Brenda's reasoning power was not at fault in that moment of excitement. Harold, with his small patrol party, had crossed the river. She, too, was across the river--Van Zwieten had told her that. It was Harold's voice she had heard; she could not be mistaken. It was no matter of the wish being father to the thought. It was his voice she had heard--the voice of her own husband. He was there in the farmhouse with his party.
"Thank God!" she cried, raising herself with difficulty.
Where Van Zwieten was she did not know. He could not harm her now; Harold was there to protect her. Clinging to the stones of the fence in the drenching rain, she cried his name aloud again. There was silence, then the sound of many voices and the tramp of feet.
"Who goes there?" asked a gruff, military voice.
"I--an Englishwoman--Mrs. Burton--let me in."
The gruff voice uttered an exclamation of astonishment, and there sounded the dull thud of a rifle being grounded. Immediately afterward she heard a light footstep on the veranda of the house, and her husband's voice, surprised and incredulous.
"Brenda!"
"Oh, Harold, Harold, it is I! Let me in--let me in!"
The gate in the wall was pushed open and several privates emerged. Someone carrying a lantern swung it so that the light fell on her pale and haggard face. Then, with a low cry of astonishment, her husband picked her up in his arms and carried her into the house.
"Good God! Brenda, what are you doing--how did you come here?"
She could not speak--she was sobbing on his breast. He placed her gently on the hard sofa. Then she found her voice. But she could think of nothing--say nothing. She could only rejoice in having found him.
"Oh, Harold, Harold! Thank God, I have been led to you!"
"My poor girl, you are cold and wet and exhausted. Here, drink this brandy, and I'll get something cooked for you. Don't exhaust yourself more by trying to explain. That will come after."
He had thought of her far away--safe and sound in Spearman's Camp. Even now he had some faint notion that Van Zwieten had something to do with this, though how he could have managed it he couldn't for the life of him conjecture.
She smiled lovingly at him, and submitted to be wheeled in the chair to the fire. Her habit was soaking wet, and steaming now in the heat. He knelt beside her and took her hand.
The room was of no great size. It was furnished quite roughly with a few chairs and a sofa, and a table of unpainted deal. Pictures from theIllustrated London Newsand theGraphicwere on the walls; there was a portrait of President Kruger, looking even more grim than usual, over the mantelpiece; from its presence she judged that the owners of the place were rebels. Outside, the rain still came down in torrents, and in a room close by she could hear the men keeping up their spirits and doing their best to make all gay within. Making her take off her soaking habit, her husband wrapped her in his military cloak. He asked no questions, for he saw that she was not in a fit state of mind to answer them. She began once or twice to try and tell him, but he would not listen.
"When you have something to eat, dear, and have got these wet things off, then I am ready to listen to all the miracles you have to tell me, for I can't conceive how you came here in this plight except by a miracle."
Then a woman--who so far belied the traditions of Boer female beauty as to be exceeding lean instead of stout--entered the room with a tray of smoking dishes. She was a kindly creature, and smiled pleasantly. She spoke nothing but low Dutch, and answered to the name of Tant' Wilhelmina. If she were at heart a rebel she showed no sign of hostility outwardly. She bustled Brenda into another room, and there supplied her with garments, dry certainly, but of the most wonderful design and colour.
Clothed in these things--which were in truth the Boer woman's Sunday finery--Brenda came back to the sitting-room. Even such garments could not take away from her beauty, though they effectually concealed every line of her figure. She sat down to the table and ate. Harold had gone to see his men. Then she sipped a little of the brandy and sat herself down by the fire. She felt as though she would never be warm. But after all she had undergone, this peace and rest was heavenly.
"Well, dearest," said her husband, entering quickly, "how do you feel now?"
"Better--much better. Come and sit by me, Harold, and I will tell you how I come to be here. You are just dying to know, and trying not to show it for my sake!"
He unbuckled his sword and drew a chair beside his wife. "I am very much astonished," he said, taking her hand in his, "but I have an idea before you say a word. Is it Van Zwieten?"
"Yes! I thought you might guess as much. I left the camp for a ride, and my pony bolted. Mr. van Zwieten, it appears, through the agency of a Kaffir, arranged it all by tampering with the bit. I was thrown; there I lay alone on the veldt. He came up and carried me off on his horse. When the storm burst I managed to wrench myself free and ran toward the lights in the house. But I never, never expected to find you here, dearest! It is God's mercy that has led me to you."
"I have only been here a few hours," he explained. "Warren's division had started, and we are to remain until it comes up. How strange that we should meet here. So Van Zwieten is at his tricks again! The brute! How I wish I could get a shot at him. Did he come near the house with you?"
"No. When he heard the shots he rode away; at least, I think so. But I am safe with you, Harold!"
"For the time being, Brenda. But it is just as likely as not Van Zwieten, knowing where you are, will return with a Boer force and try to take the house. This is the enemy's country, and they have not yet retired before the advance. I expect the division about dawn; but there will be time for Van Zwieten to attack before then."
"Harold! promise to shoot me before I fall into his hands."
The perspiration broke out on the young man's forehead. "If the worst comes, Brenda, I will," he said solemnly, "but I hope to shoot him. Of course, he may not bring any Boers up after all. They must know of Warren's advance, and I dare say they'll be afraid to linger outside their entrenchments. How did Van Zwieten find you on the veldt?"
"He watched the camp and followed me. Oh Harold, the whole thing was a scheme of his own to get possession of me. When I escaped he was taking me to the Boer camp; and he intended to send me to Pretoria."
"To marry you, I suppose, after I was shot! How did he treat you, Brenda?"
Mrs. Burton met her husband's gaze fearlessly. "With all courtesy," she said. "If I had been his sister he could not have treated me better. And I had my revolver, you know, until he took it from me.
"The scoundrel! I am glad you were well treated. I have to thank him for so much consideration. But if he had not----" Harold clenched his fist.
"I would have killed myself!" said his wife, with equal fierceness. "You can trust me, Harold. You don't suppose anything--anything, even torture, could change me?"
"No, dear; I know you are the bravest little woman in the world. I have the utmost faith in you. I should be a cur if I had not. Tell me more about this brute's plotting."
This she did, omitting no detail from the time when Van Zwieten had picked her up on the veldt to the time of her meeting with him, her husband. He ground his teeth as he listened; yet he was relieved to find things were no worse. In spite of the Dutchman's villainy, he was inclined to think better of him than he had hitherto done. Dishonourable as he was, he had at least treated a defenceless woman with respect. At the conclusion of the story he kissed her again for her bravery.
"Dearest, you have been splendid! I am a lucky fellow to have so plucky a little soul for my wife. Curse the man! I long for the moment when I shall be face to face with him. He deserves nothing better than a bullet; and he'll get it if I can shoot straight."
"No, don't shoot him," said Brenda; "he behaved well to me. He is a spy and a scoundrel, but he is not a brute. And, Harold, I really believe he loves me truly!"
"Who would not love you, my own?" said her husband, tenderly. "Yes, I can see he loves you. It is the best feeling in his black heart. All the same, I wish he would transfer this chivalrous affection to some other quarter and leave you alone."
"I am afraid he will never leave me alone until he dies!"
"Then he must die!" cried her husband, fiercely. "I shall protect you from these insults at any cost. Curse him, I wish I had shot him at Chippingholt when he accused me of murdering Malet. But we will talk of this another time, Brenda. You are worn out. Lie down on the sofa, dear, and try to sleep. Let me put my cloak over you."
"But you, Harold?"
"I must keep my eyes about me. I have an idea that Van Zwieten will bring his Boers up before dawn."
"If you think so, would it not be better to retreat towards the advancing column?"
"No. I have my orders to stay here; though, of course, no attack was anticipated. Here I'll stay, Brenda, and do my duty. I have a dozen men, and in this house I daresay we can hold out until our advance guard arrives. I am not afraid for myself, but for you."
"Dearest, do not be afraid for me. I would rather be here than in the camp. If we are to die, we die together."
"I won't die; neither shall you. We'll baffle Van Zwieten yet! So far, fortune has been on our side. Now go to sleep. I must attend to my duty!"
Brenda obeyed. She was worn out with emotion and fatigue; so much so that she could not sleep. She lay flat on her back on the hard sofa, staring at the whitewashed ceiling, on which the flicker of the dying lamp made the shadows dance. Harold had taken away the lamp in case the steady light should attract attention from the outside. If Van Zwieten was about it was not improbable that he would fire where he saw a light. Brenda hoped with all her soul that he would not return. She could not bear to think that she had been the means of bringing Harold and his men into peril. But she sadly feared that, knowing where she was, the Dutchman would bring up some of the enemy, who were not far away, and would try to capture the farmhouse before the advance column came up. Full of the thought of it, worn out by anxiety and excited by the novelty of the situation, she could not close her eyes, but tossed and turned on her hard couch, longing for the daylight. The suspense was almost unbearable.
The hours passed slowly. Now and then Harold would come in to give her a word of comfort; and she always replied with a bright smile and a cheerful word.
The men in the other parts of the house relieved each other in watching. Captain Burton had honestly told them what they might expect. There was nothing to be gained in minimising matters. Each man--there were a dozen of them--had his rifle and revolver with a few rounds of cartridges. It was obvious they could not hold the place against any prolonged attack on account of their shortness of ammunition. But if the Boers did not commence operations until dawn, as it was improbable they would do, they on the other hand, would not have much time. Warren's column was on the march, and would be there betimes in the morning, and then the enemy would be forced to fall back on their entrenchments among the mountains unless they chose to run the risk of capture by the superior force. On the whole, Harold felt sanguine that he and his men would come out of it all right. And there was always the chance that Van Zwieten might not bring up his force, or that he might make overelaborate preparation, and thus delay the attack if he did. At worst, he could rely upon the arrival of the column very shortly.
He determined that, when all was safe, he would send Brenda back to the camp. That done, he could march forward to the relief of Ladysmith with a light heart. Twice Brenda had escaped this man. She should do so a third time.
Toward dawn the rain ceased and the thunderclouds rolled away, leaving a clear and starry sky. There was no moon, but the surrounding objects were faintly outlined in a kind of luminous twilight. The animals about the house commenced to wake and sniff the morning air. Burton went on to the veranda and looked out on the wild waste veldt, uncanny in the cold light of early dawn. He could discern no sign of an approaching enemy. Nevertheless, he felt anything but easy in his mind, and determined on a definite course of action. If Van Zwieten did come he would find the bird he wanted to capture flown beyond his reach. Captain Burton returned to the sitting-room and woke Brenda from the uneasy slumber into which she had fallen.
"Dearest!" he said, sitting down and drawing her to him, "I have a presentiment that Van Zwieten will attack this house, and I want to put you beyond his reach. I will send you forward with one of my men. There is a horse here which I can get from the Boer woman. He will take you to the advancing column and you will be sent back safely to the camp."
But she flatly refused to do this. "I won't leave you here to be shot. I know you can't come yourself, and I won't go without you. I suppose we could not all leave the place?"
"No. I have my orders to remain here until the column comes up. I can't disobey, Brenda. You must go."
"No, no, don't send me away! I will----"
There was a shout outside and Harold sprang to his feet. "I hope to God it is not too late!" he cried, and hurried out.
But it was too late. Across the veldt a large body of Boers were riding. The east was saffron colour, and everything for a considerable distance could be seen clearly. The sentry who had shouted pointed out the advancing column to his captain. And Harold went round the house and gave orders to bolt and bar all the windows. Then he returned to his wife and insisted that she should leave with one of the men.
"I must send a messenger back to tell them we are being attacked, and hurry them up. You must go, Brenda."
"No, no! A thousand times no!"
"God help us then," he groaned, and went off to despatch his messenger. The enemy was riding at a canter across the grass. He took one of his lancers round by the back where the horses were picketed, and told him to ride with all speed to the advancing column, and report the danger.
The man took his horse and stole quietly away, taking a wide detour to avoid the lynx eyes of the Boers. So he was away and out of sight before they reached the farmhouse by the front. Brenda could see them coming, could see Van Zwieten leading--she knew him by his golden beard. She ran to change her things, and by the time the Boers had dismounted near the fence running round the house, she was back in her riding-habit. She got a revolver from her husband, and by his orders remained in the sitting-room as the safest place. Then he kissed her fondly and went out. His men, posted at doors and windows, were all on the alert--coolly courageous, as the British soldier always is in time of peril. For the rest they were in God's hands.
The yellow in the east changed to a fiery red, and all the earth was bathed in roseate hues. From the verandah Captain Burton could see the wide veldt rolling in grassy waves to the foot of the distant mountains, and a gleam of the winding river, crimson in the glare. The enemy were grouped some distance away from the fence, and he went out with two men to ask their intentions. Of course he knew too well what they were, but even in war there is a certain etiquette to be observed. After a while Van Zwieten, with a white handkerchief at the end of a stick, came forward also with two men, and stopped at the fence, whence he could talk to the English officer.
"Well, you scoundrel!" Captain Burton said fiercely, for his soul loathed this man who was trying so hard to take his wife away from him, "what do you want?"
"I want Mrs. Burton, and I want you!"
"You shall have neither--or, at best, our dead bodies."
The other man changed colour. "Don't be a fool, Burton," he said. "I have a number of men here, and you must give in. Surrender, and I promise you that you shall go free."
"And my wife?"
"I can't let her go," Van Zwieten said sullenly. "I have risked too much for her sake to do that. She must come with me!"
Captain Burton stepped forward a pace, but he still kept on the verandah. His orderlies stepped forward, also stolid and courageous. "You villains," said Burton, savagely, "how dare you make such a proposal to me? If it were not for the flag you carry I would shoot you where you stand. If I were only one of your lot I should do so in spite of it! I hope to God that I shall kill you! And I will some day. You have insulted my wife for the last time, you scoundrel!"
"I never insulted Mrs. Burton, as she will tell you herself," the Dutchman said coolly. "And she will not be your wife long. I shall claim her as mine over your corpse."
"Do so if you can! But I want no more talk. Retire your men."
"Surrender to the President of the Transvaal Republic!" was the counter demand.
"I hold this house for Her Majesty the Queen. I refuse to surrender."
"Your blood be on your own head, then!" Van Zwieten turned as though to retire. Suddenly he sprang aside and flung up his hand. The Boers with him instantly had their rifles to their shoulders, and two shots rang out. Harold had just time to throw himself down, but one of his men was shot. The poor fellow flung up his arms with a cry. It had not died away before a volley came from the British soldiers within the farm; but by this time Van Zwieten and his companions had decamped and, expecting the return fire, had thrown themselves down. The larger body of Boers fired; and under cover of this the three scoundrels rolled, and afterwards ran into safety. Harold sprang back through the door, whither the other soldier had preceded him. He picked up the dead man in his arms, and, with bullets pattering about him like rain, carried the body indoors. Then the door was closed and the siege began. As the first shots came ping, ping against the red stone walls, the sun uprose in a blaze of glory, and all the veldt was flooded with golden splendour.
The fence round the house was made of stone, and the Boers took advantage of this as cover, whilst some of them sheltered behind the trunks of the red gums. Even then the besieged had the advantage, for they were protected by the walls of the farmhouse, and could shoot without exposing themselves. To Van Zwieten, the disappointment of not having succeeded in shooting Harold in the first dastardly attack was very great. Had their leader been killed, he imagined that the soldiers would have surrendered, quite forgetting that it was not the custom of Englishmen to yield to anything but death. Now, however, there was nothing for it but to take the place before relief could arrive. By all his gods he swore that Brenda should be his.
Mrs. Burton herself remained in the sitting-room, revolver in hand. Far from being afraid, the girl, much to her own surprise, was filled with the terrible joy of battle; indeed, she was in the highest spirits. The Boers fired at the windows and wherever they saw a puff of smoke. As the bullets sang, and the smell of powder became stronger, Brenda could hardly contain her excitement. The Boer woman was on her knees in a back room praying with all her might that the accursedrooinekswould be taken and killed. Her husband and sons were with the armies of the Republic, and her whole heart was with her countrymen outside. How gladly, had she dared, would she have opened the door to them!
Harold ordered his men to reserve their fire. His aim was not so much to score a victory as to hold the house until help arrived. On their side the enemy were equally careful, and the fight progressed but slowly. There were thirty Boers, more or less, and of these three were already dead, while two were wounded. Of those in the house only the man shot under the white flag was dead. Van Zwieten, looking anxiously over the plain, fearing every moment to see some sign of the British advance, cursed the slowness of the affair. At last he picked some men and sent them round to try and get at the horses of the besieged; but Harold had got them under shelter in a shed, with five men in front to guard them. The Boers creeping round the corner were met by a volley which killed four and wounded two. They fled swearing, and Captain Burton rejoiced.
"Reserve your fire, men! We shall hold out after all!"
"By Heaven we will, sir!" one of the men answered. "We'll fight to the last rather than an English lady should fall into the hands of these dirty rascals. Ho! Give 'em beans, you beggars!"
And this the beggars in question proceeded to do.
Then Van Zwieten sent forward a dozen men on to the verandah with a rush. Their advance was covered by a steady fire from the rear, though not one of the besiegers showed himself. Simultaneously another body attacked the back shed wherein the horses were housed, and in spite of the British fire succeeded in effecting their entrance to the yard. Then they rushed the shed, which was an open one. Two Englishmen fell, and there was no one to fill their places, for their comrades were fighting desperately on the verandah in front.
Van Zwieten, seeing his advantage, led the remainder of his force to the other side of the house, where there was a wide window. It opened into the room where the Boer woman was kneeling. She flung open the shutters. Van Zwieten jumped in, followed by half-a-dozen of his men, and the first those within knew of it was when they found themselves attacked in the rear. They right about faced, put their backs to the wall, and fought like men. Then, as a reward for her treachery, a stray bullet pierced the brain of the Boer woman.
Meanwhile, the men who forced entrance into the yard were steadily gaining ground. But hearing the firing within the house they turned back by the front again, in order to come to the rescue of their comrades. The party on the veranda broke through the door and hurled themselves forward. Boer after Boer fell before the British fire, for Harold had now concentrated his men--what there were left of them. Gradually he was driven back to the sitting-room. A shout of triumph from outside announced that those who had remained had succeeded in capturing the horses.
Within, the whole place was dense with smoke. Brenda, in obedience to her husband's orders, was lying flat on the floor beside the sofa. She gave up all for lost, but determined she would not be taken alive. She was only waiting until her husband fell. In the midst of it all she could discern Van Zwieten. Rifles were useless now. It was hand to hand work. The end was near.
There, in the little room, Harold stood with three of his men beside him. The others were either dead or dying. But the Boers had got off by no means cheaply. At least twenty of them had been done for. The four Englishmen, with their backs to the wall, fought on, using revolver, muzzle and butt-end, until at last their cartridges gave out, and they threw down their weapons with a curse and surrendered. There was nothing for it. Van Zwieten gave vent to a yell of triumph. His men threw themselves on Burton. But the Englishman was too quick for them. He stepped back quickly and levelled his revolver. He had one chamber loaded.
"I have just one left," he said hoarsely "stand up to it, Van Zwieten, for I am keeping it for you!"
"Finish him, men!" roared the Dutchman.
"No, no," cried Brenda, and before a man could move she had flung her arms around her husband and stood between him and them. "The last shot, dear, is for me!" she said.
There was a pause. They held back. Harold never flinched. His wife clung to him desperately. His face was streaming with blood from the graze of a bullet. But he was determined to make good use of that last shot.
Beside Van Zwieten stood a huge man with a white, flowing beard. At last the Dutchman made a dash forward and attempted to take Brenda from her husband's arm.
"You are mine," he cried madly, "mine! You shall not die!"
"Coward!" hissed Burton, "take your lead like the dog you are!" He fired. But she, struggling to free herself from the Dutchman's grasp, fell heavily against his right arm and spoilt his aim. The bullet whizzed overhead. He threw down his weapon and prepared for the worst. He put her behind him. Sobbing, she fell on her knees and clasped her arms around his legs. She felt for her revolver that she might be sure of death when he died.
"Fire!" rang out from Van Zwieten. "Spare the woman, kill the man!"
Two Boers levelled. But the old man with the white beard rushed forward and struck them aside. They fell wide. "Hold!" he cried, "let no man fire!"
"Damn you, Piet Bok, what do you mean?" asked Van Zwieten, savagely.
"Ah! Piet Bok!" cried Harold, seeing a chance of life and of saving his wife, "I am your prisoner again. I yield to you."
"Fire, men!" shouted Van Zwieten. "Fire, I tell you!" He was seething with rage at the fear lest his prey was going to escape him. Then turning to the old man he said, "Piet Bok! this is my business!"
"It is the business of the Republic," retorted Piet, coolly, and at the same moment he struck down a Boer who was about to fire. "I'll shoot the first man who disobeys my orders," he said. "Clear the room. I am in command here!"
It was done. Then they set to work to drag out the bodies of the dead and tend the wounded.
Soon Harold and his wife, Piet Bok and Van Zwieten, were left alone. For the third time the Dutchman had been baffled. The man whom of all others he would have had dead still lived.
Harold, knowing well that Piet Bok would stand his friend, said nothing for the moment, but wrapped his arms round Brenda and faced the two men. The issues of life and death were in their hands.
"Will you sit down, Englishman?" said Piet Bok. "I see you are wounded."
"A mere scratch!" replied Harold; "but my wife will sit with your permission!"
"Your wife!" echoed the Boer leader, who spoke English well enough. "You never told me she was therooinek'swife!" he added, turning to Van Zwieten.
"I did not think it was necessary," growled the other; "besides, I thought that would have ceased to be by now!"
"Yes, I can well believe that!" cried Brenda, with sudden energy. "Mynheer Bok, do not believe what this man says. He tried to carry me off from my husband last night; and when I escaped to this place he brought you and your men up with the sole object of having my husband shot. He would shoot him now if he dared!"
"That he shall not do whilst I am here!" cried Piet Bok. "You are both prisoners of the Republic, and as such you shall be treated."
"Nothing of the sort!" cried Van Zwieten, mad with rage. "I demand that the man be shot and the woman be given to me!"
Piet Bok signed to Harold to remain silent. "On what grounds?"
"On the grounds that this woman was engaged to marry me with the consent of her father, and that this man has married her against her father's will."
"Is this true?" asked the Boer leader.
"No!" cried Brenda, "it is not true. At one time my father, deceived by this wicked Van Zwieten, did wish me to marry him. But when he found out his true character he consented to my marriage with Captain Burton. I never was engaged to him! I always hated him. This is my husband!" She laid her hand on Harold's shoulder. "Give me to that man and I will kill myself."
"She raves!" said Van Zwieten. "He has turned her against me."
"That is another lie," said Harold, fiercely. "You don't believe him, Piet Bok?"
"No, I don't believe him," replied the big man, quietly. "I believe the lady. My friend," he added, turning to Van Zwieten, "can you wish to marry a woman who openly declares hatred for you? Besides, she is already the wife of this English soldier, and she loves him." The Dutchman winced. "I demand his death!" he cried.
"On what grounds?"
"He is a murderer."
"That is untrue," Brenda said quietly, "and you know it, Mr. van Zwieten."
"Oh, I wish I could meet you face to face and fight it out!" Harold said, between his teeth. "Only death will stop that cursed tongue of yours."
"A murderer!" repeated Piet Bok, looking at Captain Burton. "That is a serious matter. State your case, Van Zwieten."
Glibly enough he complied. He related the events which had taken place at Chippingholt, the death of Mr. Malet, the finding of the revolver belonging to Harold, and ended by stating his conviction that the crime had been committed by Captain Burton. "And he killed Malet because he was on our side, because he was supplying information about the accursed English to me for the use of the Republic. He----
"It is wholly untrue, Piet Bok!" cried Harold, furious at the man's audacious mendacity. "I did not kill Malet; I did not know at that time that he was betraying his own country to Van Zwieten. This man's one idea is to get me put out of the way that he may marry my wife, who hates him; and he cares not how he achieves his desire so long as he does achieve it."
"I hate him!--oh, how I hate him!" cried Brenda. "I will kill myself rather than have anything to do with him. If my husband dies I will die too. Oh, Mynheer Bok, save me; save my husband from that man!"
"If you do not shoot the murderer," Van Zwieten said in his turn, "you are no friend to the Republic, Piet Bok!"
The big Boer turned round and cursed him for his words.
"I am a true burgher of the Transvaal," said Piet Bok, with vehemence, "and you are an outlander; one of those rats who want to creep into our corn rick and grow fat. The whole of the war is the doing of such as you. What do you know about me in connection with my own country? Nothing. And what you say about these people is untrue. The woman hates you. You would kill her husband to marry her against her will. As to therooinek, he is not the kind of man to murder. With my own eyes I saw him spare my boy, Hans. You shall harm neither of them."
"What will you do, then?" shouted Van Zwieten, furiously.
"Send them to Pretoria as prisoners. Yes; but not in your charge, mark you. You would kill them on the road. I command here, Van Zwieten. Go out, mynheer, and get your men together. The British are advancing and I have no fancy for being trapped. Go!"
"But these two!" said the other.
"I will be responsible for these two," thundered Piet Bok. "Do you want to be shot yourself? That you will be, unless you obey instantly."
Very unwillingly Van Zwieten turned and went, and they heard his voice outside shouting to his men. Brenda sprang forward and kissed Bok's hand. "Thank you, mynheer, for your goodness. God bless you!"
"Piet Bok, you are a brick!" cried Harold, enthusiastically; "and since it seems my fate to be a prisoner, I would rather be your prisoner than anyone else's."
"You spared my boy's life, man," was the answer, "and I am not ungrateful. I know Van Zwieten is a bad man, but he is powerful with our Oom Paul. He will make trouble when you are sent to Pretoria." The old man bent forward and whispered, "If I can help you to escape I will. Hush! not a word, my children. I hate Van Zwieten. He is one of those who have ruined our country. Come, now we must go."
Considerably cheered by the friendly spirit displayed by the old man, Brenda and her husband went out on to the verandah. Here they found the Boers--they had buried their dead and had secured the other prisoners--ready to start. The English dead were left unburied, much to Harold's wrath, and he begged Bok to let him and his surviving fellows bury them before leaving. But the permission was refused.
"We must get away; there is not time. Your column will be upon us immediately, I know. Mount, Englishmen. And you, lady--see, we have found a saddle for you. Ah! you cannot say we burghers are not civilised. No!"
There was no help for it. Brenda mounted, and found the saddle comfortable enough. As it afterwards transpired, Van Zwieten had brought it on a spare horse, so sure had he been of capturing Brenda. How he had managed to procure it in the there Boer entrenchments it was impossible to say, but it was, and Brenda on it now, but not--as the Dutchman had no doubt fondly pictured to himself--hiscaptive. With an expression black as thunder he was riding at the head of the troop. Piet Bok remained in the rear between Brenda and her husband. As they left the house, Harold looked in vain for any sign of General Warren's division.
Prisoners they were, and prisoners they seemed likely to remain, with every probability of being sent on to Pretoria, where they would be at the mercy of the intrigues of Van Zwieten once again. But Piet Bok saw the heavy glower of the Dutchman, and had his own views as to the reason for it.
"You expected your column to come up?" he said in a low tone; "so did we. Our spies have kept us correctly informed. But it seems there is some delay in crossing the Tugela."
"Are you disputing the passage?"
"No, we are not. We intend to offer no resistance to your reaching the mountains."
"Why? Surely you should dispute the river passage."
"No! We are about to--never mind. We know what we are doing. Your men are very brave--oh, yes; but your generals--ah, well! the dear Lord has shown them what they should do--for the benefit of the burghers."
Not another word would Piet Bok say; but Captain Burton gathered from his looks and speech that the division was being led into a trap. The Boers were past masters in the art of ensnaring their enemies; and on this occasion they were quite capable of entrapping the whole of Buller's army amongst the mountains. If Harold had only been alone he would have made a dash for freedom and hastened to warn his commanding officer. But as he was placed that was impossible. He could not risk his wife's safety even for that of his division. He could only comfort himself with the thought that the British generals had been rendered more wary by their late reverses, and trust that they would succeed in avoiding this especial trap.
For some hours the little troop trotted over the veldt and drew nearer to the mountains in which the Boers had their entrenchments. Hitherto Van Zwieten had kept away from Brenda, but now he ranged up beside her while Harold was in front with Piet Bok. The man looked pale, while his eyes burned like fire. Brenda shuddered as she glanced at him and turned her horse away.
"You are not safe from me yet," he said, noting the action. "And though you shrink from me now, you will come to me later. I have finished with kindly methods. Now I will be your master. Your husband shall die! yes, in spite of that old fool. And when he is dead I will marry you. Don't think you have beaten me--or ever will!"
"I am not afraid of you, though you threaten me ever so often," she replied calmly, "for I see that God is thwarting all your wicked schemes. Twice before I escaped you: this is the third time. You are strong, Mr. van Zwieten, but you are not so strong as God!"
"Bah! Why do you preach to me? I know what I am doing."
"You do not," she said steadily, "but I do. You are marching to your death. Yes, it is true. I believe firmly that you will die in the midst of your wickedness."
"You talk like a child," said he, uneasily, for he was inclined to be superstitious, and her solemn tone of conviction made him uneasy.
"You can laugh at me if you please, but I am certain that what I say is true. You will die--die in----"
But before she could finish her dismal prophecy Van Zwieten, thoroughly dismayed by her words, had put spurs to his horse and ridden away at full speed.
After the excitement of that day and night came five days of quiet--quiet at least for Captain and Mrs. Burton, held prisoners as they were in a Boer house on the slope of a rocky hill sparsely covered with grass. It was the homestead of a sheep farm and the animals fed amongst the hills, and, when the seasons served, down on the plain. The stone house was solidly built; it was of one storey, with a roof of corrugated iron, and was comfortable enough after the Dutch fashion, so that on the whole Brenda and her husband were not unpleasantly situated. More over they were allowed to be together--a privilege which they valued highly. Indeed, it was the sole thing which rendered this captivity tolerable.
As it happened, Piet Bok was unable to send them to Pretoria as he had wished. The Boers were now engaged with Buller's division, and were falling back to a hill called Spion Kop, a name hardly known at that time, but fated in two or three days to be spoken of all over the world. Not a burgher could be spared to escort them to the capital, but, strangely enough, a sufficient number were told off to guard the farm house. Harold was somewhat suspicious of this arrangement--suspicious that somehow Van Zwieten had had to do with it; but he had no means of making certain. The Dutchman had never come near them, but they feared him all the more now that he was out of sight, and fully expected some fresh trouble. As he had warned Mrs. Burton, he had not done with them yet.
Occasionally they were visited by Piet Bok, and the old man still seemed as kindly disposed as ever, but as yet he could do nothing to help them; so for five days they had to make the best of their irksome captivity. Not even a book or a paper could they find. However, putting aside the constant dread of Van Zwieten, they were not unhappy. The house stood so high that there was a splendid view of a large plain, and on the left a huddle of hills. Beyond these the fighting was going on, and the prisoners could hear the boom of the cannon and the shriek of shells. At times they could see the smoke of the battle afar off. Harold hoped that the advance of the army would bring them help at last, but the fighting was in a more westerly direction, and the hoped-for help never came.
"If we could only escape, Brenda!" he said for the hundredth time. "It is maddening to be shut up here and to listen to all that! We must make one desperate attempt to get away. You are not afraid, I know?"
"I am not afraid," replied his wife, "but we must not be rash. We have no weapons, no horses, no food. I don't see how we are to manage it."
"Nor do I, unless Piet Bok will help us. These men outside would give us no quarter if we tried to get away. They are just dying to get rid of us."
Brenda shuddered. "Harold, don't! It is terrible to think of. I feel sure all will come right in the end."
"It won't if Van Zwieten can help it."
"He will have enough to do to look after himself. Harold, that man will die!"
"How do you know? Do you mean a violent death, and that soon?"
"Yes, that is just what I do mean. My mother was a Highland woman, and had what they call second-sight. I have not got it myself, I suppose, because I am not a pure Celt. But I have enough of the seer in me to have a presentiment about that man! I feel certain that he will die by violence, and that shortly. I can't explain myself more clearly."
"One never can explain a feeling of that sort. You told this to Van Zwieten himself?"
"Yes, and I frightened him. Perhaps that is why he has not been near us."
"I should not have thought he was superstitious, Brenda; nor you either, for that matter."
"I am not, as a rule," was her reply, "but I feel that what I say is true. Van Zwieten will die!"
Harold, sturdy, stolid Englishman as he was, tried to argue her out of this idea, but he gave it up as hopeless. She had made up her mind that their enemy was a dead man, or would be dead within a few days. Strange to say, it was on that very day that he paid them his first visit. He looked as handsome and as burly as ever. Going by appearances, he had a good many years of villainy before him yet.
He came up to the veranda and saluted Mrs. Burton with a low bow of which she took no notice.
"You are surprised to see me?" he said, with his usual cool insolence.
"I cannot say that I am surprised at anything you do," was Harold's disdainful reply. "But if you have come to make the same proposition you made before, I warn you that I shall not listen to it so patiently."
The Dutchman cast a quick glance at the slender figure of the other man. "I am not afraid of you," he sneered; "you have no weapons--neither sword nor revolver."
"I can use my fists even on such a big bully as you!"
"As you please. But I don't see much chance of delivering my message until you moderate your tone."
"What is your message?" asked Brenda, speaking for the first time.
"I come to offer you freedom."
"On what conditions?"
"There are none. I love you still. If I had my way I would kill your husband and marry you. But unfortunately," said Van Zwieten, with a sneer, "I am amongst a very moral people. Piet Bok has told the Boer generals about what they are pleased to call my wickedness, and I have been informed that if I persist in my plans I may say good-bye to all advancement amongst the godly Boers. Now I am a poor man, and cannot afford to lose all I have gained. Ambition for me must be stronger than love. So, Mrs. Burton, I give you up!"
"Thank God!" cried she, clasping her hands; adding, as an afterthought, "If I could only believe you!"
"Oh, you can believe me," he said gloomily. "If I were only a rich man--rich enough to give up my position here--I would never rest until you were mine. But the choice lies now between you and my position. I choose to lose you. From this moment you need have no fear of me. You can go with your husband where you will. You do not love me--I know it now--but him you do love--unworthy though he is----"
"That is a lie!" Captain Burton cried, starting up.
"Hush, Harold! Is it worth while arguing about? Let him go on. Well, Mr. van Zwieten, you have come to tell us this. What else?"
"I have come to offer you my assistance to escape."
"Oh! That is what I hardly expected to hear you say. And you must pardon me if I don't believe you."
"As you please," he said again. "But you can escape to-night if you will. The men here now I shall take away with me shortly. Two horses will be left behind--food is in the house; and here are a couple of revolvers--one for you and one for Burton."
They took the weapons in silence. Could this be Van Zwieten? They did not know him in this newrôleof self-abnegation, and the suspicions of both husband and wife were thoroughly aroused. But the revolvers were good ones, and they were loaded. Could it be that he spoke truly and that he was anxious now to retrieve his past, to give up his plotting and spying and to live a virtuous life amongst the too-moral Boers, who had indeed, perhaps, forced him to do this thing?
Still Brenda looked doubtfully at him, for compulsory righteousness was somewhat hard to credit.
"I see you don't believe me," he said, after a pause. "Well, perhaps you are right. It is rather late in the day for me to turn saint. But you may be sure I should not do this unless I had some very strong inducement. If you are taken to Pretoria you will only remain to vex my eyes, and I want to get you out of sight. That is my reason for giving you your freedom. To-night I will send a messenger who will guide you to the British outposts. They are not so far off as you think. Buller has advanced almost to Spion Kop, and he has taken several of our positions. If he gets Spion Kop--and I understand Warren intends to capture it if he can--he will have the key to our position and will march on to Ladysmith. But"--he shrugged his shoulders--"there is many a slip, you know. Well, I will go in and get my men. Will you follow my messenger?"
"I can't say yet," Captain Burton said bluntly. "You speak fair enough, but this may be a trick for all I know."
"How should I benefit by a trick?" Van Zwieten asked. "If I wanted to kill you I could do it now, and no one would be the wiser. The Boers here would shoot you with pleasure. But if I killed you and took Mrs. Burton, why, then, good-bye to my chance of becoming President of the Confederate States of South Africa. No, I will let you go; it suits me better. Love, as I said, must yield to ambition. But if you do not believe me, stay here. My messenger shall come at eight o'clock to-night. Follow him or not as you please. Good-bye, Mrs. Burton. You little know what it is to me to give you up; but you must say I afford you every chance of being happy with your husband."
Brenda looked at him. She began to think he was acting in good faith after all.
"I am not ungrateful," she said gently. "We will follow your messenger. Good-bye," and she held out her hand to him.
Van Zwieten bent over it and kissed it. Then he drew himself up, looked at Harold steadfastly and turned away in silence.
"Do you believe in him?" asked Brenda after a pause.
"I don't know. Upon my soul, I don't know. He is such a scoundrel. I wonder you could let him kiss your hand, Brenda!"
"Craft must be met by craft," she replied in a whisper. "You silly boy, you don't mean to say you are jealous of that? Can't you see that I wanted to disarm his suspicions so that we might get away safely?"
"Then you don't believe in him?
"No; he has some scheme in his head. Hush, it's not safe to talk about it now--when he's gone. Meanwhile, let him think we accept his offer."
It would really seem as though Van Zwieten were acting straightforwardly for the first time in his life. The Boers who had been guarding the place got their rifles, saddled the horses, and, headed by Van Zwieten, took themselves off down the mountain-side, and were shortly afterward to be seen riding across the veldt in a northerly direction. Captain Burton, still suspicious, could not believe in his good fortune. With Brenda he proceeded to explore the house. It was empty. They searched the orchard, the sheep kraals, the Kaffir huts--in fact, the whole domain, but they could find no trace of a single soul. No weapons had been left, but they had the revolvers. In the stable were two horses already saddled. Harold pointed this out to his wife.
"Ready, you see, for the journey!" said he. "Van Zwieten is evidently very sure that we shall accept his offer."
"Well, we'll not disappoint him so far as the horses are concerned," replied Brenda; "but as to waiting for his messenger, I don't think we'll do that."
"Why, Brenda, what do you mean? We don't know an inch of the country."
"Probably this messenger of Van Zwieten's will know it rather too well for our liking. I don't trust the arrangement in the least. Believe me, dear, he will only lead us into some trap and we shall be prisoners again."
"I don't see that Van Zwieten need have given himself the trouble to do that--we were his prisoners already."
"I can't see through it at present either. But, nevertheless, I'm sure there's something at the back of his ostensible generosity."
Captain Burton was at a loss how to interpret it. On the whole, he was inclined to trust to his wife's instinct. He had no sort of premise on which to argue against it.
So they had something to eat and decided to leave at sundown. Beyond the hills they knew the British were engaging the enemy, so if they made due west they had every hope of coming up with the outposts of the advancing column. There was, of course, always the chance that they might not get even so far safely, but that they preferred to risk rather than trust in Mr. van Zwieten.
Their horses were wiry little animals enough, and, if put to it, could show a very pretty pace. They fed and watered them now preparatory to their start. On the whole they were sanguine.
Then came a surprise. As they were making their own meal they heard from outside a voice hailing them in English. Harold rushed to the door and returned shortly with Piet Bok. The old man looked anxious, and hurried forward to shake Brenda by the hand.
"Thank the dear Lord you are safe," he said with emotion. "I feared it might be otherwise--that you had fallen into that man's snare."
"Then it was a snare!" cried Brenda, at this confirmation of her own feelings. "Tell us, Mynheer Bok, what was his plan?"
"Ach! is it not to tell it you and save you from it I am here?" He rubbed his hands. "I will show Van Zwieten that others can be slim as he. Beloved Lord, he is the seed of Satan, that man."
"He took away the guards, but he has left us the two revolvers and a couple of mounts all ready saddled."
"Quite so; and he is to send a messenger soon, is he not, to lead you to the British camp?"
"Yes, yes."
"Believe him not. That messenger will not lead you to your camp, but to an ambuscade of Boers headed by Van Zwieten himself. Then your husband here will be shot and you will be carried off."
"The scoundrel! The double-dyed villain! But why all this, mynheer? We were in his power already."
"No, you were not. You must understand that I have power with the burghers; yes, and I told them your story, and they were amazed at the wickedness of this man, and he was told to go out from amongst us lest the dear Lord should send evil on the host. Then he said he would desist from his wicked schemes and send you on to Pretoria to be dealt with by the President. But I overheard his conversation with the messenger whom he intends to send to you, and I know his plan. You are to be carried off, as I have told you, and in durance vile kept until the war is over. Your husband will be shot, probably by Van Zwieten himself. But of all this he will say not a word to the burghers, and thus he will maintain his place amongst them. You see why he does not act openly?
"I see," said Brenda, her color rising. "Now what are we to do?"
"Come with me at once," said Piet Bok. "I will lead you by another route to your outposts, and so shall we thwart this son of the pit. But you must come at once, there is not a moment to lose."
"But the messenger?"
"Of course we do not wait for him. It would mean death to you or to him."
"Right you are, then; let's get off straight away. It's getting dark already."
"Ach, yes! that is well. Come along, then."
Their trust in the old man was implicit. He had always proved a friend hitherto. The sun was setting in floods of gold over the mountain-tops as they rode down the path which descended to the veldt. Heavy rains had rendered the ground sodden. Piet Bok headed for a point in the hills where he said there was a pass other than the one in which Van Zwieten was waiting. Unluckily, as they started across the veldt, they saw a horseman coming toward them at full speed.
"The messenger!" cried Brenda. "What are we to do now, mynheer?"
The old man unslung his gun. "Kill him," he said quietly, "else he will ride on and tell Van Zwieten. If he sees me with you he will guess the truth. It is well known in laager that I am the enemy of Van Zwieten."
"Must he really be killed?" asked Brenda, with a shudder. It was terrible to her that this man should be shot in cold blood.
"It is his life or mine, dear," said her husband, pulling out his revolver to be ready if Piet Bok should fail.
But the approaching Boer was not going to trust himself at close quarters. He circled round them and held out a white flag in token of friendship. Harold laughed grimly as he recognized the old trick. Piet Bok sighted, and fired. But the fellow flung himself flat down on his horse's neck and the shot missed him.
He rode off with a defiant whoop. A big Dutch oath escaped from the lips of Piet Bok, and he caught Brenda's horse by the bridle.
"We must ride for it," he said. "The man recognized me, and you too. He will hasten back to Van Zwieten, and they will be after us in no time. We must make for the hills."
"How can I thank you, Bok?" said Harold, gratefully.
"Almighty, that is right! you spared my boy Hans."
By this time the messenger was a mere speck on the horizon. He was riding like the wind to take this news to his chief.
The three fugitives made a straight line for the pass, urging their horses to their best. The sun had dropped behind the mountains and the shadows were gathering fast on the veldt. For several hours they tore on until they reached the mouth of the pass. There they pulled up to give themselves and their animals breath.
"I think we can count ourselves safe now," said Piet Bok, wiping his brow. "But we must push on through the pass. At the other side let us hope we shall come up with your men."
The track was narrow and winding and full of mud, which fouled the horses and made the climbing doubly hard. It was quite dark there, but Piet knew every inch of the path, and rode on ahead fearless and confident. In about an hour they emerged. There were the lights of the British camp twinkling a mile and a half away.
As they commenced the descent they heard a shot ring out, and Brenda gave a cry of dismay. Piet Bok had fallen from his saddle.
"Ride, ride for your lives!" cried the old man. "He has come round by the other pass."
And so it was. Van Zwieten, instead of following at their rear, had pushed through the other pass and had cut them off. But he had made one mistake. He had allowed them to get out of the pass on to the higher ground instead of cutting them off from the camp. As shot followed shot, Harold caught Brenda's horse by the bridle. Headlong they tore down toward the plain.
The light, or rather the dark, was all against the pursuers. They gave up firing and made to overtake them. But the sound of the muskets had already been heard in the camp, and they could hear the bugles ringing out. Whether the brave old Boer who had saved them was dead or not they did not know. It was beyond their power to aid him. They urged their horses on and on, for in their speed lay the only hope of escape.
"Courage, Brenda!" cried Harold. "Stick to it; they've heard the firing in camp."
"I will, dear--I will."
Then her husband looked round, and an exclamation of mingled relief and triumph came from him. They had given up the chase.
"They've had enough of it, hurrah!" he cried.
They were now within a short distance of the camp, and could hear the commands being given consequent on what evidently had been taken for the commencement of a surprise on the part of the Boers. Those behind them had turned and fled now in the opposite direction--all of them save Van Zwieten.
He stood up and fired twice. But his shot fell wide. Then Harold turned and tried what his revolver would do at that range. Van Zwieten's arm fell useless. Then he galloped off, none too soon, for a squadron of mounted infantry came on the scene just at the moment.
"What's all this?" shouted the captain in command.
"We have escaped!" shouted Harold--"Burton and Mrs. Burton."
"What, is it you, old man?" cried a friendly voice--a voice they knew well.
For the fourth time Brenda had escaped her enemy.