"No," said Van Zwieten, faintly, "not dead--but dying--I have lost!"
No one attempted to molest Wilfred. "I can explain myself to the commanding officer," he said. "He will approve of what I have done."
By this time the other Boers had taken their departure, or there might have been trouble at this violation of the armistice. Brenda aided the men to place Harold in the ambulance, and when she had made him comfortable, returned to the side of Wilfred, who was explaining his conduct to the officer in command. Van Zwieten heard her footstep--or he must have felt her presence near him. He opened his eyes. "I am done for," he said. "I suppose it is just, but I loved you, Brenda!"
Much as she hated him, she could not see him die there without making an effort to save him. She tried to staunch the wound, but it was impossible. The doctor had long since taken his departure. Seeing that all human aid was useless, she moistened the man's lips with brandy.
"Thank you," he said faintly. "Will you forgive me?"
"Yes, I forgive you," she whispered, "but you must ask forgiveness of God."
Van Zwieten shook his head feebly. "It is too late for that. Ask Burton to forgive me. He has punished me. He can afford to be generous."
Wilfred overheard the words. "I forgive you the ill you have done my family, but I do not forgive you for seeking the hospitality of my country and betraying it. Come, Brenda!"
"I can tell you something about that," said Van Zwieten, in a weak voice. "Come near."
Quite unsuspicious, Wilfred knelt down beside him. In an instant Van Zwieten raised his revolver and shot him through the throat. He fell back with the blood pouring from his mouth.