Every now and again there came upon her a feeling that she was being watched. She would look round and see a Kaffir staring fixedly at her. This happened on several days in succession. Yet she could not be sure that it was always the same man. The natives were all so very much alike to her that it was impossible to distinguish one from another. However, this espionage was in nowise aggressive; on the contrary, if espionage it were, it was done very skillfully. It might be even pure fancy on her part, for ever since that meeting with Van Zwieten in Durban her nerve was anything but steady. At all events, she decided not to say anything to her husband about it lest he should forbid her excursions altogether, and now that she had taken to riding again she was very loth to give it up. She wondered if it might be possible that Van Zwieten was about. It was possible--just possible, but she thought not probable. He would know that Wilfred was in the camp, and that he would have no hesitation in denouncing him as a spy; and for that reason she did not think he would be so foolish as to trust himself within the British lines. At least so long as she kept on this side the Tugela he could not molest her. He was no fool to risk his life in a mad attempt which would mean certain failure. So she comforted herself. But the feeling of being watched still remained with her. At last the order to advance was given, and the men, tired of inaction, joyfully obeyed. Harold had been absent two days on scout duty this time across the river which Warren's brigade were preparing to negotiate. He had been sent out with a small force to make a reconnaissance in the enemy's country. She was beginning to feel rather anxious for his return. Despondent and full of vague foreboding as she was, she fancied that a ride would do her good, and she set out as usual, somewhere about sundown. She intended to go only a short way and return before it grew dark. The Kaffir who saddled her horse watched her ride out of the camp and grinned evilly. Behind the rugged mountains the sky was a fiery red, and was barred with black clouds. The air was hot and sultry, and there was promise of a storm in those heavy masses lying in the east. Under the crimson glare the veldt looked grim and ominous. The kopies stood up like huge gravestones; and where the grass failed, the sandy karoo, even more barren, took its place. Here and there were farmhouses with red walls and corrugated outbuildings, and the dull red light bathed the lonesome scene as if in blood. The oppressive feeling in the air recalled to Brenda's mind that memorable night at Chippingholt when Malet had been done to death. Just such another storm was impending. She began to feel nervous as the recollection came upon her and she decided to return.