The _Kaiser Fritz_ came up to time and Brenda soon found herself on the way south. She did not much fancy the foreign boat--officers, crew and passengers being all pro-Boer to a man. They were polite enough to the English lady, but they took no trouble to disguise their real opinions. The captain expressed some surprise that she should be going to Delagoa Bay, and seemed inclined to suspect some political significance in her doing so, though it was difficult to see what grounds he could have had for such an absurd idea. And Mrs. Burton did not enlighten him, but left the matter to her father. Mr. Scarse intimated that his daughter was going to Pretoria to nurse her wounded husband, an explanation which seemed to appeal to the sentimental Germans. After that they were increasingly polite to her. But she preferred her own cabin. Her father was more companionable; but even he found but scant pleasure in their outspoken opinions on the subject of England, and her inevitable downfall, as they put it. Even he, with his Little England proclivities, felt his patriotism awake in the most alarming manner at the way these foreigners jeered and scoffed. Smarting under the insults, he developed quite a Jingo feeling, much to his daughter's amusement; and he ended by withdrawing himself as much as possible from the society of all on board. Father and daughter were a good deal together, and both looked forward eagerly to the end of a disagreeable voyage. One night, when they were south of the Line, they were on deck together. The heavens were bright with stars, and the great grey circle of the sea lay round them like a trackless desert. Most of those on board were down below, and the two had the deck to themselves. Brenda was disinclined for conversation. Her mind was, as usual, full of thoughts of her husband, and the only feeling she seemed cognizant of was one of joy in the thought that every day was bringing her nearer to him. Mr. Scarse broke the silence. "Brenda," he said, "did Lady Jenny say anything about that murder?" "Very little. She said that Van Zwieten had accused her of the crime, and that she was innocent. Of course I told her that I had never dreamed of such a thing, and never would have credited it for one moment." "H'm! At one time I thought myself that she might be guilty," he said. "But I know now that I was wrong. That piece of crape certainly was suspicious. But poor Scarse told me that in his struggle with Malet the scarf had been torn. I never noticed it myself when I burned it. I suppose that Malet kept it in his hand without being aware of it." "Very likely. At all events, I am sure Lady Jenny is innocent--as innocent as my uncle. He is happy, I hope?"