"What! Mrs. Burton?" he said politely, as he swung himself off his big black steed. "Well, I am surprised. This is indeed an unexpected pleasure." Brenda shrank back and fumbled for her revolver. Brave as she was, the man's mocking suavity terrified her. She said not a word, but looked at him as he stood, strong and tall and masterful, beside his horse. "Can you not speak?" he said impatiently. "How comes it that I find you here?" "My horse ran away with me and threw me," said Brenda, keeping at a safe distance from the preserver Fate had so ironically sent her. "Will you please to conduct me back to the camp, Mr. van Zwieten?" "What! and run the chance of arrest? No, thank you. But there is a Boer farmhouse a couple of miles away, near the river. I can take you there if you like." "Can I trust you?" asked Brenda, in a tremulous voice. "You can trust the man who loves you." "If you talk to me like that I won't go with you." "Then I am afraid you will have to pass the night on the veldt." "Mr. van Zwieten," she said with dignity, "an accident has placed me in your company, but not in your power. I have a revolver, and if you attempt to insult me I shall----" "Kill me, I suppose." "No, but I will kill myself!" His face twitched. He knew she would do what she said, and his love for her was so great that he would prevent that, even at the cost of his own life. "You need have no fear, Mrs. Burton," he said in a low tone; "I will treat you with all respect. Get on my horse and we will make for the farmhouse I speak of." Unpleasant as it was, there seemed nothing for it but to accept his offer. The position could not be worse, and it might be made better. So far, she thought, she had the upper hand; but she was puzzled by his politeness, and mistrusted it. However, she had no time to analyze her sensations, for the darkness was coming on apace, and the sooner she reached human habitation the better. "I will go with you," she said bravely; "I will accept your offer. I do not think you are a good man, and I have used hard words to you, I know; still, I will trust you now." Van Zwieten bowed. He said no word, but held the stirrup for her to mount. With his assistance she swung herself into the saddle, and being a good horse-woman, she settled herself comfortably on it without much difficulty. In silence he began to lead the horse across the veldt. All the while she kept a tight grasp on her little revolver and a sharp eye on his every action. For some time they proceeded thus without a word. Then Van Zwieten laughed in a low, musical way. "What a fool I am!" he said slowly. "I love you madly; I have you in my power, and yet I do not take so much as a kiss. I am a coward!" Her face burned in the darkness, but she gave no sign of fear. "You call yourself a coward," she said calmly. "I call you a brave man." "Oh, I am a spy!" he cried scornfully.