"So you know where I have just come from, eh, _ou' maat_?" he said.

"Now where is that?"

"Ah! ah! Miss Wenlock is a pretty girl, isn't she?" rejoined the other meaningly. "_Ja_, Colvin, you are a _slim kerel_. Prettier girl than Aletta, isn't she?"

Aletta? That must be the Boer girl Colvin was supposed to be entangled with, decided Kenneth quickly. But what was her other name, and who the devil was this good-looking young Dutchman who talked English so well?

Aletta's brother possibly. He just replied "H'm," which might have meant anything, and waited for the other to continue.

"What will Aletta say when she knows?" went on the Boer, and his bantering tone, through which the smouldering glow of malice underlying it could not entirely be kept from showing, gave Kenneth his cue.

"Say? Oh, but she need not know," he answered with just a touch of well-simulated alarm.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the other. "Need not know? I think, friend Colvin, I have got you on toast, as you English say, for I shall take very good care she does know. The fact is I have been watching you for some time--from the time you met Miss Wenlock at Park Station right up till now, and I fancy Aletta won't have very much more to say to you when she hears about it all."

"Oh, but look here," went on Kenneth, still affecting alarm. "You're not going to give the show away, old sportsman. Dash it all, it isn't cricket!"

"Not, eh? You just wait and see," jeered the other. "Aha, you seem a bit scared out of your high and mighty English 'side' now. You chose to come between me and Aletta. We grew up together, and I always looked upon her as mine! She would have been but for you. Curse you! I could shoot you now as you stand there," growled the Dutchman, fingering the breech of his rifle. "But I won't, because I want to see Aletta turn away from you in scorn, as she will, directly. That will be a far greater punishment for you--a far better revenge for me."

"By Jove!" said Kenneth to himself. "There's sultry weather sticking out for Colvin, anyhow." This young Boer was evidently a discomfited rival--his own words let that be understood. Then, with lightning swiftness, two aspects of the situation flashed through his scheming brain. He could let the delusion which the other was under as to his ident.i.ty continue, in which case Colvin would probably appeal to May herself to disprove his alleged visits. But then the two would be brought together again, and that was just what he did not want. Or he could frankly offer his aid to this Dutchman, who would certainly jump at any method, however unscrupulous, by which to discomfit his rival.

Colvin would a.s.suredly try reprisals, and in that case the probabilities were he would be shot by the Boers, which was just what he did want. It would end matters comfortably for all concerned. So he decided upon the latter plan.

"See here, my friend," he said, coolly. "All this time you have been holding on hard to the wrong end of the stick. My name is not Colvin."

"Not--not Colvin Kershaw?" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the Boer, open-mouthed.

"No. Devil a bit is it!"

"Now you are lying. There is only one Colvin Kershaw. There cannot be two!"

"Quite right. But I am not that one. There may be other Kershaws, though. Eh! Try again."

"Are you his brother?" said the Boer, suspiciously.

"Well, I am--er--a relative of his. Nor are you the only person who has taken me for him. The fact is, we are as like as two peas. I don't wonder you have been obligingly giving me all your plans. No, don't be afraid. I have no wish to upset them. On the contrary, I am going to offer you my help towards carrying them out."

It was time to make some such declaration. The Boer's hand had been stealing towards his revolver holster, and his face was fell with a deadly meaning. It was almost dark, and the road lonely and deserted.

Dead men tell no tales, and a dead Englishman found there in the morning would cause no concern whatever to the authorities.

"What help can you give me, and why should you wish to?" he said dubiously, his ingrained suspicion forbidding him to trust the other overmuch.

"It can bring about the very thing that would have happened had I been the real Colvin. For my motive--well, that is my business. I may or may not tell it you later, but somehow I think not."

"Do you hate him, then?" said the Dutchman, still suspiciously.

"Not in the least. I am perfectly indifferent to him. But he stands in my way, and must get out of it. That is all."

"He must get out of my way, too," said the other, with a dark scowl.

"Quite so. And if I help you to get him out of your way, you will help me to get him out of mine?"

"Can I trust you?"

"Well, you've got to," answered Kenneth cheerfully, for he saw that the other was nibbling around the bait. "Don't be afraid, though. You won't regret it; and now, excuse me, but I'll be hanged if I know exactly who you are."

"My name is Adrian De la Rey," replied the other. "And yours?"

"Kenneth Kershaw. And now we know each other, there's no need to stand talking out here where we may be overheard, so come along to my diggings, and we'll find something to drink, and have the show to ourselves for weaving a plan of campaign. Say though, it was a fortunate thing you happened up when you did. Those n.i.g.g.e.rs were one too many for me."

Kenneth's quarters were not very much further on, and were situated in the abode of a Polish Jew who had retired to the back premises. At sound of the voices and horse hoofs, this worthy put out his head, then at sight of the armed and mounted burgher, scurried back like a frightened rabbit into its burrow.

"It's all right, Svinsky," called out Kenneth. "Roll up, man. n.o.body's going to eat you or commandeer you."

Thus rea.s.sured, the child of Israel came forth, bowing and cringing.

"Goot evening, sairs. Let dot I shall take de Police chentleman's 'orse. I haf a shtable und still some forage."

"Right," said Kenneth. "After that, Svinsky, we want the house to ourselves. See that we are not interrupted."

"_Ja_, Mishter Kershaw. Dot shall be done."

Having thus disposed of his Hebraic landlord, Kenneth led the way inside and lit up. Then he got out the materials for a rough-and-ready cold supper, and some excellent "square-face," with the apology that it was only "war-fare," the point of which joke was lost on the Dutchman. The latter, however, after a couple of gla.s.ses began to grow more genial and less suspicious.

"_Maagtig_!" he burst forth, eyeing his host. "I never thought one world could contain two people so exactly alike. Here in the light, the likeness is even more wonderful."

"Take a good look at me, De la Rey, and make sure. Now, is there nothing, no mark or anything, that distinguishes me from my--er-- relative?"

"_Ja_, now I do see something. You have a scar, a very slight one-- still I see it--just in front of the parting of your hair. Colvin has not got that. But the colouring, the voice--everything. _Maagtig_! it is wonderful."

Over the meal they began to arrange their plans. Then they lit their pipes and talked on, far into the night, arranging details.

"You know the young lady, Adrian, and I don't," said Kenneth at last.

"If she believes your statement, we needn't go any further. If she doesn't, or doesn't want to, we must give her the most convincing evidence of all--ocular evidence. There will be no going behind that, I fancy."

"_Ja_, that is a fine idea of yours, Kenneth"--under the influence of 'square-face' and a mutual plot these two had become quite fraternal.

"A really fine idea. Aletta will never doubt the evidence of her own eye sight."

Just then, however, Aletta had something to think about on her own account, and a few days after the concocting of this delectable plot saw her seated in the back garden of Piet Plessis' house, engaged in a serious discussion with her _fiance_. For the latter had made up his mind to proceed to the seat of war, and had just been announcing the fact.

Those long weeks spent at Pretoria had been very happy, very sweet. But the sheer restfulness of them had become a trifle enervating. News had kept coming in: news of the stirring events along the border. The flame had spread, and was still spreading. Kimberley was invested, so too was Mafeking, and Vryburg had fallen. Ladysmith was cut off from the outside world, and the burghers of the Republics had successfully carried their arms well into the Cape Colony. He could not sit still, through it all. He must, at any rate, see something of what was going on, and to that end had obtained special permission to join Cronje's force as a non-combatant spectator.

Not easily had this been obtained though. It had taken all Piet Plessis' influence, backed up by that of Andries Botma, with whom Colvin had renewed acquaintance during his stay in the Transvaal. Further, he had to give the most solemn undertaking not to use his position in any way whatever for the benefit of his own countrymen.

"Don't you remember that first evening we met, Aletta?" he was saying.

"You promised yourself to make a convert of me? Well, now I am interested in your side, I want to see how it fights."

"No, no, dearest I can't spare you," she replied, stroking the brown hand which lay in one of her long white ones, with the other. "Oh, and--what if I were to lose you?"