“And you like to live in the wild karroo?” asked the youth.
“Of course I do,” was the reply, with a look of surprise.
“Of course. It was a stupid question, Bertha; I did not think at the moment that it is home to you, and that you have known no other since you were a little child. But to my mind it would be a dull sort of life to live here always.”
“Do you find it so dull?” asked Bertha, with a sad look.
“No, not in the least,” replied the youth, quickly. “How could I, living as I do with such pleasant people, like one of their own kith and kin, hunting with the sons and teaching the daughters—to say nothing of scolding them and playing chess, and singing and riding. Oh no! I’m anything but dull, but I was talking generally of life in the karroo. If I lived alone, for instance, like poor Horley, or with a disagreeable family like that of Jan Smit—by the way, that reminds me that we have heard news of the three runaways, Ruyter, Jemalee, and Booby.”
“Oh! I’m so glad,” cried Bertha, her fair face brightening up with pleasure, “for I am very fond of Ruyter. He was so kind to me that time he found me lying near Smit’s house, when my pony ran away and threw me, and I felt so miserable when I heard that his master was cruel and often beat him with a sjambok. Often and often since he ran away—and it must be nearly a year now—I have prayed God that he might come back, and that Jan Smit might become good to him—What have you heard?”
Considine’s face wore a troubled look. “I fear,” he said, “the news will distress you, for what I heard was that the three men, driven to desperation by the harsh treatment received from their master, have joined one of the fiercest of these gangs of robbers, called the Bergenaars—the gang led, I believe, by Dragoener. It was Lucas Van Dyk, the hunter, who told me, and he is said to be generally correct in his statements.”
Bertha’s nether lip quivered, and she hid her face in her hands for a few moments in silence.
“Oh! I’m so sorry—so sorry,” she said at length, looking up. “He was so gentle, so kind. I can’t imagine Ruyter becoming one of those dreadful Bergenaars, about whose ferocious cruelty we hear so much—his nature was so different. I can’t believe it.”
“I fear,” rejoined Considine gently, “that it is true. You know it is said that oppression will drive even a wise man mad, and a man will take to anything when he is mad.”