“You will keep guard over the prisoner,” indicating Silas Croft, “and suffer none to communicate with him by word or sign. As soon as it is is ready you will place him in the little room to the left of the waggon-house, and see that he is supplied with all he wants. If he escapes or converses, or is ill treated, I will hold you responsible. Do you understand?”
“Yah, Meinheer,” was the answer.
“Very good; be careful you do not forget. And now, Miss Bessie, I shall be glad if you can give me a word alone——”
“No,” said Bessie; “no, I will not leave my uncle.”
“I fear you will have to do that,” he said, with his cold smile. “I beg you to think again. It will be very much to your advantage to speak to me, and to your uncle’s advantage also. I should advise you to come.”
Bessie hesitated. She hated and mistrusted the man, as she had good reason to do, and feared to trust herself alone with him.
While she still hesitated, the two Boers, under whose watch and ward Muller had placed her uncle, advanced and stood between him and her, cutting her off from him. Muller turned and walked a few paces—ten or so—to the right, and in desperation she followed him. He halted behind a bushy orange-tree of some eight years’ growth. Overtaking him, she stood silent, waiting for him to begin. They were quite close to the others, but the roaring of the flames of the burning house was still sufficiently loud to have drowned a much more audible conversation.
“What is it you have to say to me?” she said at length, pressing her hand against her heart to still its beating. Her woman’s instinct told her what was coming, and she was trying to nerve herself to meet it.
“Miss Bessie,” he said slowly, “it is this. For years I have loved you and wanted to marry you. I again ask you to be my wife.”
“Mr. Frank Muller,” she answered, her spirit rising to the occasion, “I thank you for your offer, and the only answer that I can give you is that I once and for all decline it.”