NEMESIS.
Having no ambition toward enacting the _rôle_ of heroine of an
Adelphi melodrama, Brenda was beginning to weary of this game of
hide-and-seek. However, she was safe for the time being, as even the
redoubtable Van Zwieten could hardly be expected to take her from the
midst of the British army. Harold reported the mishap which had led to
the loss of his men, and afterward rejoined his company. He wished his
wife to go back to Spearman's Camp; but she begged so hard to remain
that at last he consented. Permission was obtained from the
authorities, and Brenda betook herself to her old task of nursing the
wounded. She related to her friend the doctor as much of her
adventures as she could without trenching too closely on her private
affairs; and great surprise was expressed at her perils and her lucky
escape. But to Wilfred, who came to see her and his brother as soon as
he heard of their rescue, she related everything in detail.
"By Jove! what a scoundrel that fellow is!" said that young man. "I
wonder when he intends to leave you alone."
"Never, I fear," replied Brenda. "Unless he is killed I shall never be
safe from him."
"I'll shoot him myself if I get a chance. He is a danger to
society--it must be some one's business to put him out of the way. You
have had a bad time, Brenda; but I don't think you need fear the man
any more."
"What makes you say that?"
"I have an idea that he has come to the end of his tether."
"So have I," she said. "And I told him so. But, Wilfred, tell me about
my father?"
"He has gone back to Durban, as you know, to see the authorities about
your disappearance. He thinks you have been taken prisoner by the
Boers, and that you are at Pretoria by now. He is going to try and get
you exchanged."
"There is no need for that, thank God!" said Brenda, cheerfully. "I
must let him know at once."
"That will be difficult unless you send a message from Ladysmith."
"When do you think we shall be there?"
"If the luck holds good, in a couple of days. We have taken most of
the Boer positions; now Warren intends to try for Spion Kop to-night.
If he captures it, we shall hold the key to the Boer position."
"Ah, you see Wilfred, your forebodings are all wrong."
"We are yet in the wood, not out of it," replied he, significantly.
"However, I will give Buller and Warren all praise. They have done
well. All the same, I still condemn this plan of campaign. Only a
miracle can render it successful."
"Well, we shall see what happens when Spion Kop is taken. Do try and
look on the bright side of things, Wilfred."
But the young man departed, still shaking his head. There was no doubt
that he was very depressing company. His face wore a look of settled
gloom most painful to behold; and he was always prognosticating
calamity in the face of the most promising operations. At the same
time he invariably refrained from pessimism in his letters to his
newspaper, which were usually cheerful and full of devoted praise of
the behavior of both troops and officers.
It was anxious work waiting in the hospital while Harold was in the
field. But Brenda had not much time for thought. She was nursing the
wounded with all her heart and soul, and was an angel of light amongst
the weary, wounded soldiers. The doctor called her his right hand, as
well he might. She deprived herself of rest and food to be by her
patients. Only when compelled to, did she lie down; and then it was in
her clothes, ready to be up and doing at the call of duty. Her best
qualities came out in this most arduous work.
The grand attack on Spion Kop was to be made at night, in order to
effect a surprise. All day long the operations went on in the field.
Toward sunset Harold's company had to dislodge a number of Boers who
had entrenched themselves on the slope of the mountain. The position
was taken and the enemy fell back; but not without considerable loss
of life on both sides. Amongst the wounded was Harold, who was shot
through the lung. It was dark when the news was brought into the camp,
and the ambulance bearers started under a rising moon for this
miniature battlefield.
Quite unaware of her husband's mishap, Brenda was busy attending a
dying man. But he was beyond her aid, and died within a very short
time of his being brought in. She was closing his eyes with a sigh at
the horrors of war when one of the doctors told her that she was
wanted. With a presentiment of bad news she went out and found Wilfred
waiting to speak to her. He was greatly agitated and took her hand as
if to give her courage.
"Brenda, I have bad news for you!"
"It is Harold!" she cried, pale to the lips.
"Yes, it is Harold. I have only just heard."
"He is dead?"
"No. I hope not--I don't know but he fell while leading the attack on
one of the small kopjes. They are just going out to bring in the
wounded. I thought----"
"Yes, I'll come," said Brenda, anticipating his speech. "Is it far?"
"No, not very. Make haste. God grant we may find him alive!"
She needed no second bidding, but hastily gathered together some
medical comforts, wrapped herself in a cloak and came out. In silence
they walked toward the fatal spot which had been pointed out to
Wilfred by a private who had seen Harold fall. She did not weep. Her
emotion was too deep for tears. The moment which she had been dreading
all these months had arrived--unexpectedly, as all such moments do.
Now she felt that the actual event was not so terrible as the
expectation had been. There was a chance that he might be alive. He
was wiry, healthy, clean-blooded and clean living, and the Mauser
bullets, as Brenda had seen, inflicted a clean wound. Full of silent
prayer she walked on. Had she heard of this in England she would have
been distracted; but somehow, since she was on the spot and would soon
be with him, it did not seem quite so terrible. At all events he had
fallen in the forefront of battle, doing his work, and not by the
treachery of Van Zwieten. If he died he could not die more gloriously.
There was comfort in that thought.
"I saw Van Zwieten to-day," said Wilfred, suddenly.
"You did? Where? When?" asked Brenda, wondering if after all the
scoundrel could have had anything to do with this mishap to her
husband.
"On the lower slopes. I was looking through my field-glass and saw him
quite plainly riding about on a big black horse. I recognized him by
his long golden beard. I am certain it was he; that was why I wanted
you to come with me to see after Harold."
"I don't understand----"
"Because as Van Zwieten is about the place he is bound to hear that
Harold has been shot. He has spies everywhere; and from one of our
prisoners I heard that he had described Harold's appearance to several
Boer sharp-shooters, that the poor chap might be picked off."
"Do you know the prisoner's name?"
"Yes; and he's a fine old fellow who did good service to you--Piet
Bok!"
"Then he was not killed at the time we escaped?"
"No, only touched on the right arm. He was taken prisoner this
morning. I would have come and told you, but I couldn't get away. I
saw him by chance, and he recognized me from my resemblance to Harold.
I told him he was wrong and then he informed me of Van Zwieten's new
villainy. By this time the man who picked off Harold has, no doubt,
told Van Zwieten, and has received his reward. And that scoundrel will
probably come down to see if the news is true."
"What?" shrieked Brenda. "Oh, don't, Wilfred! If he finds Harold still
alive he will kill him."
"That's what I thought; and that's why I got you to come with me. I
feel certain that the brute will be there."
She uttered a cry of mingled terror and pain. "Oh, Wilfred, do not let
us lose a moment. Harold, my darling!" She began to run.
"Come, Brenda, keep as quiet as you can. You'll need all your
strength!"
A glorious moon filled the world with its pale radiance. The shadows
of the mountains and kopjes were black as Indian ink in the white
light. Here and there were points of fire, and in the distance a
glimpse of the white tents of the camp. To the right rose the great
mass of Spion Kop, with its flat table top dark and menacing. But a
few hours and there would be a deadly struggle on that pinnacle.
Already the generals were maturing their plans for the assault.
Occasionally the boom of a gun could be heard, for the Boers had not
yet desisted from firing, in spite of the lateness of the hour. Brenda
paid no heed to all this. She strained her eyes toward the rising
ground they were approaching. Was he dead or alive? All her life was
bound up in the answer to that question.
The Indian bearers swung along at a slow trot, and she followed
closely on Wilfred's arm. He felt her shiver although the night was
warm, and did his best to console her. And she never forgot his
brotherly kindness at that terrible hour.
They climbed up the slope which earlier in the day had been swept by
rifle fire. Now the Boers had retreated to another point of vantage,
and the position was held by a small force of our men. As the
ambulance party approached it was challenged and the word was given.
In a few minutes the bearers were within the entrenchments.
"Glad you've come," said the officer in charge; "there are many poor
fellows here who require your attention. The enemy are removing their
dead now."
He addressed these remarks to the doctor, but he saluted when he saw
Brenda, whom he knew. "I expected you, Mrs. Burton. Your husband is
over yonder. We have made him as comfortable as possible."
"Then he is not dead?" gasped Brenda, turning faint.
"Oh, no," he said cheerily, "he is worth a dozen dead men. You'll soon
pull him round. Over there."
He pointed to the left and she hurried away. Wilfred lingered behind
to speak to the officer. "Have you noticed a particularly tall man
with the Boers?" he asked, "a man with a golden beard?"
"Yes. He asked after Burton. It seems he was a friend of his before
the war."
"Has he seen him?" asked Wilfred, turning pale, for well he knew the
reason of Van Zwieten's inquiries.
"No, I think not. But he intends to look him up shortly. I think your
brother will pull through, Burton," and he hurried away to attend to
his duties. Wilfred stood still and meditated. He grasped his
revolver. "The man has lived too long," he murmured; "I must do it!"
Then he moved toward the group round his brother. Brenda was
supporting his head, and a doctor was examining the wound in the poor
fellow's chest. "We must wait till we get him to the hospital," he
said. "Have him put into the ambulance, Mrs. Burton."
"Has he a chance, doctor?" she asked with quivering lips.
"I can't say yet. The bullet has pierced the lung. Hope for the best."
Then he hurried away with his attendants, and Brenda was left alone
with her husband and Wilfred. Harold was quite unconscious, but
breathing faintly, and as she bent over him, with an agonized face,
she prayed that God would spare his life. Wilfred stood beside her and
looked down silently on that countenance waxen in the light of the
lantern. As he stood there, as Brenda placed Harold's head on her
knees, both heard a mocking voice beside them.
"Well, Mrs. Burton, you are a widow at last!"
She gave a cry of horror at the ill-omened words, and Wilfred turned
with a bound to clutch Van Zwieten by the throat.
"You hound!" he cried. "You miserable dog!" and he hurled the big man
to the ground.
Taken by surprise, the Dutchman had fallen; but he rose to his feet
with an ugly scowl, cursing bitterly. "I'll pay you out for this!" he
said menacingly. "At present my business is with Mrs. Burton."
"I refuse to speak to you," cried she. "You are a wicked man, and God
will punish you."
"I rather think that it is you who have been punished," he sneered.
"Your husband is dead, or pretty near it. Now it is my turn."
"He is not dead. He will live when you are lying in your grave. Leave
me; you have done harm enough!"
"But he has not paid for it!" cried Wilfred, savagely.
"No, nor will he pay!" cried Van Zwieten, defiantly.
Wilfred pulled out his revolver. "I will make you pay!" he said. "You
shall fight me!"
The Dutchman was no coward, but he drew back from the terrible
expression on the young man's face, accentuated as it was in the
strong moonlight.
"I refuse to fight with you," he said sullenly. "This matter has
nothing to do with you. If I choose to marry your brother's widow,
that is my business. Mind your own!"
"You shall marry no one," said Wilfred, harshly, "for I intend to kill
you."
Brenda did not speak. She listened absently while the two men
wrangled. Van Zwieten looked at her for a moment, then he turned his
back on Wilfred.
"I will not fight you," he repeated.
The other man sprang forward and struck him on the cheek with his
fist. "Will that make you fight?"
With a roar of rage Van Zwieten turned and flung himself forward. He
caught the younger man in his arms like a child and threw him on the
grass. Then he drew out his revolver and fired at the prostrate man.
But Brenda had looked up, and seeing his intention had sprung to her
feet and grasped his arm. The shot went wide, and in his rage Van
Zwieten struck her--the woman he loved--struck her to the ground. And
before he could recover himself sufficiently to fire a second time, he
fell with a hoarse cry, shot twice through the breast by Wilfred
Burton.
"Nemesis has come up with you at last," said the young man, picking up
Brenda in his arms.
The sound of the shots had attracted the attention of the men near at
hand. "Good God, Burton, what have you done?" cried an officer.
"Killed some vermin," was the reply. "Here, bring the ambulance along
and put Burton into it."
"Wilfred!" shrieked Brenda, who had recovered her breath, "is he
dead?"
"No," said Van Zwieten, faintly, "not dead--but dying--I have lost!"
No one attempted to molest Wilfred. "I can explain myself to the
commanding officer," he said. "He will approve of what I have done."
By this time the other Boers had taken their departure, or there might
have been trouble at this violation of the armistice. Brenda aided the
men to place Harold in the ambulance, and when she had made him
comfortable, returned to the side of Wilfred, who was explaining his
conduct to the officer in command. Van Zwieten heard her footstep--or
he must have felt her presence near him. He opened his eyes. "I am
done for," he said. "I suppose it is just, but I loved you, Brenda!"
Much as she hated him, she could not see him die there without making
an effort to save him. She tried to staunch the wound, but it was
impossible. The doctor had long since taken his departure. Seeing that
all human aid was useless, she moistened the man's lips with brandy.
"Thank you," he said faintly. "Will you forgive me?"
"Yes, I forgive you," she whispered, "but you must ask forgiveness of
God."
Van Zwieten shook his head feebly. "It is too late for that. Ask
Burton to forgive me. He has punished me. He can afford to be
generous."
Wilfred overheard the words. "I forgive you the ill you have done my
family, but I do not forgive you for seeking the hospitality of my
country and betraying it. Come, Brenda!"
"I can tell you something about that," said Van Zwieten, in a weak
voice. "Come near."
Quite unsuspicious, Wilfred knelt down beside him. In an instant Van
Zwieten raised his revolver and shot him through the throat. He fell
back with the blood pouring from his mouth.
Van Zwieten laughed. "Quits!" he said. Then he fell back dead.
All was confusion. Brenda knelt beside her brother-in-law, and took
his head in her lap, while the others crowded round Van Zwieten's dead
body. Wilfred opened his eyes, saw Brenda's eyes bending over him, and
whispered, "Bend down, quick!"
She put her ear to his mouth, and heard him whisper in broken words,
"In my breast-pocket--look yourself--packet--confession. I shot
Malet."
"You--oh!" gasped Brenda. "Why?"
Wilfred Burton raised himself up with one last expiring effort. "For
England!" he cried. "For England--God bless Eng----" Then he too fell
back a corpse. Brenda fainted.