“Remove her!” cried Commandant Schoeman.
But nobody seemed over eager to obey. Then, after a hurried consultation with three or four of his subordinate commanders, he went on:
“You will have a respite of exactly five minutes, Kershaw. Not one second longer.”
“We have but a short time, Aletta,” resumed Colvin, in English and a low tone. “Tell me quickly—why did you write that strange message—‘Remember—I saw’? What did it mean? What did you see?”
“Ah, let us forget that. Love—love! That is as nothing now. You shall not die.”
“Tell me—tell me! Time is flying,” he urged.
Quickly she told him—how Adrian had warned her that she was being deceived; had proved it to her through the agency of her own eyesight, that day at Johannesburg.
“Adrian was lying. Yet there must be somebody bearing a wonderful likeness to me. Look me in the eyes, Aletta. Here at the grave’s edge I tell you, this story is absolutely untrue. I went straight to Cronje’s column, and did not even leave the train at Johannesburg. Afterwards you will learn this for yourself. Sweetheart, I have never deceived you in word or deed. Do you believe me now?”
“Implicitly! Oh love, love! I am not fit to live after you, and I will not. Say you forgive me!”
Though they could neither hear nor understand what was said, there was such a wail of despair and loss in her tone as to reach the hearts of the bystanders. Some turned away with wet eyes and a lump in their throats. One or two actually blubbered.