She needed no second bidding, but hastily gathered together some medical comforts, wrapped herself in a cloak and came out. In silence they walked toward the fatal spot which had been pointed out to Wilfred by a private who had seen Harold fall. She did not weep. Her emotion was too deep for tears. The moment which she had been dreading all these months had arrived--unexpectedly, as all such moments do. Now she felt that the actual event was not so terrible as the expectation had been. There was a chance that he might be alive. He was wiry, healthy, clean-blooded and clean living, and the Mauser bullets, as Brenda had seen, inflicted a clean wound. Full of silent prayer she walked on. Had she heard of this in England she would have been distracted; but somehow, since she was on the spot and would soon be with him, it did not seem quite so terrible. At all events he had fallen in the forefront of battle, doing his work, and not by the treachery of Van Zwieten. If he died he could not die more gloriously. There was comfort in that thought. "I saw Van Zwieten to-day," said Wilfred, suddenly. "You did? Where? When?" asked Brenda, wondering if after all the scoundrel could have had anything to do with this mishap to her husband. "On the lower slopes. I was looking through my field-glass and saw him quite plainly riding about on a big black horse. I recognized him by his long golden beard. I am certain it was he; that was why I wanted you to come with me to see after Harold." "I don't understand----" "Because as Van Zwieten is about the place he is bound to hear that Harold has been shot. He has spies everywhere; and from one of our prisoners I heard that he had described Harold's appearance to several Boer sharp-shooters, that the poor chap might be picked off." "Do you know the prisoner's name?" "Yes; and he's a fine old fellow who did good service to you--Piet Bok!" "Then he was not killed at the time we escaped?" "No, only touched on the right arm. He was taken prisoner this morning. I would have come and told you, but I couldn't get away. I saw him by chance, and he recognized me from my resemblance to Harold. I told him he was wrong and then he informed me of Van Zwieten's new villainy. By this time the man who picked off Harold has, no doubt, told Van Zwieten, and has received his reward. And that scoundrel will probably come down to see if the news is true." "What?" shrieked Brenda. "Oh, don't, Wilfred! If he finds Harold still alive he will kill him." "That's what I thought; and that's why I got you to come with me. I feel certain that the brute will be there." She uttered a cry of mingled terror and pain. "Oh, Wilfred, do not let us lose a moment. Harold, my darling!" She began to run. "Come, Brenda, keep as quiet as you can. You'll need all your strength!"