"Well, we'll not disappoint him so far as the horses are concerned," replied Brenda; "but as to waiting for his messenger, I don't think we'll do that."
"Why, Brenda, what do you mean? We don't know an inch of the country."
"Probably this messenger of Van Zwieten's will know it rather too well for our liking. I don't trust the arrangement in the least. Believe me, dear, he will only lead us into some trap and we shall be prisoners again."
"I don't see that Van Zwieten need have given himself the trouble to do that--we were his prisoners already."
"I can't see through it at present either. But, nevertheless, I'm sure there's something at the back of his ostensible generosity."
Captain Burton was at a loss how to interpret it. On the whole, he was inclined to trust to his wife's instinct. He had no sort of premise on which to argue against it.
So they had something to eat and decided to leave at sundown. Beyond the hills they knew the British were engaging the enemy, so if they made due west they had every hope of coming up with the outposts of the advancing column. There was, of course, always the chance that they might not get even so far safely, but that they preferred to risk rather than trust in Mr. van Zwieten.
Their horses were wiry little animals enough, and, if put to it, could show a very pretty pace. They fed and watered them now preparatory to their start. On the whole they were sanguine.
Then came a surprise. As they were making their own meal they heard from outside a voice hailing them in English. Harold rushed to the door and returned shortly with Piet Bok. The old man looked anxious, and hurried forward to shake Brenda by the hand.
"Thank the dear Lord you are safe," he said with emotion. "I feared it might be otherwise--that you had fallen into that man's snare."