Aletta Part 36

The tone was firm, the answer clear and audible to every soul there present, and the effect thereof did not differ greatly. Some were inclined to resent what they called the obstinacy of the prisoner, but to the minds of most the words carried increased respect.

"One thing more I desire to say," went on Colvin, holding up his hand as he noticed that the Commandant was about to give the signal. "Here, on the brink of the grave, I solemnly repeat I am being put to death for an act which I never committed. I do not say I would not have committed it had opportunity afforded, for the man was my friend. But I did not. I die the victim of false swearing."

"You have refused our mercy, even at the twelfth hour," said Schoeman.

"So be it."

He made a signal. Three men stepped forward, each slapping a cartridge into his rifle, confronting the doomed one at about twenty paces. In that dread and critical moment Colvin recognised two of them--Gideon Roux and Herma.n.u.s Delport. The third was unknown to him.

"Where is Adrian De la Rey?" he said, in a tone of good-humoured satire.

"_He_ should have been the third. It would have made the plot more complete."

Up went the three rifles to the shoulder, then down again immediately.

A gasp of horror arose--of dismay, amazement, consternation. Something had happened.

The doomed man no longer stood alone. Between him and the deadly, levelled weapons--screening him from them--stood a tall female figure, whose graceful lines were shrouded by a long cloak. Just a fraction of a second more, and the murderous bullets would have transpierced two bodies instead of one.

Among the onlookers the thrill of horror and amazement deepened as the hood was thrown back, revealing the head and features of the wearer, who was known to many of them. The countenance of the doomed man lighted up with a glow of such unutterable affection as to leave room for no other emotion.

"Aletta! So you have come to take leave of me!" he said. "My darling one, and yet the sight of you once more adds a hundredfold to the bitterness of death."

"Of death? No, no, you shall not die, unless we both do. Not a bullet shall reach you that does not go through me first."

She clung to him in such wise as to render the truth of her words obvious. The appointed executioners had lowered their weapons and stood irresolute, as though looking for orders.

"Remove her!" cried Commandant Schoeman.

But n.o.body seemed over eager to obey. Then, after a hurried consultation with three or four of his subordinate commanders, he went on:

"You will have a respite of exactly five minutes, Kershaw. Not one second longer."

"We have but a short time, Aletta," resumed Colvin, in English and a low tone. "Tell me quickly--why did you write that strange message--'Remember--_I saw_'? What did it mean? What did you see?"

"Ah, let us forget that. Love--love! That is as nothing now. You shall not die."

"Tell me--tell me! Time is flying," he urged.

Quickly she told him--how Adrian had warned her that she was being deceived; had proved it to her through the agency of her own eyesight, that day at Johannesburg.

"Adrian was lying. Yet there must be somebody bearing a wonderful likeness to me. Look me in the eyes, Aletta. Here at the grave's edge I tell you, this story is absolutely untrue. I went straight to Cronje's column, and did not even leave the train at Johannesburg.

Afterwards you will learn this for yourself. Sweetheart, I have never deceived you in word or deed. Do you believe me now?"

"Implicitly! Oh love, love! I am not fit to live after you, and I will not. Say you forgive me!"

Though they could neither hear nor understand what was said, there was such a wail of despair and loss in her tone as to reach the hearts of the bystanders. Some turned away with wet eyes and a lump in their throats. One or two actually blubbered.

"Forgive?" he repeated.

Only the one word--he too seemed choked for utterance. But it conveyed all--all she would fain have heard. In the face of the whole a.s.sembly, she drew down his head, and pressed her lips to his in one long despairing kiss. One or two more of the burghers turned away and blubbered aloud.

"The time has gone," said Schoeman, in his iron voice. But he might as well not have spoken for all the effect his words seemed to have on the two prominent figures in this heart-rending drama. They were locked in each other's embrace, as though alone in the world together.

"Remove her!" repeated the pitiless tones. "It is a scandal for a woman to make such a scene as this, and at such a time. Why are my orders not obeyed?"

"She is the daughter of one of our most respected neighbours, Commandant," growled a burgher from the Sneeuw River. "We cannot lay hands on her."

"_Ja_, _Ja_. That is true," echoed several voices.

Schoeman was nonplussed. As Aletta had said, the prisoner could only be shot at the price of her life! Then a bright idea struck him.

"You have shown yourself a brave man hitherto, Kershaw," he called out.

"Will you now show yourself a coward and shield yourself behind a woman?

If not, put her away from you and stand forth."

"You hear what he says, Aletta? One more good-bye kiss, my very own, and then leave me. Ah G.o.d--how are we to part like this?"

"We will not part. If they shoot you they shall shoot me. But--they dare not, the cowards. They dare not. See!"

Now her tone rang hard and steely. Still clinging to him, so that he could not move from her side without using force, and yet leaving herself the freedom of her right hand, she had drawn a revolver--a very nasty looking and business-like one at that.

"Now come, brave burghers," she cried. "Advance. The first man who makes a move on us I will shoot--will shoot dead. Then the next, and the next, and then myself. As G.o.d is in Heaven above I will do this."

Not a move was made. They stared at each other stupidly, this crowd of armed men. She would be every bit as good as her word--the flash of her eyes told them so much, for it was that of a tigress when her cubs are threatened. Things were at a deadlock.

"The paper, Commandant! Ask him if he will sign the paper now," was one of the suggestions thrown out.

"_Ja, ja_. He will sign it now," cried several voices. "The paper!

The paper!"

But Commandant Schoeman was in a cold, quiet sort of rage. He was being set at defiance in the face of his whole command, and that by a girl.

He rejected this way out of the difficulty--rejected it curtly and uncompromisingly.

"Remove her," he said again.

One or two of the older men stepped forward, intending to try the effect of remonstrance. But the revolver covered them instantly, aimed low, they noted, and there was such a deadly gleam in Aletta's eyes that they stopped short and retired. Schoeman was white with rage. But before he could decide on what to do next, a diversion occurred, unlooked for and startling.

The sound of many hoofs clattering up the road over beyond the _nek_ was borne to their ears. Whoever the new arrivals were, they were advancing at a furious gallop. The cry went up that the English were upon them, and for a moment the a.s.sembly was in a state of tumult.

Only for a moment, though. Schoeman, as cool and brave a man as ever lived, quelled the confusion by a word or two. For his ears had caught the challenge of their own vedette on the ridge, and the answer thereto in the _taal_. These were not enemies, he decided.

A few moments more a score of hors.e.m.e.n appeared on the _nek_, and rode straight into their midst without drawing rein. A largely built man with a full brown beard was riding at their head.

"_Maagtig_! It is Stepha.n.u.s De la Rey!" was muttered from mouth to mouth. Aletta heard it, at the same time that she recognised her father.

"We are safe, sweetheart," she murmured, beginning to tremble now that danger was over, as she supposed. "I said you should not die. Yes, G.o.d is good. We are safe now."

But those there a.s.sembled had not reached the limit of their surprises for that day yet. The party consisted of about a score of armed Boers who had volunteered to accompany Stepha.n.u.s De la Rey to Schoeman's camp, but riding beside Stepha.n.u.s was one who was not a Boer, being none other than Frank Wenlock, the escaped prisoner.

The burghers crowded around the new arrivals, the general feeling being that of intense relief. For now that the original offender was recaptured, there was no need to shoot this other.