CHAPTER XXII. AT THE FRONT.

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 the Kaiser 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 man? 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.