"I will go with you," she said bravely; "I will accept your offer. I do not think you are a good man, and I have used hard words to you, I know; still, I will trust you now."
Van Zwieten bowed. He said no word, but held the stirrup for her to mount. With his assistance she swung herself into the saddle, and being a good horse-woman, she settled herself comfortably on it without much difficulty.
In silence he began to lead the horse across the veldt. All the while she kept a tight grasp on her little revolver and a sharp eye on his every action. For some time they proceeded thus without a word. Then Van Zwieten laughed in a low, musical way. "What a fool I am!" he said slowly. "I love you madly; I have you in my power, and yet I do not take so much as a kiss. I am a coward!"
Her face burned in the darkness, but she gave no sign of fear.
"You call yourself a coward," she said calmly. "I call you a brave man."
"Oh, I am a spy!" he cried scornfully.
"You are a spy and, for all I know, a murderer; but you are a brave man, Mr. van Zwieten, all the same, for you can rule yourself. I never thought of you as I do at this moment."
"You say that because you wish to conciliate me," he retorted angrily, "not because you think so. I am not a good man. I know myself to be bad; but I love you too well to harm a hair of your head. All the same, I intend to marry you."
"That is impossible. I am married already, and if Harold were to die--well, you know what I said."
"That was only supposing I killed him," argued Van Zwieten. "But suppose he were killed fighting, as he may easily be?"