Up till now Aletta had asked no questions. She had accepted Gert's
assurance, of which the man's obvious distress was sufficient
confirmation. Her quick-witted, practical nature had asserted itself.
That was no time for questions. She must act, and that promptly. Now,
however, that they were well on their way, and covering the ground at
the best pace the _predikants_ excellent horses could put on, she
reckoned the time had come to know more. Why was Colvin Kershaw to be
murdered--for it was murder she declared? What had he done?
But Mynheer could not tell her much beyond the bare facts of the case as
he knew them, for the burghers who had come to fetch him had been
extremely reticent.
"Helping a prisoner to escape. But that is not a thing to shoot a man
for," she said. "Oh, I will plead with the Commandant, and you will,
too, will you not, Mynheer? Ah, if only father were here, they would
not dare do it then. But--who was the prisoner, and did he escape?"
"He escaped--yes. It was Frank Wenlock, and he was to be shot for
insulting the President and the patriot cause, and assaulting one of the
burghers. He was very violent, and very blasphemous--_Ja_, that I can
quite believe, for did not he and some of the worst characters in
Schalkburg disturb our service one evening at Nachtmaal time, by ringing
the bell which hangs outside, and running away? And he gets drunk and
rowdy when he comes into the town. No, he is a bad character. Kershaw
ought not to have exchanged his life for the life of such a man as
that."
They conversed in English so that Mynheer's native groom might not
understand. The burgher escort, too, were mostly close to the vehicle.
So it was for Frank Wenlock's sake that Colvin was throwing away his
life, thought Aletta. Mynheer had spoken truly indeed, as to the vast
disparity of such an exchange. But--he was May's brother. That
explained it all. How Colvin must have loved that other girl, to make
the greatest sacrifice that human being can make--for her sake! And the
thought had a kind of hardening effect upon Aletta, for she was but a
woman after all, not an angel. Why should she continue to pour out her
love upon one who had proved so faithless? Only an hour or two ago she
had been telling herself that he was practically dead to her. Yet the
moment she had heard that he was soon likely to be actually so, here she
was moving Heaven and earth to save him, or, at any rate, to see him
once more. Well, she would still do all she could to save him, but she
would not see him again, in any event. No, from that resolve she would
not swerve.
"But how did he get to Krantz Kop, Mynheer?" she said, in continuation
of her thoughts. "He was at Pret--Johannesburg when I saw him last."
"They say he had come from Cronje's force, and had seen a lot of the
fighting near Kimberley. I don't know this Schoeman, but Jan Grobbelaar
and the others ought to be able to do something for him between them."
"He _had_ been with Cronje's force, then?" echoed Aletta, as though a
new idea had come to her. But it was quickly dashed. He had had plenty
of time to have gone there afterwards, after that day when she with her
own eyes had seen him making love to May Wenlock. With her own eyes!
There was no getting round that fact.
And the hours wore on, bringing these two nearer and nearer to their sad
and mournful goal.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Night had fallen upon the burgher camp at Krantz Kop, and most of its
inmates, habituated to rising with the sun and retiring with the going
down of the same, or not long after it, were in the land of dreams.
They were under no fear of surprise, for besides the fact of their
sentries being well posted there was a strong commando, with artillery,
entrenched below on the outer slope of the mountains, and between them
and the far British lines. So the camp slumbered in peace and security.
In one tent, however, a light was still burning, throwing the shadows of
men--huge, distorted, grotesque, out upon the canvas. Adrian De la Rey
and his two now boon companions--Gideon Roux and Hermanus Delport--sat
within. A bottle of _dop_, the contents of which had nearly reached
vanishing point, stood on a waggon box in the centre.
"_Toen_, Adrian!" the last of these was saying. "All is going well now.
The Englishman will be out of your way to-morrow for ever--out of all
our ways, hey, Gideon? We will come to your wedding soon, _ou' maat_--
when we have shot a few more of these cursed English. Do you think Oom
Stephanus will be glad to see us?"
"Finish up, and go away and sleep," growled Adrian, pushing the bottle
towards him, "or you'll be too shaky for anything in the morning, both
of you. You'll miss him at ten paces, like you did before at two
hundred."
"_Nee_, _kerel_, _nee_. But that was in the dark," replied Hermanus,
grabbing the bottle and his tin pannikin, which rattled against the
glass neck in the drunken shakiness of his big hand.
"_Maagtig_! leave some for me, Mani," cried Gideon Roux, striving to
wrest the bottle from the other. By the time he had succeeded there was
precious little in it, and then this noble pair went forth, rejoicing in
anticipation of the act of butchery which was to fall to their lot on
the morrow.
Left to himself Adrian let fly an ejaculation of mingled thankfulness
and disgust. He had indeed fallen, to have become the boon companion of
such as these. They were of the very lowest type--hardly removed from
the _bijwoner_ class--drunken, coarse brutes at that; but now they were
his accomplices in his act of murderous villainy--his tools. His tools?
Yes, but they would soon become his masters.
No, that they should not--he told himself. Let to-morrow's deed be done
and over, and they would soon see that he was not a man to be trifled
with. Reveal the conspiracy? Would they? And if so, who was going to
take the word of two such shady characters as they? No, indeed. But
after to-morrow he would turn over a new leaf--would make a fresh start.
A fresh start? What sort of a fresh start could be made with murder for
its foundation? Yes--murder! Alone there in the silent night, alone
with his evil conscience, the words of his victim uttered that morning--
uttered, too, with the semblance of a prophecy--came back to him: "So
sure as I stand here death will find you. Within three days death will
find you out." He shivered. Men on the brink of the grave were, he had
heard tell, at times gifted with supernatural foresight. And then in
letters of fire upon the darkness of his thoughts seemed to blaze forth
those other words: "They who take the sword shall perish by the sword."
For "sword" read "bullet" Colvin Kershaw was to die in the morning, with
several bullets through him. He, Adrian, had murdered him--by means of
a fiendish plot, and abundance of false testimony. The next few weeks--
months even--would bring with them a series of hard-fought battles, and
then should _he_ escape?
"Bah!" he exclaimed, pulling himself together. "These are all old
women's tales. I must take my chance, and I dare say it is as good as
any other's. What is the use of a college education if I get the funks
over old exploded superstitions only good enough for those two pigs who
have just gone out? I wish they had left me something in this bottle
all the same," holding it up, as though still vainly hoping, and then
pitching it outside the tent. "Wheels!" listening a moment. "The
_predikant_ must be arriving. Well, much good may _he_ do."
He could hear the trap draw up at Gideon Roux' house over the way and
the sound of voices, could see a light or two, as the people were
outspanning. Then he re-entered his tent, and again his thoughts
reverted to the doomed man. "Within three days death will find you
out," the latter had said, and again Adrian's heart failed him as he
remembered how likely of fulfilment this prophecy was. Out yonder in
the low country the British were advancing, and now their own forces
were lying massed ready to give battle. "Within three days!"
A voice outside, drawing nearer, broke in upon his reverie.
"That is his tent," it was saying. "We will see if he is there.
Adrian!" and with the call the flap of the tent was parted and a bearded
face appeared. "I have brought you a visitor, Adrian."
The man made way for a second person, a tall, female figure wearing a
long cloak.
"Aletta!" cried Adrian in amazement, as a throwing back of the hood
revealed the features. "Well, and what brings you up here?" he went on
in a hard tone, trying to hide the mortification, the jealous rage he
was feeling.
"I am here to save you from blood-guilt--to save you from heaping a
black and cruel murder on your soul," answered the girl, her eyes
shining bright and stedfast upon his face as she stood confronting him.
"No, no. You have come to save this faithless hound--this lover of
yours. But you can't. We are taking too good care of him for that,"
sneered Adrian, stung by jealousy and hatred. No conscience qualms
inconvenienced him now.
"But I must say, Aletta," he went on, "that I see you here with very
great surprise. After what you saw--saw with your own eyes mind--at
Johannesburg I wonder you can give this fellow a further thought."
"I will not have him murdered. Listen, Adrian. _You_ let Frank Wenlock
escape in order to fix the blame upon Colvin and so compass his death.
Yes, you ought to be in this place."
For the life of him the other could not repress the amazement, dismay,
guilt, which leaped into his face. Aletta spoke with such confidence,
such knowledge. How could she know? he thought. Had Roux or Delport
been bragging in their cups? As a matter of fact, however, she was
merely shooting a random bolt.
"I think you must have taken leave of your senses, Aletta," he answered.
Then changing his tone, as the sight of her standing before him stirred
up all the old jealous rage against this English interloper, he went on:
"And what if I did? What if I did? He will be shot anyhow."
"Adrian, I never thought to have to name you a cowardly murderer--one
who kills not openly, but by lies and plots."
"I don't mind that. What about this valiant Englishman who sneaks in
between you and me, and steals away your love from me, only to make a
plaything of it? Yes, for it would have been mine, I know it would.
And we should have been happy--ah yes, happy. This English dog! What
name have you for such as he? And have you forgotten, Aletta, that
little talk we had one day in the garden at Ratels Hoek? I told you
then that the man who should come between you and me had better look
after himself, whoever he might be. I told you that, did I not? Well,
this man has come between you and me, and in less than twelve hours he
will be dead!--Dead--do you hear?"
His voice had taken on a sort of growl, and his face was hard and set
with hate and passion.
"No, he will not be," she answered. "For I will save him. Yes--I.
This very night I will go and plead with the Commandant. He will listen
to me for my father's sake. If the worst comes to the worst, I will
denounce you as the real offender. For I can convince him that you
are."
"No--no. I think not," replied Adrian jeeringly. "Schoeman is as hard
as iron, and you might plead with him until the Day of Judgment for all
you would effect. The fact of you being your father's child would not
move him an inch. He would be more likely to say it was a shameful and
scandalous thing for a girl to thrust herself forward in such a matter.
But if you want to make perfectly sure, come with me and I will take you
to his tent now. All the same, by going there you will be destroying
any slender chance Colvin might have."
His words, his confident manner, had their weight with Aletta. It was
exceedingly probable she might fail to move the Commandant. She had
another card in her hand--a better trump she thought--and she decided to
throw it.
"Oh, Adrian, I fear you are right," she said softly, still talking in
English, as they had been doing all the time, by way of precaution
against prying ears. "But do not let us quarrel and say hard things to
each other. I thought _you_ would help me if anybody would." Her eyes
filled, and she hardly seemed able to go on. The sight softened Adrian!
who was as madly, passionately in love with her as ever. "Do help me,
Adrian. You are able if anybody is. I want to save his life for the
sake of what he has been to me. Listen. I never want to see or speak
with him again--only to save his life. Oh, it is horrible--horrible
that such things should be done! Help me, Adrian! It is only to save
his life, and you from murder."
Ah, she had come down now from her judgment seat. She was the pleader
now. Adrian, whose sombre eyes had never left her face throughout this
appeal, was conscious of the wave of a new hope surging through his
being.
"You only want to save his life? Never to see or speak with him again?"
he repeated.
"Yes--yet no. I must just see him to satisfy myself that he is really
alive and safe--but not to speak to him."
For fully a minute they stood there gazing into each other's face in the
dull light of the tent lantern. Then Adrian said:
"You are right, Aletta. I can help you. I can save his life. But"--
and his words were slow and deliberate, and full of meaning--"if I do
what is to be my reward?"
She understood, but she did not flinch.
"If you do--if you save his life, if you let him escape, I will marry
you, Adrian! That is what you wish, I suppose?"
"Great God, it is!" he answered fervently, his dark face flushing with
intense joy. "You will soon forget this Englishman, my darling--you,
whom I have loved ever since we were children. But--swear that you will
keep this compact, Aletta."
"I swear it," she answered, hardly recognising her own voice.
"I will keep my side. I will show you this Englishman alive and free,
and then you will marry me?"
"But how--how will you do it?"
"That is my affair--leave that to me. Kiss me, Aletta, to seal our
compact."
"No--no. Not here, not now," holding up a warning hand. "Do you not
see? The light throws our shadows on the tent. I am going now.
Remember, I trust to you. No--do not come with me. I prefer to be
alone."
It was only a hundred yards across to Gideon Roux' house, where Aletta
was to sleep. She had sacrificed herself to save the life of the man
who had faithlessly made a plaything of her love, and her heart was cold
and heavy within her, for she had bought that life at a great price--
even the price of herself.
Adrian from his tent door watched her retreating form, and his triumph
and delight were unbounded. He had won all along the line; and Aletta
had immolated herself all to no purpose. For he had no intention of
fulfilling his side of the compact. Even though he won her, his peace
and happiness in her possession would never be secure while Colvin
Kershaw lived; therefore, Colvin should die at dawn, and in a few days
he would satisfy Aletta that he had fulfilled his bargain by showing her
that other Kershaw whose likeness had deceived her before, but under
circumstances which would preclude speech--even as upon that other
occasion.