“Forgive?” he repeated.
Only the one word—he too seemed choked for utterance. But it conveyed all—all she would fain have heard. In the face of the whole assembly, she drew down his head, and pressed her lips to his in one long despairing kiss. One or two more of the burghers turned away and blubbered aloud.
“The time has gone,” said Schoeman, in his iron voice. But he might as well not have spoken for all the effect his words seemed to have on the two prominent figures in this heart-rending drama. They were locked in each other’s embrace, as though alone in the world together.
“Remove her!” repeated the pitiless tones. “It is a scandal for a woman to make such a scene as this, and at such a time. Why are my orders not obeyed?”
“She is the daughter of one of our most respected neighbours, Commandant,” growled a burgher from the Sneeuw River. “We cannot lay hands on her.”
“Ja, Ja. That is true,” echoed several voices.
Schoeman was nonplussed. As Aletta had said, the prisoner could only be shot at the price of her life! Then a bright idea struck him.
“You have shown yourself a brave man hitherto, Kershaw,” he called out. “Will you now show yourself a coward and shield yourself behind a woman? If not, put her away from you and stand forth.”
“You hear what he says, Aletta? One more good-bye kiss, my very own, and then leave me. Ah God—how are we to part like this?”
“We will not part. If they shoot you they shall shoot me. But—they dare not, the cowards. They dare not. See!”