“They cannot be far off,” answered Muller. “I have had them watched, and know that they have not left the place. Get down, uncle, and look in the house, and you too, Hendrik.”
The Kafir obeyed with alacrity, tumbling out of his saddle with all the grace of a sack of coals, but the Boer hesitated.
“Uncle Silas is an angry man,” he ventured; “he might shoot if he found me poking about his house.”
“Don’t answer me!” thundered Muller; “get down and do as I bid you!”
“Ah, what a devil of a man!” murmured the unfortunate Hans as he hurried to obey.
Meanwhile, Hendrik the one-eyed had jumped upon the verandah and was peering through the windows.
“Here they are, Baas; here they are!” he sung out; “the old cock and the pullet too!” and he gave a kick to the window, which, being unlatched, swung wide, revealing the old man sitting in his wooden armchair, his rifle on his knees, and holding by the hand his fair-haired niece, who was standing at his side. Frank Muller dismounted and came on to the verandah, and behind him crowded a dozen or more of his followers.
“What is it that you want, Frank Muller, that you come to my house with all these armed men?” asked Silas Croft from his chair.
“I call upon you, Silas Croft, to surrender to take your trial as a land betrayer and a rebel against the Republic,” was the answer. “I am sorry,” he added, with a bow towards Bessie, on whom his eyes had been fixed all the time, “to be obliged to take you prisoner in the presence of a lady, but my duty gives me no choice.”
“I do not know what you mean,” said the old man. “I am a subject of Queen Victoria and an Englishman. How, then, can I be a rebel against any republic? I am an Englishman, I say,” he went on with rising anger, speaking so high that his powerful voice rang till every Boer there could hear it, “and I acknowledge the authority of no republics. This is my house, and I order you to leave it. I claim my rights as an Englishman——”