"But what can she do?"
"I don't know; but that is what I must find out. We will baffle this man yet. Oh, father, and to think that you once wanted me to marry him!"
"I was wrong, my dear, very wrong," Mr. Scarse said penitently; "but at any rate you are married now to the man of your choice."
"Harold, my darling!" Brenda's tears burst out afresh. "God knows if I shall ever see him again!" She wept bitterly. Truly, poor Brenda was hard beset.
Meantime Van Zwieten was swearing at his own stupidity in not having kept a sharper eye on Harold. But he had not expected the young man--whom he had regarded as his victim--to display such daring.
At Chippingholt he had warned him that if he married Brenda he would denounce him. Well, he had married Brenda, and was now well beyond reach on his way to Africa. More than ever was Van Zwieten determined that he should pay for what he had done. He had but exchanged the gallows in England for a Boer bullet in South Africa. Then, when he was no more, his widow should become Mrs. van Zwieten. That he swore should be. He had failed once, he would not fail again. From Waterloo he went to Westminster, to get the revolver and take it to his rooms, that he might have it ready for production on the morrow.
On arrival there he was met by Mrs. Hicks. She was in the greatest distress. "Oh, sir!" she cried, "a policeman's been here, and has taken a box from your room--an iron box!"
For the moment Van Zwieten stood stunned. Then he rushed upstairs and looked on the top of the press. The box was gone!