judge from what I saw of him in town last season. Then he is a popular cricketer, you know."
"I know. But the idea of a foreigner playing cricket!"
"Well, Mr. van Zwieten does, and very well too. You must have seen about his play in the papers. He is a great man at Lord's."
"All the same, he is a mystery; and he is too much mixed up with the Boers to please me. If there is a war, I hope he'll be with them that I may have a shy at him."
Brenda laughed, and pressed her lover's arm. "You silly boy, you are jealous."
"I am, I am. Who wouldn't be jealous of you? But this is not war, Brenda dear. Let us talk about ourselves. I can't get this twenty thousand pounds until Malet dies. I see nothing for it but to marry on my three hundred a year. I dare say we'll scrape along somehow."
"I have two hundred a year of my own," cried Brenda, vivaciously; "that makes ten pounds a week. We can easily manage on that, dear."
"But your father?"
"Oh, he wants me to marry Mr. van Zwieten, of course," said she, with great scorn. "So I must just do without his consent, that's all. It sounds wrong, Harold, doesn't it? But my father has never done his duty by me. Like most men who serve the public, he has sacrificed his all to that. I was left to bring myself up as best I could and so I think I have the right to dispose of myself. My father is nothing to me--you are everything."
"Dearest!" He kissed her. "Then let us marry--but no--" he broke off abruptly. "If war should break out in South Africa I would have to leave you!"
"But I wouldn't be left," said Brenda, merrily. "I would go out with you--yes, to the front!"
"I'm afraid you couldn't do that."
"I could and I would. I would go officially as a nurse. But, Harold, why don't you see your lawyer about this money? He may find means to force Mr. Malet to pay it to you."
"I intend to see him to-morrow, dearest. I am going up to town by the six train this evening, though I confess I don't like leaving you with this Van Zwieten."
"I think I can undertake to keep Mr. van Zwieten at his distance," said Brenda, quietly, "even though my father encourages him."
"I believe your father hates me," said Harold, gloomily, "He cut me just now."
"Cut you, dear; what do you mean?"
"Just what I say, Brenda. I met you father, and he cut me dead."
She stared at her lover in amazement. "You can't possibly have seen my father," she said decisively. "He is ill with influenza, and hasn't left his room for two days!"
CHAPTER II.
A SHOT IN THE DARKNESS.
After many and fervent farewells, the lovers embraced and went home. It was understood that Harold should go to London that evening by the five o'clock local from Chippingholt, which connected with the express at Langton Junction, some twenty miles away. After seeing his lawyer, he was to write her a full account of the interview, and arrange definitely the details for their marriage. Meanwhile, to set his mind at rest, Brenda promised to see as little of Van Zwieten as possible.
As her father was ill, she was compelled to play the part of hostess--an ungrateful one enough toward a guest she so disliked--but as the Dutchman had arranged to leave next morning, she hoped for so short a time to obey the laws of hospitality, and at the same time keep him at his distance. But even so the situation was a trying one, and Brenda relished it little.
The cottage was an unpretentious little place on the borders of Chippingholt, where the orchards began to stretch toward the woods. Scarse was not well off, and had been fortunate enough to obtain it at quite a nominal rental. He kept a cook and one housemaid, both of whom Brenda looked after; and despite his slender means, his style of living was in every way refined. The largest room in the house had been turned into a study, and here Brenda now found her father buried in blue-books, pamphlets and newspapers.
Scarse was a lean, tall anæmic-looking creature. His hair was quite white, his pallid and wrinkled face clean-shaven, and his whole aspect was one of peevishness and querulousness. In spite of the warmth he had ordered a fire to be lighted, and, wrapped in a llama wool dressing-gown, he crouched over it with the Daily Mail spread out upon his knees. He looked ill and cross, and seemed terribly feeble. Brenda was more than ever certain, now that she saw him, that Harold had been mistaken in thinking it was he whom he had met. He looked, she thought, more fit for bed than for walking.
"Come in, come in," he said in his thin, cantankerous voice. "Shut the door, Brenda; there is quite a draught."
"Are you no better, father?" she asked, coming toward him and taking his hand. Scarse snatched it away.
"Not a bit, my dear. This thing has a hold of me--I am aching all over. Of course it comes just to prevent my speaking at the Trafalgar Square meeting next week!"
"You can send an excuse."
"I can't and I won't," snapped her father. "This paper shows me how necessary it is for all men to protest against this unjust war, which has been forced upon the Boers. I must speak in favor of that honest, God-fearing band of farmers, who are in danger of being crushed by a capitalist war. I want to see Van Zwieten about this article. It is perfectly scandalous. Where is he?"
"I don't know. I've not seen him all the afternoon."
"Is that the way you attend to your guests?"
"He is no guest of mine," cried Brenda, indignantly. "I can't bear the man. His mere presence is most objectionable to me."
"You are a foolish, strong-headed girl, Brenda. Van Zwieten wants to marry you, as I have told you, and he is----
"I won't marry him. I detest the man."
"And you fancy you are in love with that scamp of a Burton?" said Scarse, frowning.
"Harold is not a scamp, father. He is noble and honest, and everything that is good. I will marry no one but him."
"I shall never give my consent--never!"
"Then I must do without it," replied Brenda, determinedly. "I do not want to behave otherwise than as a daughter should, father, but I love Harold, and I hate Van Zwieten."
"Don't be silly," said the M.P., querulously. "Van Zwieten is well off. He is a good match for you. He can give you a good position."
"In the Transvaal, I suppose," scoffed Brenda.
"Yes. And where could you live better than in a new land, where the vices of civilization have not penetrated! I don't speak of Johannesburg, that sink of iniquity, but of Pretoria, and of those towns where the Boer element exists pure and simple, With your husband in the Government you can help him to build up an ideal state."
"I don't want to build up anything. Harold and I can be happy by ourselves."
"You shall never marry the scamp, I tell you," cried Scarse, angrily. "Let alone his character, which is
