In the bright sunlight the troops embarked, speeches were made, healths were drunk, and many a hand gripped hand. On board the transport the officers were busy looking after their men and superintending the horses being taken on board. Brenda, quietly dressed, and doing her best to keep up her spirits, was leaning on the arm of her father, and longing for a few last words with Harold. But Captain Burton--a fine, soldierly figure in his khaki uniform--was on duty, and could not be spared for the moment. Much as Mr. Scarse disliked the war and reprobated the causes which had led to it, he had come down with Brenda to see the last of Harold; but in the face of all this he could not but lament inwardly that the good offices of the peace party had not prevailed. This stir and military activity was surely out of all proportion to the business in hand--the subjugation of a mere handful of farmers! But Mr. Scarse forgot that wasps are not so easily crushed--that the larger the fist that tries to crush them the greater the chance of its being stung. While thus meditating on the iniquity of his country, he felt his daughter start, and when he looked at her he saw that she was white and trembling. "What is it, Brenda?" he asked nervously, for he had not been the same man since his interview with the Dutchman. "I have seen Mr. van Zwieten," she replied faintly. "He is yonder in the crowd. He smiled in that horrible way of his when he caught my eye." "Never mind, Brenda. Van Zwieten can do no harm now; and shortly we shall be rid of him altogether. He is going out to the Cape." "To Pretoria, you mean." "No, I mean to the Cape," returned her father. "Rather to my surprise, I hear he has given up his appointment in the Transvaal, and has thrown in his lot with this misguided country. He goes with Lord Methuen as the correspondent of _The Morning Planet_--to report the massacre of his unfortunate countrymen, I suppose." "I don't believe he is on our side," Brenda said vehemently. "At heart he is a traitor, and has been living in London spying for the benefit of the Boers--so, at least, Wilfred tells me." "Wilfred is an excitable boy. Can he prove this wild charge?" "Not now; but he intends to do so later." "He never will. Believe me, I don't like Van Zwieten, and I regret very much that I ever made a friend of him, but I don't think he is a spy." "I'm sure he is!" "How _can_ you be sure?" "Because I hate him," replied Brenda, with true feminine logic. "And if he is going to the front, I'll tell Harold to keep a sharp eye on him." "It might be quite as well, dear," replied her father, "forewarned is forearmed; and when he learns the truth about you, it is quite possible he might attempt some plot against Harold." "I'm not afraid. Harold can protect himself even against such a scoundrel as Van Zwieten. Here is Harold, father. How splendid he looks!"