"No, dear; I know you are the bravest little woman in the world. I have the utmost faith in you. I should be a cur if I had not. Tell me more about this brute's plotting."
This she did, omitting no detail from the time when Van Zwieten had picked her up on the veldt to the time of her meeting with him, her husband. He ground his teeth as he listened; yet he was relieved to find things were no worse. In spite of the Dutchman's villainy, he was inclined to think better of him than he had hitherto done. Dishonourable as he was, he had at least treated a defenceless woman with respect. At the conclusion of the story he kissed her again for her bravery.
"Dearest, you have been splendid! I am a lucky fellow to have so plucky a little soul for my wife. Curse the man! I long for the moment when I shall be face to face with him. He deserves nothing better than a bullet; and he'll get it if I can shoot straight."
"No, don't shoot him," said Brenda; "he behaved well to me. He is a spy and a scoundrel, but he is not a brute. And, Harold, I really believe he loves me truly!"
"Who would not love you, my own?" said her husband, tenderly. "Yes, I can see he loves you. It is the best feeling in his black heart. All the same, I wish he would transfer this chivalrous affection to some other quarter and leave you alone."
"I am afraid he will never leave me alone until he dies!"
"Then he must die!" cried her husband, fiercely. "I shall protect you from these insults at any cost. Curse him, I wish I had shot him at Chippingholt when he accused me of murdering Malet. But we will talk of this another time, Brenda. You are worn out. Lie down on the sofa, dear, and try to sleep. Let me put my cloak over you."
"But you, Harold?"
"I must keep my eyes about me. I have an idea that Van Zwieten will bring his Boers up before dawn."
"If you think so, would it not be better to retreat towards the advancing column?"