He had thought of her far away--safe and sound in Spearman's Camp. Even now he had some faint notion that Van Zwieten had something to do with this, though how he could have managed it he couldn't for the life of him conjecture.
She smiled lovingly at him, and submitted to be wheeled in the chair to the fire. Her habit was soaking wet, and steaming now in the heat. He knelt beside her and took her hand.
The room was of no great size. It was furnished quite roughly with a few chairs and a sofa, and a table of unpainted deal. Pictures from the Illustrated London News and the Graphic were on the walls; there was a portrait of President Kruger, looking even more grim than usual, over the mantelpiece; from its presence she judged that the owners of the place were rebels. Outside, the rain still came down in torrents, and in a room close by she could hear the men keeping up their spirits and doing their best to make all gay within. Making her take off her soaking habit, her husband wrapped her in his military cloak. He asked no questions, for he saw that she was not in a fit state of mind to answer them. She began once or twice to try and tell him, but he would not listen.
"When you have something to eat, dear, and have got these wet things off, then I am ready to listen to all the miracles you have to tell me, for I can't conceive how you came here in this plight except by a miracle."
Then a woman--who so far belied the traditions of Boer female beauty as to be exceeding lean instead of stout--entered the room with a tray of smoking dishes. She was a kindly creature, and smiled pleasantly. She spoke nothing but low Dutch, and answered to the name of Tant' Wilhelmina. If she were at heart a rebel she showed no sign of hostility outwardly. She bustled Brenda into another room, and there supplied her with garments, dry certainly, but of the most wonderful design and colour.
Clothed in these things--which were in truth the Boer woman's Sunday finery--Brenda came back to the sitting-room. Even such garments could not take away from her beauty, though they effectually concealed every line of her figure. She sat down to the table and ate. Harold had gone to see his men. Then she sipped a little of the brandy and sat herself down by the fire. She felt as though she would never be warm. But after all she had undergone, this peace and rest was heavenly.
"Well, dearest," said her husband, entering quickly, "how do you feel now?"
"Better--much better. Come and sit by me, Harold, and I will tell you how I come to be here. You are just dying to know, and trying not to show it for my sake!"
He unbuckled his sword and drew a chair beside his wife. "I am very much astonished," he said, taking her hand in his, "but I have an idea before you say a word. Is it Van Zwieten?"
"Yes! I thought you might guess as much. I left the camp for a ride, and my pony bolted. Mr. van Zwieten, it appears, through the agency of a Kaffir, arranged it all by tampering with the bit. I was thrown; there I lay alone on the veldt. He came up and carried me off on his horse. When the storm burst I managed to wrench myself free and ran toward the lights in the house. But I never, never expected to find you here, dearest! It is God's mercy that has led me to you."