Harold succeeded in getting the permit for his wife and father-in-law to go to the front, and it was arranged that they should start the next day. In the morning Captain Burton went about his military business--for he had to carry a report concerning some stores back to his general--and Mr. Scarse being occupied in a political discussion with a South African whom he had met at the hotel, Brenda thought she would take a stroll. She bought a few things she wanted, explored the principal streets, and--as she had ample time--turned her attention to the suburbs. It was very hot, and she walked slowly under the blaze of the African sun. The red dust rose in clouds; there was a drowsy hum of insects all around, and patient oxen toiled along the dusty roads. There were plenty of Colonials about, and a good deal of attention was attracted to Mrs. Burton both on account of her great beauty and her dress. Now and again a body of soldiers in khaki would march through the streets followed by a crowd of people. The Kaffirs lined up under the verandas, and grinned from ear to ear as the "rooibaatjes" went by, although they missed the red coats which had procured them that name from the Boers. From what she could gather Brenda learned that these Kaffirs were all in favor of the English cause, for they both hated and dreaded the Boers. And small wonder, considering how they were terrorized by the inhuman sjambok. At length, getting tired of novelty, Brenda turned her steps back to the hotel. It was drawing near midday, and she wanted something to eat before they left. As she took a turning up a side street which led into the principal thoroughfare, she saw a man standing under a veranda--a tall, bulky man with golden hair and golden beard, and he was coolly watching her. A shiver passed through her as she caught sight of him. For it was her enemy, Van Zwieten. CHAPTER XXII. AT THE FRONT. Van Zwieten's sins had evidently made no difference in his fortunes. He appeared to be flourishing like the proverbial green bay tree. He was dressed in a smart riding suit, with long brown boots, and a smasher hat of the approved Boer type. Quite unabashed at sight of Brenda, he crossed the road with an impudent smile and held out his hand. She shot one glance of indignation at him, and drew aside as though to avoid contact with an unclean thing--a proceeding which appeared to cause the man some shame, although he tried to assume an air of unconcern and amusement. "You won't shake hands with me, Mrs. Burton?" he said, quite jauntily. "How dare you speak to me?" she said, drawing back. "I wonder you are not ashamed to look me in the face after that trick about the letter."