"He will have enough to do to look after himself. Harold, that man will die!"
"How do you know? Do you mean a violent death, and that soon?"
"Yes, that is just what I do mean. My mother was a Highland woman, and had what they call second-sight. I have not got it myself, I suppose, because I am not a pure Celt. But I have enough of the seer in me to have a presentiment about that man! I feel certain that he will die by violence, and that shortly. I can't explain myself more clearly."
"One never can explain a feeling of that sort. You told this to Van Zwieten himself?"
"Yes, and I frightened him. Perhaps that is why he has not been near us."
"I should not have thought he was superstitious, Brenda; nor you either, for that matter."
"I am not, as a rule," was her reply, "but I feel that what I say is true. Van Zwieten will die!"
Harold, sturdy, stolid Englishman as he was, tried to argue her out of this idea, but he gave it up as hopeless. She had made up her mind that their enemy was a dead man, or would be dead within a few days. Strange to say, it was on that very day that he paid them his first visit. He looked as handsome and as burly as ever. Going by appearances, he had a good many years of villainy before him yet.
He came up to the veranda and saluted Mrs. Burton with a low bow of which she took no notice.
"You are surprised to see me?" he said, with his usual cool insolence.