"Gently, please, gently," said he, restraining her tenderly. She was struggling to free herself from his grasp, even, as she knew, at the risk of life and limb. "I can be cruel as well as kind. I tell you it was I who brought you on to the veldt. The Kaffir boy who attended to your horse is my servant. I knew how you rode every day, for I followed you up from Durban, and have watched you constantly. I told the boy to prepare a special bit for your horse; one that would burn his mouth after a while. Oh, that is an old trick which I learned in your virtuous England. When the little beast began to feel the burning he naturally bolted. What else would you expect him to do? I did not anticipate he would throw you, though; that was not included in my plans! The rest you know."
Again she tried to struggle free from his grasp. "For God's sake, let me down!" she cried. She felt she would go into hysterics every moment.
"That is the one thing I will not do. I have you at last, and I keep you. You are mine now, husband or no husband. Not if I can help it shall you ever see him again."
She strove to pierce the black darkness that was all around. She strained and strained her eyes, but there was nothing. Then she thought she saw a light. But she could not be sure. On the vain chance that somebody might hear she screamed loudly once, and then again and again.
"Be quiet, I say," roared Van Zwieten, savagely. "Understand that I won't lose you--that I shoot you first, and myself too, for that matter."
He spurred his horse; they were not yet beyond the territory under British patrol. He seemed to know perfectly well where he was making for. She began to feel sick and faint with the motion and the fierce clutch of the man. The horse was galloping hard now with his double burden. She felt he could not last long at that pace. But Van Zwieten had set his teeth hard to it, and urged him on and on, speaking not a word.
"Oh, God, save me from this man!" she cried.
As though in answer to her prayer there was a terrible clap of thunder. A flare of lightning overspread the sky, and by its light she could see his face was deadly pale, and oh! so cruel. Before he could swear--for his horse shied at the crash--before even she could cry out, the rain came down with a hiss and a swirl, almost a solid mass of water. Once again her thoughts went back to that night long ago when Malet had been murdered. Was she about to meet death too?
Then, with an oath, he drove the spur into the animal, and, terrified, it made another bound forward. The rain lashed their faces; they were already drenched to the skin. Then came another fearful thunderclap. She felt as though her head must burst. There was a gleam far away there in the distance--the light from some farmhouse, probably.
"Help, help!" she screamed. "Oh, Harold!--Harold!"