Over the meal they began to arrange their plans. Then they lit their pipes and talked on, far into the night, arranging details.
“You know the young lady, Adrian, and I don’t,” said Kenneth at last. “If she believes your statement, we needn’t go any further. If she doesn’t, or doesn’t want to, we must give her the most convincing evidence of all—ocular evidence. There will be no going behind that, I fancy.”
“Ja, that is a fine idea of yours, Kenneth”—under the influence of ‘square-face’ and a mutual plot these two had become quite fraternal. “A really fine idea. Aletta will never doubt the evidence of her own eye sight.”
Just then, however, Aletta had something to think about on her own account, and a few days after the concocting of this delectable plot saw her seated in the back garden of Piet Plessis’ house, engaged in a serious discussion with her fiancé. For the latter had made up his mind to proceed to the seat of war, and had just been announcing the fact.
Those long weeks spent at Pretoria had been very happy, very sweet. But the sheer restfulness of them had become a trifle enervating. News had kept coming in: news of the stirring events along the border. The flame had spread, and was still spreading. Kimberley was invested, so too was Mafeking, and Vryburg had fallen. Ladysmith was cut off from the outside world, and the burghers of the Republics had successfully carried their arms well into the Cape Colony. He could not sit still, through it all. He must, at any rate, see something of what was going on, and to that end had obtained special permission to join Cronje’s force as a non-combatant spectator.
Not easily had this been obtained though. It had taken all Piet Plessis’ influence, backed up by that of Andries Botma, with whom Colvin had renewed acquaintance during his stay in the Transvaal. Further, he had to give the most solemn undertaking not to use his position in any way whatever for the benefit of his own countrymen.
“Don’t you remember that first evening we met, Aletta?” he was saying. “You promised yourself to make a convert of me? Well, now I am interested in your side, I want to see how it fights.”
“No, no, dearest I can’t spare you,” she replied, stroking the brown hand which lay in one of her long white ones, with the other. “Oh, and—what if I were to lose you?”
“Leave me alone to take care of that. Life is too well worth having just now,” he rejoined. “And, as a non-combatant, the risk will be infinitesimal.”