. Good-bye!"
"Good-bye," he said. He took off his hat with a grand bow as she left him. Nor did he make any attempt to stay her; he knew already that she was going to the front with her husband, and he had every intention of following. That she would reveal his true character he did not for one moment believe. There he had her in his power, for he would at once make known Gilbert Malet's conduct, and that would mean shame and trouble for Lady Jenny, from which Brenda was more than anxious to shield her, as he well knew. She had been a good friend to the girl, and had indirectly done a great deal to bring about the marriage. This Dutchman had more knowledge of a woman's nature than most of his sex, and he found it of no little service in the profession which he had taken up.
Brenda found her husband impatiently awaiting her. He had made all arrangements for the journey; and after a hasty meal they went down to the station. She was in high spirits. With Harold beside her, and the prospect of a novel and busy life in her capacity of nurse, she was perfectly happy. And he, still more of a lover than a husband, thought he had never seen her look more beautiful.
Concerning the journey there is very little to say. There was considerable monotony about it. Some of the scenery was beautiful, particularly when they got amongst the mountains, but for the most part the plains extended on all sides, grey and dreary, the kopjes humping themselves everywhere amongst the karoo bushes. The dust-storms, too, were altogether disagreeable, and in spite of her veil and cloak Brenda arrived at the camp in a very gritty condition, and thoroughly worn out. Her husband saw the doctor at once and told him of his wife's desire to nurse the wounded. Her offer was gratefully accepted, for Brenda had had a certain amount of professional experience which stood her in good stead now. So next day she took up her quarters in the hospital and went to work in earnest. Mr. Scarse, having been introduced to the authorities, amused himself by wandering about the camp and enjoying the novelty of his surroundings. To a home-staying man such as he, the round of daily life at the front proved most amusing.
Indeed, father and daughter were equally delighted with this new experience. Mrs. Burton proved herself a most capable nurse, and paid every attention to those under her charge. Her husband chafed somewhat at first. He did not like the idea of his wife doing such work; but when he saw that she really enjoyed it, and that she was anxious to be of use in her own way to those who were fighting for Queen and country, he made no further opposition. Moreover, he had his own duties to attend to, and upon the whole, husband and wife saw very little of each other. The few moments they did have were therefore all the sweeter. And the knowledge that Brenda was near him and safe from the machinations of Van Zwieten was a supreme satisfaction to Harold. He had yet to learn that the Dutchman was as active as ever, and bent upon getting her into his power.
Since his failure to cross the Tugela, General Buller had been reconstructing his plans, and was taking ample time over the preparations. As he himself said, there should be no turning back this time. The garrison at Ladysmith was holding out bravely; but the messages showed that they were anxiously expecting relief. The soldiers, held like hounds in a leash, were longing to get at the foe and wipe out their first failure. But the days passed and no move was made. On this side of the Tugela all was safe; but on the other the Boers swarmed, although they kept at a safe distance from the British position. To Brenda, the mere fact of living in a camp in time of war was sufficiently exciting.
Shortly after their arrival, Captain Burton was ordered on patrol duty to scour the neighboring country on this side of the Tugela. He said good-bye to his wife and went off in high spirits. But it was with a sinking heart that she watched him go off on this dangerous duty. The arrival of Wilfred, however, served to cheer her somewhat.
As has been stated, young Burton was acting as war correspondent for one of the London papers, and had been gathering information about the country around. He had been absent, therefore, when his brother's party arrived; but when he came back the first thing he did was to look up Brenda at the hospital. She was struck at once by his healthy appearance. He seemed less nervous and hysterical than he had been in London, for the outdoor life and the vigorous exercise was telling upon him. But his big black eyes flashed as feverishly as ever; nor did they lose their restlessness when Brenda told him of her meeting with Mr. van Zwieten at Durban. To Harold she had never mentioned it, knowing too well his impulsive nature; but with his brother she felt it was different. He already knew so much about the man that a little information more or less did not matter. But he was inclined to blame her for having shown the spy any mercy at all.
"What could I do?" expostulated Brenda in dismay. "You know that if I had had him arrested he would have revenged himself by telling all he knew of Mr. Malet's life, and then think how terrible it would have been for Lady Jenny!"
"She must take her chance," he said gloomily. "She must be prepared to suffer all for her country. Van Zwieten will pick up all sorts of knowledge at Durban, and he may be able then to hamper our plans!"
"I don't think he will stay there, Wilfred. I told him that if he did not leave I would give information to the authorities. He daren't face that! And I don't think he will be very long in following us here!" she added with a flush of anger. "He will follow us everywhere. I should not be surprised if he were across the river now in the hope of taking me prisoner when the camp is moved."
"Directly the advance begins, Brenda, you must get back to Durban. It will never do for you to remain here. There's going to be some pretty hard fighting."
"Yes; but not here. I shall be perfectly safe behind the British lines."
"Perhaps; I hope so." Wilfred looked gloomy and bit his nails abstractedly, a habit with him when he was annoyed. "I tell you what it is, Brenda," he burst out. "I'm very doubtful about the wisdom of this advance. Buller's idea is, I believe, to cross the Tugela and try and pierce the Boer centre. I'm afraid he won't succeed."
"Oh, Wilfred! Have you no more faith in the British soldiers than that?"
"I have every faith in the rank and file--yes, and in many of the junior officers, but I confess candidly that I don't feel altogether the same amount of trust in our leaders. The mere fact of this advance having been decided upon goes to prove to me that they don't know their business! The country between this and Ladysmith is precipitous--I know nothing like it outside Switzerland or the Rockies--and it seems to me to be a mad thing to lead an army over it with heavy transport and all that unless that army is in overwhelming superiority to the opposing force--which we know it isn't. The whole place is strongly fortified, and the positions that will have to be stormed are almost impregnable. These Boers know only too well what they are about. They have chosen their ground well. Mark my words, there will be great loss of life if not a great disaster. It is throwing away lives to attempt campaigning in this district."
"But Ladysmith must be relieved!"
"I know; but it will never be relieved in this way. Even the valor of the British soldier is powerless against the hail of bullets which will rain down on him from these natural fortresses, and ten to one he won't see a single Boer to shoot at in return. They are devilish clever at keeping out of sight; of course, I am only a civilian and don't intend to set my opinion against that of the professional soldier; but there is such a thing as common sense, and we have not had enough of it about in the conduct of this campaign."
Brenda was impressed in spite of herself. "What do you think ought to be done, Wilfred?"
"Fall back on Durban and reconstruct the plan of campaign. Buller's original idea of invading the Free State was by far the best. If we took the capital we should cut the rabbits off from their burrows, and ten to one the Free Staters would be disheartened. Then again, in that country we should have had more open fighting, and manœ uvring would have been child's play to what it is here. It is sheer madness hurling line after line against these impregnable fortresses. Even if they are taken it can only be at terrible loss. Believe me, Buller's original plan was the best--the only one. But I hear he was overruled. But you can take my word for it--if Buller makes this move there will be a terrible disaster."
Brenda seemed disturbed at this view of things. She could not believe that a soldier of General Buller's experience could be capable of so grave an error of judgment. And yet, as Wilfred put it, this advance did seem to be of an unduly hazardous nature. But there again, Wilfred was always so pessimistic. He was not the man to look at anything hopefully when he could do the opposite. The men themselves were all full of confidence, she knew, and were looking forward to relieving their gallant comrades in Ladysmith within a very short time now. Wilfred must be wrong, she argued; it was more than likely that the General had some information up his sleeve that no one knew anything about. At all events, she was not going to look on the black side of things. Thus she comforted herself somewhat.
Harold returned from his patrolling, but only for a short while. Again and again he was sent out, sometimes into the enemy's country, and he was in the saddle from morning till night. Brenda saw but little of him, and had to put up with his continued absence as best she could. She had, as it happened, plenty of work to distract her. She was an excellent nurse, and did good service in the hospital, not sparing herself in any way. Indeed, so constantly was she employed, that the doctor insisted upon her taking a sufficient amount of exercise, and strongly advised her to ride. This commended itself to her, for she rode well and was never happier than when in the saddle. She managed to obtain a habit from a colonial lady who was also in the camp. Her husband managed to procure for her a capital little animal--one of those active little ponies used by the Boers. And so she came to make frequent excursions into the surrounding country.
"You must keep on this side of the river, Mrs. Burton," said the doctor. "As long as you do that you are quite safe, even beyond the camp lines. But don't cross the Tugela. Directly you do that you run risks. I can't afford to lose my best nurse, you know."
Brenda looked at the sullen waters of the stream rolling through the melancholy veldt, and laughed. "I should be a clever woman to cross that river, doctor, even if I wanted to. You may depend upon my taking every care of myself. I shall keep on the right side from sheer inability to get on the wrong one."
But it was not often that Brenda was allowed to ride alone. She was not the sort of woman to have to seek a cavalier. But as the time drew near when the General intended to make his move, his juniors found they had very little leisure, and she had perforce to ride alone. But even so she had no fear, though her father worried a good deal about her. But as she always returned safely, even he grew gradually accustomed to see her go off unattended.
Every now and again there came upon her a feeling that she was being watched. She would look round and see a Kaffir staring fixedly at her. This happened on several days in succession. Yet she could not be sure that it was always the same man. The natives were all so very much alike to her that it was impossible to distinguish one from another. However, this espionage was in nowise aggressive; on the contrary, if espionage it were, it was done very skillfully. It might be even pure fancy on her part, for ever since that meeting with Van Zwieten in Durban her nerve was anything but steady. At all events, she decided not to say anything to her husband about it lest he should forbid her excursions altogether, and now that she had taken to riding again she was very loth to give it up.
She wondered if it might be possible that Van Zwieten was about. It was possible--just possible, but she thought not probable. He would know that Wilfred was in the camp, and that he would have no hesitation in denouncing him as a spy; and for that reason she did not think he would be so foolish as to trust himself within the British lines. At least so long as she kept on this side the Tugela he could not molest her. He was no fool to risk his life in a mad attempt which would mean certain failure. So she comforted herself. But the feeling of being watched still remained with her.
At last the order to advance was given, and the men, tired of inaction, joyfully obeyed. Harold had been absent two days on scout duty this time across the river which Warren's brigade were preparing to negotiate. He had been sent out with a small force to make a reconnaissance in the enemy's country. She was beginning to feel rather anxious for his return. Despondent and full of vague foreboding as she was, she fancied that a ride would do her good, and she set out as usual, somewhere about sundown. She intended to go only a short way and return before it grew dark. The Kaffir who saddled her horse watched her ride out of the camp and grinned evilly.
Behind the rugged mountains the sky was a fiery red, and was barred with black clouds. The air was hot and sultry, and there was promise of a storm in those heavy masses lying in the east. Under the crimson glare the veldt looked grim and ominous. The kopies stood up like huge gravestones; and where the grass failed, the sandy karoo, even more barren, took its place. Here and there were farmhouses with red walls and corrugated outbuildings, and the dull red light bathed the lonesome scene as if in blood. The oppressive feeling in the air recalled to Brenda's mind that memorable night at Chippingholt when Malet had been done to death. Just such another storm was impending. She began to feel nervous as the recollection came upon her and she decided to return.
For some time her pony had been restive, tossing his head and champing his bit. He was usually so quiet that she could not understand it, but just then, as she had made up her mind to return, he grew even more distressed and finally he bolted. She let him have his head and in nowise lost hers. She would be able to pull him up after a few miles. On he galloped, the bit between his teeth, raising the loose red sand, and taking her further and further away from the camp; past kopjes, past Kaffir huts, stone walls, sheep kraals, he tore. She made several attempts to check him, but in vain. Suddenly he put his foot into a hole, stumbled, and sent her flying over his head. She lay on the ground half stunned. The pony, relieved of his burden, scampered off. She was able to realize that she was there alone--on the karoo, far from the camp, and with night just upon her.
Dusty and draggled from her fall, and with a swimming head, Brenda sat on an ant-hill, wondering how she could extricate herself from so unpleasant a position. The pony was far away, lost in the shadows of the karoo, and she was miles and miles from camp. It might be that the animal would find its own way home, and that they would send out in search of her, but busy as they were with the hurry and bustle of the advance, it was very possible that her absence would not be noticed. Had her husband been there--but she knew that he was far away in the enemy's country taking stock of the Boer movements and waiting for the division to come up. Wilfred was but a scatter-brain. She could not trust him. On the whole, she thought it was most unlikely that any one would trouble about her, or, in the confusion, even miss her. She was lost in the veldt.
Fortunately she had plenty of courage; and when her brain had steadied from the shock she began to look about her. One thing was certain, she would not, and could not, remain in the veldt all night. If it was fine perhaps there would be no great hardship in that, in spite of the cold, but a heavy storm was coming on, and she would be drenched to the skin. The red sun sank down behind the hills; dark clouds labored up from the east; and the wide plain around her was swallowed up in the gloom. The place and the time were eerie; and the girl felt a superstitious thrill as she rose painfully to her feet, trying hard to collect her thoughts. At first it was the cause of the disaster which puzzled her.
Why had the pony run away? She had ridden him frequently, and there was not an ounce of vice in the little beast. That he should suddenly bolt without rhyme or reason was quite incomprehensible. Perhaps, had she looked back and seen the evil grin on the face of the Kaffir who had saddled him, she would not have been at such a loss to explain the little pony's freak.
But something she must do. She would walk on till she came to a Boer farmhouse, and get them to take her in for the night. Then she would get a horse and return to the camp in the morning. Perhaps she might even chance on some English people, seeing that she was in an English colony and one loyal to the Queen. That there were rebels there it was true, but not on that side of the river. Having a wholesome dread of their foes at close quarters, they would not dare to cross. So far, then, she felt safe; what she needed was food and shelter. Kilting up her riding skirt she went forth in the fast-gathering darkness in search of them.
It was weary work plodding over the loose sand, and after the first quarter of a mile she was quite worn out. It seemed as though she would have to pass the night on the open veldt. Then it occurred to her that if she shouted some one might hear and come to her rescue. And if by chance she did fall into the hands of the enemy they would surely treat her kindly. Whatever his faults, the Boer was too religious to be wholly a scoundrel. Assistance she must have, so straightway she hollowed her hands and shouted through them. Her long, shrill cry pierced the air time after time, but there was no response. The echo died away and the quiet shut down again, and she heard the desert talking to itself--the faint murmur of the wind rustling over the sand, the gurgle of the river, and at times the wail of a solitary bird. Again and again he shouted with a courage born of despair. All was silent, silent as the grave. Then a sound fell upon her ears. It came nearer and nearer until it took shape and defined itself as the steady gallop of a horse.
For a moment she was afraid; but luckily she had with her a small but serviceable revolver which Harold made her carry. She drew it from her belt. She was prepared to use it if necessary against an enemy; even against herself. But perhaps it was some well-meaning and kindly Boer, or, better still, an Englishman. She resolved to risk attracting his attention. Anything was better than a night alone on that desolate waste. Taking her courage in both hands, she cried again, and the galloping of the horse was now close upon her. Then a man's voice shouted. She replied and ran forward to meet her preserver, as she prayed he might prove to be. Already she thanked God for her deliverance. She came up close with him, and peered anxiously through the lowering light to take in his features. Instantly she recognized them. Her blood seemed to freeze in her veins as she did so. Those features she knew only too well; there was no mistaking that stalwart figure. That it should be he of all men!--Waldo van Zwieten!
"What! Mrs. Burton?" he said politely, as he swung himself off his big black steed. "Well, I am surprised. This is indeed an unexpected pleasure." Brenda shrank back and fumbled for her revolver. Brave as she was, the man's mocking suavity terrified her. She said not a word, but looked at him as he stood, strong and tall and masterful, beside his horse.
"Can you not speak?" he said impatiently. "How comes it that I find you here?"
"My horse ran away with me and threw me," said Brenda, keeping at a safe distance from the preserver Fate had so ironically sent her. "Will you please to conduct me back to the camp, Mr. van Zwieten?"
"What! and run the chance of arrest? No, thank you. But there is a Boer farmhouse a couple of miles away, near the river. I can take you there if you like."
"Can I trust you?" asked Brenda, in a tremulous voice.
"You can trust the man who loves you."
"If you talk to me like that I won't go with you."
"Then I am afraid you will have to pass the night on the veldt."
"Mr. van Zwieten," she said with dignity, "an accident has placed me in your company, but not in your power. I have a revolver, and if you attempt to insult me I shall----"
"Kill me, I suppose."
"No, but I will kill myself!"
His face twitched. He knew she would do what she said, and his love for her was so great that he would prevent that, even at the cost of his own life. "You need have no fear, Mrs. Burton," he said in a low tone; "I will treat you with all respect. Get on my horse and we will make for the farmhouse I speak of."
Unpleasant as it was, there seemed nothing for it but to accept his offer. The position could not be worse, and it might be made better. So far, she thought, she had the upper hand; but she was puzzled by his politeness, and mistrusted it. However, she had no time to analyze her sensations, for the darkness was coming on apace, and the sooner she reached human habitation the better.
"I will go with you," she said bravely; "I will accept your offer. I do not think you are a good man, and I have used hard words to you, I know; still, I will trust you now."
Van Zwieten bowed. He said no word, but held the stirrup for her to mount. With his assistance she swung herself into the saddle, and being a good horse-woman, she settled herself comfortably on it without much difficulty.
In silence he began to lead the horse across the veldt. All the while she kept a tight grasp on her little revolver and a sharp eye on his every action. For some time they proceeded thus without a word. Then Van Zwieten laughed in a low, musical way. "What a fool I am!" he said slowly. "I love you madly; I have you in my power, and yet I do not take so much as a kiss. I am a coward!"
Her face burned in the darkness, but she gave no sign of fear.
"You call yourself a coward," she said calmly. "I call you a brave man."
"Oh, I am a spy!" he cried scornfully.
"You are a spy and, for all I know, a murderer; but you are a brave man, Mr. van Zwieten, all the same, for you can rule yourself. I never thought of you as I do at this moment."
"You say that because you wish to conciliate me," he retorted angrily, "not because you think so. I am not a good man. I know myself to be bad; but I love you too well to harm a hair of your head. All the same, I intend to marry you."
"That is impossible. I am married already, and if Harold were to die--well, you know what I said."
"That was only supposing I killed him," argued Van Zwieten. "But suppose he were killed fighting, as he may easily be?"
"Then I would remain a widow for the rest of my days. I love my husband. I should always remain true to his memory. You could never be anything to me. Not until this moment have I ever been able to feel the faintest glimmer of respect for you."
"Even if that is so, I wonder that you choose to speak like that to me, situated as you are now. It is calculated to scatter the good intentions of a better man than I."
"I cannot help it. I have told you I am not in your power. I am not afraid to die. That I prove by not shooting you as you stand there. As it is! I keep these little bullets for myself."
Van Zwieten groaned. "To think of this woman being wasted on a worthless fool like Burton!" said he.
"He is not a fool."
"You may not think so. You cannot expect me to agree. Oh, if you had only listened to me, only given me a chance, I would have been a better man!"
"I think you are a better man, or you would not have behaved as you are doing now. You are a strange mixture of good and bad."
He shrugged his shoulders. "It often happens so," he said. "Those who think to find a bad man all bad or a good man all good are invariably disappointed. I have met the best of men, and hated them for their meanness, just as I have met the worst and loved them for some delightful incongruity. We are a pie-bald lot indeed."
Then again for a few moments they went on silently. In the distance now could be seen a light, and on the wind came the barking of dogs. The murmur of the river continued all the while like the drone of the bagpipes.
"You see, I have not deceived you," he said. "There is the farm. There are women there. The men are out with their commandoes--rebels, you call them. I suppose you wonder what I am doing here on this side of the Tugela?"
"I do, considering Wilfred Burton is in the camp, and it would be very easy for him to denounce you. You are not the man to run unnecessary risks, as a rule."
"The risk I am running is for your sake. No, I won't explain myself now. If necessary, I must show a clean pair of heels. That, fortunately, I am well able to do. But here we are at the farm. That is Tant' Trana on the doorstep."
He lifted her from the horse, and she saw the stout woman whom he called Tant' Trana waiting on the door to receive them. The look she gave Brenda was by no means one of kindly welcome. Rather was it full of hostility. But she seemed to fear Van Zwieten, and she set herself to do her best to make the English lady comfortable. When he had gone out to look after his horse, Tant' Trana set the best she had in the way of food before Brenda. But the girl was utterly exhausted, and could not eat. She drank a cup of coffee, and the Boer woman watched her dourly as she drank it. Then it appeared that Tant' Trana spoke English.
"I am no child," she said. "No; I have lived long, and the dear Lord has watched over me. But never did I expect to see an Englishwoman at my table. Beloved Lord, Thy wrath is heavy upon me!"
"I am very sorry," said Brenda, considerably taken aback by this outburst. "I won't trouble you long--only till morning."
But Tant' Trana continued without heeding her. She was so fat that it took her some time to recover her breath. "The dear Lord gave this land to us--to the chosen of Israel. And you English--you seed of Satan come to take it from us!" She shook her great fist in Brenda's face. "But never fear, our burghers shall drive you into the sea. Oom Paul is our Moses. Two sons and a husband have I fighting for the land of milk and honey. We have two thousand morgen and you would take it from us. Beloved Lord, let our Moses and his hosts smite the ungodly Amalekites!"
How long the old woman went on raving thus Brenda did not know. She began to feel sleepy: the face of Tant' Trana seemed to grow larger and more red then it receded and her voice seemed to grow more faint--to come from far away, although the woman was talking her loudest. Brenda had just grasped the idea that her coffee had been drugged when she lost her senses. With one last effort she pulled out her little revolver. It dropped from her hand as her head fell back. The Boer woman picked it up and cursed like Deborah. Senseless and white, Brenda lay in the big chair, Tant' Trana looking on and raving the while. Then Van Zwieten entered the room. A smile of satisfaction flitted across his face.
How long she remained thus insensible Brenda knew not. She came gradually to herself. Then she wondered if she could be on board ship. There was a rocking motion, and she felt as though she were imprisoned. Then her senses grew more clear, and she awoke to the fact that she was on horseback--in the arms of Van Zwieten. He held her steadily in front of him on the saddle, and the horse was trotting steadily over the grass, and a thunderous black sky was overhead. She uttered a cry, and gave herself up for lost. Once again she felt for her revolver. Van Zwieten guessed what she was after, and laughed cruelly.
"No, it's not there, Mrs. Burton," he said. "I had to arrange that. I'm glad, though, you've woke up. I want to have a talk with you."
"Put me down! put me down!" gasped the girl.
"Put you down?" repeated he, clasping her the tighter. "Hardly, after all the trouble I have had to get you here. That is too much to ask, dear Brenda."
"Your promise--you promised to treat me well."
"And I have done so. As I told you, I would not harm a hair of your dear head. And I have not done so, and I will not do so. I had to drug your coffee because I knew that by no other means should I be able to get you away. All's fair in love and war, you know. This is both love and war. I told you that in Durban; don't you remember?"
"Where are you taking me?"
"To the Boer lines: We have crossed the river; yes, there is a ford hard by the farmhouse. That, of course, was the reason I took you there. In another hour we shall be safe amongst my own people. Thence you will go to Pretoria, and then--and then, when the war is all over, you will marry me!"
"I will die first," she screamed, trying to struggle.
"You will not be allowed to die. The little revolver looked pretty, ah, so pretty! in your hands, but it was dangerous. I love you too well to lose you like that. And now that I have you wholly in my power, you cannot say that I am behaving badly."
"Oh, put me down, do put me down! Dear Mr. van Zwieten, don't spoil your good action in saving me on the veldt by----"
"Saving you! Saving you!" exclaimed the Dutchman. "How innocent you are, child! Why, you don't think our meeting was accidental, do you? I had you brought there. I knew exactly what would happen, and my calculations were not very far out, were they?"
"You!--you!--oh, how can you tell me such a thing? I don't believe it. It is a lie."
"Gently, please, gently," said he, restraining her tenderly. She was struggling to free herself from his grasp, even, as she knew, at the risk of life and limb. "I can be cruel as well as kind. I tell you it was I who brought you on to the veldt. The Kaffir boy who attended to your horse is my servant. I knew how you rode every day, for I followed you up from Durban, and have watched you constantly. I told the boy to prepare a special bit for your horse; one that would burn his mouth after a while. Oh, that is an old trick which I learned in your virtuous England. When the little beast began to feel the burning he naturally bolted. What else would you expect him to do? I did not anticipate he would throw you, though; that was not included in my plans! The rest you know."
Again she tried to struggle free from his grasp. "For God's sake, let me down!" she cried. She felt she would go into hysterics every moment.
"That is the one thing I will not do. I have you at last, and I keep you. You are mine now, husband or no husband. Not if I can help it shall you ever see him again."
She strove to pierce the black darkness that was all around. She strained and strained her eyes, but there was nothing. Then she thought she saw a light. But she could not be sure. On the vain chance that somebody might hear she screamed loudly once, and then again and again.
"Be quiet, I say," roared Van Zwieten, savagely. "Understand that I won't lose you--that I shoot you first, and myself too, for that matter."
He spurred his horse; they were not yet beyond the territory under British patrol. He seemed to know perfectly well where he was making for. She began to feel sick and faint with the motion and the fierce clutch of the man. The horse was galloping hard now with his double burden. She felt he could not last long at that pace. But Van Zwieten had set his teeth hard to it, and urged him on and on, speaking not a word.
"Oh, God, save me from this man!" she cried.
As though in answer to her prayer there was a terrible clap of thunder. A flare of lightning overspread the sky, and by its light she could see his face was deadly pale, and oh! so cruel. Before he could swear--for his horse shied at the crash--before even she could cry out, the rain came down with a hiss and a swirl, almost a solid mass of water. Once again her thoughts went back to that night long ago when Malet had been murdered. Wassheabout to meet death too?
Then, with an oath, he drove the spur into the animal, and, terrified, it made another bound forward. The rain lashed their faces; they were already drenched to the skin. Then came another fearful thunderclap. She felt as though her head must burst. There was a gleam far away there in the distance--the light from some farmhouse, probably.
"Help, help!" she screamed. "Oh, Harold!--Harold!"
Van Zwieten swore loudly, but his oaths were drowned in the thunder overhead. The horse reared, snorting with terror. Then she felt the Dutchman's arms lessen their grip, and in a paroxysm of fright and despair she flung herself to the ground. She fell into a kind of morass, and she could hear Van Zwieten's cry of rage as the animal sprang forward. The next moment, half stunned and dazed as she was, she was up and running for dear life toward the light now not far distant.
In vain did Van Zwieten struggle with his terrified horse. The animal plunged and reared, and every peal of thunder increased its state of frenzy. He heard the girl shriek, and by a lightning flash he saw her tearing across toward the light. In the distance a farmhouse showed up black in the glare. Then, as once again he dug his spurs and turned his horse's head, he heard a shot. It was followed by another and another, and the next flash showed him several figures in front of the house.
Once again Brenda screamed for help. A lusty British cheer was her reply. It reached the ears of the horseman, and he knew well what it meant. He galloped off through the roar and conflict of the elements like a madman. He had lost her! For the second time she had escaped him!
Her heart bounding, she ran forward with redoubled energy, shouting ever her husband's name. There was another shot and another flash of lightning across the sky. It seemed to her that the very heavens were open. She threw up her arms and fell against the farmhouse fence. Then she heard a voice give out some order.
It was her husband's voice!