"_Nee_, _kerel_, _nee_. But that was in the dark," replied Herma.n.u.s, grabbing the bottle and his tin pannikin, which rattled against the gla.s.s neck in the drunken shakiness of his big hand.

"_Maagtig_! leave some for me, Mani," cried Gideon Roux, striving to wrest the bottle from the other. By the time he had succeeded there was precious little in it, and then this n.o.ble pair went forth, rejoicing in antic.i.p.ation of the act of butchery which was to fall to their lot on the morrow.

Left to himself Adrian let fly an e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n of mingled thankfulness and disgust. He had indeed fallen, to have become the boon companion of such as these. They were of the very lowest type--hardly removed from the _bijwoner_ cla.s.s--drunken, coa.r.s.e brutes at that; but now they were his accomplices in his act of murderous villainy--his tools. His tools?

Yes, but they would soon become his masters.

No, that they should not--he told himself. Let to-morrow's deed be done and over, and they would soon see that he was not a man to be trifled with. Reveal the conspiracy? Would they? And if so, who was going to take the word of two such shady characters as they? No, indeed. But after to-morrow he would turn over a new leaf--would make a fresh start.

A fresh start? What sort of a fresh start could be made with murder for its foundation? Yes--murder! Alone there in the silent night, alone with his evil conscience, the words of his victim uttered that morning-- uttered, too, with the semblance of a prophecy--came back to him: "So sure as I stand here death will find you. Within three days death will find you out." He shivered. Men on the brink of the grave were, he had heard tell, at times gifted with supernatural foresight. And then in letters of fire upon the darkness of his thoughts seemed to blaze forth those other words: "They who take the sword shall perish by the sword."

For "sword" read "bullet" Colvin Kershaw was to die in the morning, with several bullets through him. He, Adrian, had murdered him--by means of a fiendish plot, and abundance of false testimony. The next few weeks-- months even--would bring with them a series of hard-fought battles, and then should _he_ escape?

"Bah!" he exclaimed, pulling himself together. "These are all old women's tales. I must take my chance, and I dare say it is as good as any other's. What is the use of a college education if I get the funks over old exploded superst.i.tions only good enough for those two pigs who have just gone out? I wish they had left me something in this bottle all the same," holding it up, as though still vainly hoping, and then pitching it outside the tent. "Wheels!" listening a moment. "The _predikant_ must be arriving. Well, much good may _he_ do."

He could hear the trap draw up at Gideon Roux' house over the way and the sound of voices, could see a light or two, as the people were outspanning. Then he re-entered his tent, and again his thoughts reverted to the doomed man. "Within three days death will find you out," the latter had said, and again Adrian's heart failed him as he remembered how likely of fulfilment this prophecy was. Out yonder in the low country the British were advancing, and now their own forces were lying ma.s.sed ready to give battle. "Within three days!"

A voice outside, drawing nearer, broke in upon his reverie.

"That is his tent," it was saying. "We will see if he is there.

Adrian!" and with the call the flap of the tent was parted and a bearded face appeared. "I have brought you a visitor, Adrian."

The man made way for a second person, a tall, female figure wearing a long cloak.

"Aletta!" cried Adrian in amazement, as a throwing back of the hood revealed the features. "Well, and what brings you up here?" he went on in a hard tone, trying to hide the mortification, the jealous rage he was feeling.

"I am here to save you from blood-guilt--to save you from heaping a black and cruel murder on your soul," answered the girl, her eyes shining bright and stedfast upon his face as she stood confronting him.

"No, no. You have come to save this faithless hound--this lover of yours. But you can't. We are taking too good care of him for that,"

sneered Adrian, stung by jealousy and hatred. No conscience qualms inconvenienced him now.

"But I must say, Aletta," he went on, "that I see you here with very great surprise. After what you saw--saw with your own eyes mind--at Johannesburg I wonder you can give this fellow a further thought."

"I will not have him murdered. Listen, Adrian. _You_ let Frank Wenlock escape in order to fix the blame upon Colvin and so compa.s.s his death.

Yes, you ought to be in this place."

For the life of him the other could not repress the amazement, dismay, guilt, which leaped into his face. Aletta spoke with such confidence, such knowledge. How could she know? he thought. Had Roux or Delport been bragging in their cups? As a matter of fact, however, she was merely shooting a random bolt.

"I think you must have taken leave of your senses, Aletta," he answered.

Then changing his tone, as the sight of her standing before him stirred up all the old jealous rage against this English interloper, he went on: "And what if I did? What if I did? He will be shot anyhow."

"Adrian, I never thought to have to name you a cowardly murderer--one who kills not openly, but by lies and plots."

"I don't mind that. What about this valiant Englishman who sneaks in between you and me, and steals away your love from me, only to make a plaything of it? Yes, for it would have been mine, I know it would.

And we should have been happy--ah yes, happy. This English dog! What name have you for such as he? And have you forgotten, Aletta, that little talk we had one day in the garden at Ratels Hoek? I told you then that the man who should come between you and me had better look after himself, whoever he might be. I told you that, did I not? Well, this man has come between you and me, and in less than twelve hours he will be dead!--Dead--do you hear?"

His voice had taken on a sort of growl, and his face was hard and set with hate and pa.s.sion.

"No, he will not be," she answered. "For I will save him. Yes--I.

This very night I will go and plead with the Commandant. He will listen to me for my father's sake. If the worst comes to the worst, I will denounce you as the real offender. For I can convince him that you are."

"No--no. I think not," replied Adrian jeeringly. "Schoeman is as hard as iron, and you might plead with him until the Day of Judgment for all you would effect. The fact of you being your father's child would not move him an inch. He would be more likely to say it was a shameful and scandalous thing for a girl to thrust herself forward in such a matter.

But if you want to make perfectly sure, come with me and I will take you to his tent now. All the same, by going there you will be destroying any slender chance Colvin might have."

His words, his confident manner, had their weight with Aletta. It was exceedingly probable she might fail to move the Commandant. She had another card in her hand--a better trump she thought--and she decided to throw it.

"Oh, Adrian, I fear you are right," she said softly, still talking in English, as they had been doing all the time, by way of precaution against prying ears. "But do not let us quarrel and say hard things to each other. I thought _you_ would help me if anybody would." Her eyes filled, and she hardly seemed able to go on. The sight softened Adrian!

who was as madly, pa.s.sionately in love with her as ever. "Do help me, Adrian. You are able if anybody is. I want to save his life for the sake of what he has been to me. Listen. I never want to see or speak with him again--only to save his life. Oh, it is horrible--horrible that such things should be done! Help me, Adrian! It is only to save his life, and you from murder."

Ah, she had come down now from her judgment seat. She was the pleader now. Adrian, whose sombre eyes had never left her face throughout this appeal, was conscious of the wave of a new hope surging through his being.

"You only want to save his life? Never to see or speak with him again?"

he repeated.

"Yes--yet no. I must just see him to satisfy myself that he is really alive and safe--but not to speak to him."

For fully a minute they stood there gazing into each other's face in the dull light of the tent lantern. Then Adrian said:

"You are right, Aletta. I can help you. I can save his life. But"-- and his words were slow and deliberate, and full of meaning--"if I do what is to be my reward?"

She understood, but she did not flinch.

"If you do--if you save his life, if you let him escape, I will marry you, Adrian! That is what you wish, I suppose?"

"Great G.o.d, it is!" he answered fervently, his dark face flushing with intense joy. "You will soon forget this Englishman, my darling--you, whom I have loved ever since we were children. But--swear that you will keep this compact, Aletta."

"I swear it," she answered, hardly recognising her own voice.

"I will keep my side. I will show you this Englishman alive and free, and then you will marry me?"

"But how--how will you do it?"

"That is my affair--leave that to me. Kiss me, Aletta, to seal our compact."

"No--no. Not here, not now," holding up a warning hand. "Do you not see? The light throws our shadows on the tent. I am going now.

Remember, I trust to you. No--do not come with me. I prefer to be alone."

It was only a hundred yards across to Gideon Roux' house, where Aletta was to sleep. She had sacrificed herself to save the life of the man who had faithlessly made a plaything of her love, and her heart was cold and heavy within her, for she had bought that life at a great price-- even the price of herself.

Adrian from his tent door watched her retreating form, and his triumph and delight were unbounded. He had won all along the line; and Aletta had immolated herself all to no purpose. For he had no intention of fulfilling his side of the compact. Even though he won her, his peace and happiness in her possession would never be secure while Colvin Kershaw lived; therefore, Colvin should die at dawn, and in a few days he would satisfy Aletta that he had fulfilled his bargain by showing her that other Kershaw whose likeness had deceived her before, but under circ.u.mstances which would preclude speech--even as upon that other occasion.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

IN THE SHADOW OF DOOM.

"Curious sort of 'condemned cell' this," whimsically thought Colvin Kershaw to himself, as he gazed around the place wherein he was confined, and whence Frank Wenlock had escaped. For Commandant Schoeman's promise that he should take the late prisoner's place had been carried out to the letter, and here he was, shut up within Gideon Roux' stable, only to leave it to go forth and meet his death.

He had pleaded to be allowed the use of the tent he had hitherto occupied--at any rate, until nightfall. Not many more hours of G.o.d's air and sunshine would be his, he had urged. But a decided refusal had been returned--a refusal tinged with characteristic sanctimoniousness.