the fence round the house was made of stone, and the boers took advantage of this as cover, whilst some of them sheltered behind the trunks of the red gums. even then the besieged had the advantage, for they were protected by the walls of the farmhouse, and could shoot without exposing themselves. to van zwieten, the disappointment of not having succeeded in shooting harold in the first dastardly attack was very great. had their leader been killed, he imagined that the soldiers would have surrendered, quite forgetting that it was not the custom of englishmen to yield to anything but death. now, however, there was nothing for it but to take the place before relief could arrive. by all his gods he swore that brenda should be his.

mrs. burton herself remained in the sitting-room, revolver in hand. far from being afraid, the girl, much to her own surprise, was filled with the terrible joy of battle; indeed, she was in the highest spirits. the boers fired at the windows and wherever they saw a puff of smoke. as the bullets sang, and the smell of powder became stronger, brenda could hardly contain her excitement. the boer woman was on her knees in a back room praying with all her might that the accursed rooineks would be taken and killed. her husband and sons were with the armies of the republic, and her whole heart was with her countrymen outside. how gladly, had she dared, would she have opened the door to them!

harold ordered his men to reserve their fire. his aim was not so much to score a victory as to hold the house until help arrived. on their side the enemy were equally careful, and the fight progressed but slowly. there were thirty boers, more or less, and of these three were already dead, while two were wounded. of those in the house only the man shot under the white flag was dead. van zwieten, looking anxiously over the plain, fearing every moment to see some sign of the british advance, cursed the slowness of the affair. at last he picked some men and sent them round to try and get at the horses of the besieged; but harold had got them under shelter in a shed, with five men in front to guard them. the boers creeping round the corner were met by a volley which killed four and wounded two. they fled swearing, and captain burton rejoiced.

"reserve your fire, men! we shall hold out after all!"

"by heaven we will, sir!" one of the men answered. "we'll fight to the last rather than an english lady should fall into the hands of these dirty rascals. ho! give 'em beans, you beggars!"

and this the beggars in question proceeded to do.

then van zwieten sent forward a dozen men on to the verandah with a rush. their advance was covered by a steady fire from the rear, though not one of the besiegers showed himself. simultaneously another body attacked the back shed wherein the horses were housed, and in spite of the british fire succeeded in effecting their entrance to the yard. then they rushed the shed, which was an open one. two englishmen fell, and there was no one to fill their places, for their comrades were fighting desperately on the verandah in front.

van zwieten, seeing his advantage, led the remainder of his force to the other side of the house, where there was a wide window. it opened into the room where the boer woman was kneeling. she flung open the shutters. van zwieten jumped in, followed by half-a-dozen of his men, and the first those within knew of it was when they found themselves attacked in the rear. they right about faced, put their backs to the wall, and fought like men. then, as a reward for her treachery, a stray bullet pierced the brain of the boer woman.

meanwhile, the men who forced entrance into the yard were steadily gaining ground. but hearing the firing within the house they turned back by the front again, in order to come to the rescue of their comrades. the party on the veranda broke through the door and hurled themselves forward. boer after boer fell before the british fire, for harold had now concentrated his men--what there were left of them. gradually he was driven back to the sitting-room. a shout of triumph from outside announced that those who had remained had succeeded in capturing the horses.

within, the whole place was dense with smoke. brenda, in obedience to her husband's orders, was lying flat on the floor beside the sofa. she gave up all for lost, but determined she would not be taken alive. she was only waiting until her husband fell. in the midst of it all she could discern van zwieten. rifles were useless now. it was hand to hand work. the end was near.

there, in the little room, harold stood with three of his men beside him. the others were either dead or dying. but the boers had got off by no means cheaply. at least twenty of them had been done for. the four englishmen, with their backs to the wall, fought on, using revolver, muzzle and butt-end, until at last their cartridges gave out, and they threw down their weapons with a curse and surrendered. there was nothing for it. van zwieten gave vent to a yell of triumph. his men threw themselves on burton. but the englishman was too quick for them. he stepped back quickly and levelled his revolver. he had one chamber loaded.

"i have just one left," he said hoarsely "stand up to it, van zwieten, for i am keeping it for you!"

"finish him, men!" roared the dutchman.

"no, no," cried brenda, and before a man could move she had flung her arms around her husband and stood between him and them. "the last shot, dear, is for me!" she said.

there was a pause. they held back. harold never flinched. his wife clung to him desperately. his face was streaming with blood from the graze of a bullet. but he was determined to make good use of that last shot.

beside van zwieten stood a huge man with a white, flowing beard. at last the dutchman made a dash forward and attempted to take brenda from her husband's arm.

"you are mine," he cried madly, "mine! you shall not die!"

"coward!" hissed burton, "take your lead like the dog you are!" he fired. but she, struggling to free herself from the dutchman's grasp, fell heavily against his right arm and spoilt his aim. the bullet whizzed overhead. he threw down his weapon and prepared for the worst. he put her behind him. sobbing, she fell on her knees and clasped her arms around his legs. she felt for her revolver that she might be sure of death when he died.

"fire!" rang out from van zwieten. "spare the woman, kill the man!"

two boers levelled. but the old man with the white beard rushed forward and struck them aside. they fell wide. "hold!" he cried, "let no man fire!"

"damn you, piet bok, what do you mean?" asked van zwieten, savagely.

"ah! piet bok!" cried harold, seeing a chance of life and of saving his wife, "i am your prisoner again. i yield to you."

"fire, men!" shouted van zwieten. "fire, i tell you!" he was seething with rage at the fear lest his prey was going to escape him. then turning to the old man he said, "piet bok! this is my business!"

"it is the business of the republic," retorted piet, coolly, and at the same moment he struck down a boer who was about to fire. "i'll shoot the first man who disobeys my orders," he said. "clear the room. i am in command here!"

it was done. then they set to work to drag out the bodies of the dead and tend the wounded.

soon harold and his wife, piet bok and van zwieten, were left alone. for the third time the dutchman had been baffled. the man whom of all others he would have had dead still lived.

harold, knowing well that piet bok would stand his friend, said nothing for the moment, but wrapped his arms round brenda and faced the two men. the issues of life and death were in their hands.

"will you sit down, englishman?" said piet bok. "i see you are wounded."

"a mere scratch!" replied harold; "but my wife will sit with your permission!"

"your wife!" echoed the boer leader, who spoke english well enough. "you never told me she was the rooinek's wife!" he added, turning to van zwieten.

"i did not think it was necessary," growled the other; "besides, i thought that would have ceased to be by now!"

"yes, i can well believe that!" cried brenda, with sudden energy. "mynheer bok, do not believe what this man says. he tried to carry me off from my husband last night; and when i escaped to this place he brought you and your men up with the sole object of having my husband shot. he would shoot him now if he dared!"

"that he shall not do whilst i am here!" cried piet bok. "you are both prisoners of the republic, and as such you shall be treated."

"nothing of the sort!" cried van zwieten, mad with rage. "i demand that the man be shot and the woman be given to me!"

piet bok signed to harold to remain silent. "on what grounds?"

"on the grounds that this woman was engaged to marry me with the consent of her father, and that this man has married her against her father's will."

"is this true?" asked the boer leader.

"no!" cried brenda, "it is not true. at one time my father, deceived by this wicked van zwieten, did wish me to marry him. but when he found out his true character he consented to my marriage with captain burton. i never was engaged to him! i always hated him. this is my husband!" she laid her hand on harold's shoulder. "give me to that man and i will kill myself."

"she raves!" said van zwieten. "he has turned her against me."

"that is another lie," said harold, fiercely. "you don't believe him, piet bok?"

"no, i don't believe him," replied the big man, quietly. "i believe the lady. my friend," he added, turning to van zwieten, "can you wish to marry a woman who openly declares hatred for you? besides, she is already the wife of this english soldier, and she loves him." the dutchman winced. "i demand his death!" he cried.

"on what grounds?"

"he is a murderer."

"that is untrue," brenda said quietly, "and you know it, mr. van zwieten."

"oh, i wish i could meet you face to face and fight it out!" harold said, between his teeth. "only death will stop that cursed tongue of yours."

"a murderer!" repeated piet bok, looking at captain burton. "that is a serious matter. state your case, van zwieten."

glibly enough he complied. he related the events which had taken place at chippingholt, the death of mr. malet, the finding of the revolver belonging to harold, and ended by stating his conviction that the crime had been committed by captain burton. "and he killed malet because he was on our side, because he was supplying information about the accursed english to me for the use of the republic. he----

"it is wholly untrue, piet bok!" cried harold, furious at the man's audacious mendacity. "i did not kill malet; i did not know at that time that he was betraying his own country to van zwieten. this man's one idea is to get me put out of the way that he may marry my wife, who hates him; and he cares not how he achieves his desire so long as he does achieve it."

"i hate him!--oh, how i hate him!" cried brenda. "i will kill myself rather than have anything to do with him. if my husband dies i will die too. oh, mynheer bok, save me; save my husband from that man!"

"if you do not shoot the murderer," van zwieten said in his turn, "you are no friend to the republic, piet bok!"

the big boer turned round and cursed him for his words.

"i am a true burgher of the transvaal," said piet bok, with vehemence, "and you are an outlander; one of those rats who want to creep into our corn rick and grow fat. the whole of the war is the doing of such as you. what do you know about me in connection with my own country? nothing. and what you say about these people is untrue. the woman hates you. you would kill her husband to marry her against her will. as to the rooinek, he is not the kind of man to murder. with my own eyes i saw him spare my boy, hans. you shall harm neither of them."

"what will you do, then?" shouted van zwieten, furiously.

"send them to pretoria as prisoners. yes; but not in your charge, mark you. you would kill them on the road. i command here, van zwieten. go out, mynheer, and get your men together. the british are advancing and i have no fancy for being trapped. go!"

"but these two!" said the other.

"i will be responsible for these two," thundered piet bok. "do you want to be shot yourself? that you will be, unless you obey instantly."

very unwillingly van zwieten turned and went, and they heard his voice outside shouting to his men. brenda sprang forward and kissed bok's hand. "thank you, mynheer, for your goodness. god bless you!"

"piet bok, you are a brick!" cried harold, enthusiastically; "and since it seems my fate to be a prisoner, i would rather be your prisoner than anyone else's."

"you spared my boy's life, man," was the answer, "and i am not ungrateful. i know van zwieten is a bad man, but he is powerful with our oom paul. he will make trouble when you are sent to pretoria." the old man bent forward and whispered, "if i can help you to escape i will. hush! not a word, my children. i hate van zwieten. he is one of those who have ruined our country. come, now we must go."

considerably cheered by the friendly spirit displayed by the old man, brenda and her husband went out on to the verandah. here they found the boers--they had buried their dead and had secured the other prisoners--ready to start. the english dead were left unburied, much to harold's wrath, and he begged bok to let him and his surviving fellows bury them before leaving. but the permission was refused.

"we must get away; there is not time. your column will be upon us immediately, i know. mount, englishmen. and you, lady--see, we have found a saddle for you. ah! you cannot say we burghers are not civilised. no!"

there was no help for it. brenda mounted, and found the saddle comfortable enough. as it afterwards transpired, van zwieten had brought it on a spare horse, so sure had he been of capturing brenda. how he had managed to procure it in the there boer entrenchments it was impossible to say, but it was, and brenda on it now, but not--as the dutchman had no doubt fondly pictured to himself--his captive. with an expression black as thunder he was riding at the head of the troop. piet bok remained in the rear between brenda and her husband. as they left the house, harold looked in vain for any sign of general warren's division.

prisoners they were, and prisoners they seemed likely to remain, with every probability of being sent on to pretoria, where they would be at the mercy of the intrigues of van zwieten once again. but piet bok saw the heavy glower of the dutchman, and had his own views as to the reason for it.

"you expected your column to come up?" he said in a low tone; "so did we. our spies have kept us correctly informed. but it seems there is some delay in crossing the tugela."

"are you disputing the passage?"

"no, we are not. we intend to offer no resistance to your reaching the mountains."

"why? surely you should dispute the river passage."

"no! we are about to--never mind. we know what we are doing. your men are very brave--oh, yes; but your generals--ah, well! the dear lord has shown them what they should do--for the benefit of the burghers."

not another word would piet bok say; but captain burton gathered from his looks and speech that the division was being led into a trap. the boers were past masters in the art of ensnaring their enemies; and on this occasion they were quite capable of entrapping the whole of buller's army amongst the mountains. if harold had only been alone he would have made a dash for freedom and hastened to warn his commanding officer. but as he was placed that was impossible. he could not risk his wife's safety even for that of his division. he could only comfort himself with the thought that the british generals had been rendered more wary by their late reverses, and trust that they would succeed in avoiding this especial trap.

for some hours the little troop trotted over the veldt and drew nearer to the mountains in which the boers had their entrenchments. hitherto van zwieten had kept away from brenda, but now he ranged up beside her while harold was in front with piet bok. the man looked pale, while his eyes burned like fire. brenda shuddered as she glanced at him and turned her horse away.

"you are not safe from me yet," he said, noting the action. "and though you shrink from me now, you will come to me later. i have finished with kindly methods. now i will be your master. your husband shall die! yes, in spite of that old fool. and when he is dead i will marry you. don't think you have beaten me--or ever will!"

"i am not afraid of you, though you threaten me ever so often," she replied calmly, "for i see that god is thwarting all your wicked schemes. twice before i escaped you: this is the third time. you are strong, mr. van zwieten, but you are not so strong as god!"

"bah! why do you preach to me? i know what i am doing."

"you do not," she said steadily, "but i do. you are marching to your death. yes, it is true. i believe firmly that you will die in the midst of your wickedness."

"you talk like a child," said he, uneasily, for he was inclined to be superstitious, and her solemn tone of conviction made him uneasy.

"you can laugh at me if you please, but i am certain that what i say is true. you will die--die in----"

but before she could finish her dismal prophecy van zwieten, thoroughly dismayed by her words, had put spurs to his horse and ridden away at full speed.