CHAPTER XIX. A TERRIBLE LETTER.

Then succeeded a period of waiting and heart-breaking expectation, which Brenda, in common with many of her fellow-countrymen, bore with quiet heroism. Glencoe, Elandslaagte, Rietfontein were fought, and victory crowned the British arms; but the triumphs were only achieved at a bitter cost.

The eyes of the world were eagerly fixed on this first example of modern warfare since the Franco-German campaign; and the military experts of Europe were anxious to learn how the use of scientific weapons of terrible destructive force would affect the warfare of the future. It was soon seen that battles would resolve themselves into artillery duels, since no human beings could stand up against the hail of shot and shell hurled incessantly from repeating machines such as the Mauser, Nordenfelt and Maxim. That the British troops should brave the fury of this death-storm proved to the onlooking world how brightly the valor for their sires burned in their hearts. Even the grudging critics of the Continent could not withhold their tribute of admiration at this matchless daring.

Mr. Scarse had taken a small house, and Brenda lived with him. They had been very happy together since their reconciliation--as happy, at least, as they could be while Harold was at the front. He was with Buller, who, sheltered behind the Tugela River, had not yet commenced to move. How eagerly Brenda scanned the papers through those days of suspense! Wilfred had gone out as a war correspondent, and when his brilliant letters appeared, with what delight she read them over and over again. Mr. Scarse still denounced the war as an unjust one, and unnecessary to boot, and said so in public when he could. Seeing it was useless to attempt to alter her father's views, Brenda never mentioned the subject; and so they got on very well together. Occasionally there came a letter from Harold; then Brenda was happy for the day, for he always wrote full of hope and courage.

Lady Jenny Malet still lingered in England. She had let her Curzon Street house and was staying at a quiet hotel. Knowing, as she did, that Van Zwieten was not wholly crushed, she did not feel inclined to leave the country until she felt tolerably certain that Harold was safe from him. His box she kept in her own possession and showed to no one. Only in the event of Van Zwieten playing the traitor in Natal would she produce them. For no other reason would she smirch the memory of her husband. She had arranged with Wilfred that, if the spy were found in the British camp, information should be sent to her at once. Then she would see the authorities, and he should be dealt with according to martial law. She explained this to Brenda.

"Wilfred is with Harold," she said, "and he will look after him. Van Zwieten knows that on the first sign of his breaking his promise I shall not spare him."

"But how will that affect him out there?" the girl asked dolefully.

"It won't affect him if he is openly on the side of the enemy; but if he is spying in the British camps he will be taken and shot. I don't think he can be with General Buller or Wilfred would have denounced him. He is probably at the Modder."

"But he may be with the enemy?"

"He may be. I have heard nothing of him since he left London. He went over to the Continent--so Wilfred found out--and sailed in a German liner for Delagoa Bay. Yes, he might be with the Boer forces, but I doubt it."

"Why do you doubt it?"

"My dear, Van Zwieten can do no harm to your husband except by treachery. Of course he might shoot him, or have him shot in open battle; but, after all, there would not be the same amount of certainty about that as there would be if he were to get rid of him by underhand means."

"It is terrible!" cried Brenda, wringing her hands. "I don't mind Harold fighting as a soldier should--all the other men are doing the same--but to have a private enemy like Van Zwieten is dreadful."

"I don't think he will find it so easy to do Harold any harm. After all, Brenda, your husband is no fool, and he is on his guard."

"I do wish I could go out to the front."

"With what object? You could do nothing to protect him, and he would only worry about you. Better stay at home, my dear, and try to possess your soul in patience. It is hard, I know; but remember you are not the only one."

Brenda took the advice, and strove to calm herself by constant occupation. She made every sort of comfort she could think of for her husband, and sent him everything that might by the remotest chance be useful to him. This was her great solace, and her father, seeing how it cheered her, gave her every encouragement. But it was a terrible time. Every day brought some fresh sorrow. The Belmont and Graspan victories cheered the nation somewhat; but a period of gloom succeeded, and news came of Gatacre's reverse and the failure of Buller to cross the Tugela. It was then that the suspense became almost too much for Mrs. Burton, for Harold was in the thick of the fighting, and on the very scene of the disasters.

But the long-expected blow fell in due time, and, as usual, when least anticipated.

One morning Mr. Scarse came down first to breakfast, and, as usual, eagerly scanned the papers. When his daughter entered the room she saw at once that something dreadful had happened.

"What is it, father?" she asked, and held out her hand for the Daily Mail.

"Nothing, my dear--nothing!" was his answer. But he kept the paper in his hand. "Only the usual disasters. Oh, this unholy war!"

"Harold--oh, father, tell me the truth--he is wounded--dead! Oh, Harold, Harold!"

"No, no," cried her father, with eagerness, "he is not wounded."

"Then he is killed!" shrieked Brenda.

"Not at all; if he were I should tell you."

She snatched the paper from his hand and spread it out; but tears blinded her, and she could not read a word. "For God's sake, tell me the worst!" was her cry. "Is my darling--is Harold----"

"He is missing!" Mr. Scarse said roughly. "Don't look like that, Brenda. He may have been taken prisoner, and then he would be all right."

"Missing!" echoed the poor young wife. "Oh, poor Harold, pray God he is not dead!"

"Of course he's not. His name would be amongst the killed if he were. He is missing--that is all. He was taken prisoner, no doubt, at the passage of the Tugela. Hope for the best, Brenda."

"Van Zwieten," she said faintly. "I hope this is none of his work."

"Not it. If he had been in the neighborhood Wilfred would have let us know. This is only one of the ordinary chances of war. You should be thankful, my dear, that he isn't on the list of killed or wounded. The chances are that he is a prisoner, and in safety."

"I hope so! I hope so! But, father, let us go down to the War Office!"

"The War Office will know no more than is in this paper."

"I want to make certain of that. Come, father."

"My dear child, you have eaten nothing. You must have some breakfast first."

"I can't eat."

"You must. Bear yourself as an Englishwoman should, Brenda. Think how many women there are at this moment mourning over the death of their dearest. You, at least, have hope--it might have been far worse."

Brenda, agitated as she was, could not but admit the truth of this, and she forced herself to eat. She would need all her strength to bear up against this cruel blow. After all, as her father had very rightly said, things were far from being as bad as they might have been. Her husband's name might have been on the list of those killed or dangerously wounded. As it was he was only missing. News of him might come at any time. She reproached herself with ingratitude toward a kind Providence. In a more cheerful frame of mind she finished her breakfast and got ready to go down to the War Office with her father. There she had an object-lesson in seeing the endurance of women whose news was as bad as it could be. If her own trouble was hard to bear, how infinitely harder was the lot of those whose dead lay on the stricken field.

"Father! father!" she whispered, "I should not repine. I am so much better off than these poor things!"

The news of the Tugela disaster had brought a large crowd to the War Office, and a vast number of people had collected in the street. Men and women were scanning the fatal lists, and many a heartrending sight did the girl see as she stood there waiting for her father, who had gone into the office to see if he could gain any definite news about his son-in-law. Outside, a proud old lady sat waiting in her carriage. She bore herself with dignity, but her face was ashen white. And as Brenda stood there, she saw a girl come out and stagger into the carriage. No word was spoken, but in a storm of weeping she threw herself on the old lady's breast. And the older woman neither wept nor cried out, but drove silently away with the distracted girl beside her, and she was a woman who had given her country of the best she had to offer--the life of her son.

"Oh, poor woman! poor woman!" wept Brenda.

There was a silence as of death in that crowded office, save for now and again a low whisper or a stifled sob. And still the people came and went and came again. Brenda waited with sinking heart. When would her father come? Would he bring good news or bad? She braced herself up to bear the worst.

"It is all right, Brenda," she heard him say at last--he had come up behind her as she stood watching the crowd outside. "Harold is safe!"

"Oh, thank God for that!" she gasped, clinging to his arm. "He is not wounded, is he?"

"No! He is a prisoner. He was out with a detachment of his men on patrol duty, and the Boers captured the whole lot. I expect he will be sent to Pretoria, so you need not be anxious now, my dear."

"I don't--I don't know," she cried feverishly. "If Van Zwieten is there he won't escape so easily."

"Nonsense! Van Zwieten is not omnipotent, as you seem to think. Thank God that your husband is safe, child, and don't go out to meet your troubles."

"I do--I do. I am grateful. Oh, the poor women! The poor fatherless children! Oh, father, what a terrible thing war is!"

"It is indeed," sighed Mr. Scarse. "I remember the Crimea and all the misery it brought. That is why I was so anxious to avert this war. But we are in the midst of it now and we must go through with it. At all events, Brenda, your husband is safe. There will be no more fighting for him."

"I'm sorry for that," she said, much to his surprise. "Harold will eat his heart out now. I would rather he were fighting."

"You are not easy to please, my dear," said her father, drily. "So far as his safety is concerned, he is in the best position. You need not be afraid to look at the papers now."

"I am foolish, I know, father. But I wish he had not been taken. I don't want him to be wrapped up in cotton wool while other men are fighting."

"He would agree with you there. However, you must look upon it as the fortune of war. He will have to stay where he is till peace is proclaimed, and God knows when that will be in the present temper of this misguided nation. Come home now."

So home they went and did their best to take a cheerful view of things. It was a sad Christmas for Brenda, and for hundreds of other women who had suffered far more severely than she had done. To hear of "peace and goodwill" was like mockery in her ears. She knew that the war was a just one; that it had been forced upon England by the ambition of an obstinate old man and that in going through with this terrible business the country was fulfilling, as ever, her appointed mission of civilization. But even so, it was terrible to open the papers and read sad tales of grief and disaster. Hundreds of young lives--the flower of British manhood--were being sacrificed to the horrible Moloch of war; and the end was not yet in sight.

Toward the end of December the nation had been somewhat cheered by the news of General French's victory at Colesberg, but the year ended in gloom and sorrow and the wailing of Rachel for her children. And on the Continent the enemies of freedom and honest government rejoiced at the blows an enlightened Government was receiving. Truly, in those dark hours, Britannia was the Niobe of nations. But she set her teeth and fought on.

No letter had come from Wilfred about his brother's disappearance; neither did he mention it in the columns of the paper of which he was correspondent. The first news which Mrs. Burton received, other than from the War Office, was a letter which arrived one morning with the Transvaal postmark. In fear and trembling she opened it, thinking it contained an announcement from some kind soul in Pretoria that Harold was dead. To her astonishment and horror it proved to be from Van Zwieten, and was addressed to her, "care of" Mrs. St. Leger. She opened it, and was found later on by the parlor-maid in a dead faint. The first thing she did on regaining consciousness was to read it again. As she got to the end, she heard her father's step. In a tremor of excitement she ran to him.

"Oh, father, look at this! it is from Van Zwieten--written from Pretoria."

Mr. Scarse was astonished. The Dutchman was the last person in the world from whom he expected to hear. But the cool insolence of the man seemed to be beyond all bounds. Putting on his glasses he read the letter. Brenda sat beside him, trying to control her excitement. And this was what he read:

"Dear Mrs. Burton,--Your husband has been taken prisoner by our burghers, and is now in Pretoria, and more or less in my charge. I write to you to say that unless you come out to me here, at once, I will have your husband shot as a spy. There is plenty of evidence to allow of this being done. I hope, therefore, that you will save his life by obeying my orders. If not, you may expect to hear of his death. You know I never speak vainly.--Yours with all love,

"Waldo van Zwieten."

"Father!" cried Brenda, when he had finished reading this cold-blooded letter, "what is to be done? My poor boy!"

"It is a trick to get you out there and into his power," said Mr. Scarse, in a tone of decision. "I don't believe he can do it--no, not for one moment."

"But I am quite sure he can. You know how vindictive he is. Oh, how can we save Harold?"

"By seeing the authorities. I will get a request sent out to Kruger; he is a God-fearing man and would not permit this atrocity."

"It will do no good," the girl said, shaking her head sadly. "No, father, I dare say if such a request were cabled to the President he would do his best; but Van Zwieten would try and kill Harold in the meantime, and if he succeeded--as he would succeed--he would say it was an accident."

"I believe he is capable of anything. But what else is to be done? You cannot obey this insolent demand!"

"I must--to save Harold!"

"Go out to Pretoria?--impossible!"

"I don't see that," she said fervently. "I can go to Delagoa Bay by some German ship--the German ships go there, don't they?--and from there I can take the train to Pretoria. It is quite simple. Then I will see Van Zwieten and trick him into letting Harold be under some one else's care for a time. Then I shall speak to the President and tell him all. I am sure he will help me, and I shall be able to take Harold away. Then Van Zwieten won't have a chance of shooting him, as he would have if a cable were sent. Leave the matter to me, father. I am a woman, and Van Zwieten is in love with me. I can blind him and trick him."

Her father looked at her in astonishment. She had evidently made up her mind to go out and get the better of the Dutchman, as she said.

"It is a mad scheme, Brenda!"

"It is the only scheme I can think of by which I can save my husband."

"But, Brenda, listen to reason. Think what a scoundrel Van Zwieten is!"

"All the more reason that I should save Harold from him."

"He might insist, as a condition of you husband's safety, that you and he be divorced. These things can be arranged, you know. And then he would marry you himself. He is capable of making the most impossible demands."

"I dare say. I know he is capable of any villainy. But you leave the matter to me, father, and I will think of some scheme by which I can get the better of him. One thing is certain--I must go at once to Pretoria."

"But, Brenda, you cannot travel alone."

"Lady Jenny will come with me. If she will not, then I shall go alone. Do you think I care for appearances when Harold is in danger of his life? I will plead with Kruger--with his wife--I am sure they will help me."

"H'm! Remember, Kruger is not omnipotent, and Van Zwieten is powerful. The President may not care to offend him. Besides, you can see for yourself, from this letter, that the man is still in love with you. Once he got you into his power he would stick at nothing that would make you a free woman."

"In that case I would die with Harold. But I don't believe the Boers are so uncivilized. Kruger will help me--I feel sure of it. You say he is a good man."

"He is," Mr. Scarse said. He was one of the few people who had fallen into this error. "Yes, if anything can be done, Kruger is the man who will do it."

"Then, dear father, will you make inquiries for me about a German ship? I want to go as soon as possible."

"Not alone, Brenda--not alone," said her father. "I will go with you. Yes, child, I will myself see the President. He knows how I have advocated his views in this country, and he will not refuse me this. We will go together."

She threw her arms round his neck. "Darling father," she murmured, "how good you are. Yes, we will go, and save my darling from that wicked man. Lady Jenny outwitted him, so I will do the same. Oh, how astonished Harold will be to see me at Pretoria!"