Van Zwieten swore loudly, but his oaths were drowned in the thunder overhead. The horse reared, snorting with terror. Then she felt the Dutchman's arms lessen their grip, and in a paroxysm of fright and despair she flung herself to the ground. She fell into a kind of morass, and she could hear Van Zwieten's cry of rage as the animal sprang forward. The next moment, half stunned and dazed as she was, she was up and running for dear life toward the light now not far distant.
In vain did Van Zwieten struggle with his terrified horse. The animal plunged and reared, and every peal of thunder increased its state of frenzy. He heard the girl shriek, and by a lightning flash he saw her tearing across toward the light. In the distance a farmhouse showed up black in the glare. Then, as once again he dug his spurs and turned his horse's head, he heard a shot. It was followed by another and another, and the next flash showed him several figures in front of the house.
Once again Brenda screamed for help. A lusty British cheer was her reply. It reached the ears of the horseman, and he knew well what it meant. He galloped off through the roar and conflict of the elements like a madman. He had lost her! For the second time she had escaped him!
Her heart bounding, she ran forward with redoubled energy, shouting ever her husband's name. There was another shot and another flash of lightning across the sky. It seemed to her that the very heavens were open. She threw up her arms and fell against the farmhouse fence. Then she heard a voice give out some order.
It was her husband's voice!
[CHAPTER XXIV.]
AN UNEXPECTED MEETING.
Brenda's reasoning power was not at fault in that moment of excitement. Harold, with his small patrol party, had crossed the river. She, too, was across the river--Van Zwieten had told her that. It was Harold's voice she had heard; she could not be mistaken. It was no matter of the wish being father to the thought. It was his voice she had heard--the voice of her own husband. He was there in the farmhouse with his party.
"Thank God!" she cried, raising herself with difficulty.
Where Van Zwieten was she did not know. He could not harm her now; Harold was there to protect her. Clinging to the stones of the fence in the drenching rain, she cried his name aloud again. There was silence, then the sound of many voices and the tramp of feet.