s," said Gert, and away he went. Then she got into the cart
beside Mynheer, and they, too, started.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

AT THE PRICE OF HERSELF.

Up till now Aletta had asked no questions. She had accepted Gert's
assurance, of which the man's obvious distress was sufficient
confirmation. Her quick-witted, practical nature had asserted itself.
That was no time for questions. She must act, and that promptly. Now,
however, that they were well on their way, and covering the ground at
the best pace the _predikants_ excellent horses could put on, she
reckoned the time had come to know more. Why was Colvin Kershaw to be
murdered--for it was murder she declared? What had he done?

But Mynheer could not tell her much beyond the bare facts of the case as
he knew them, for the burghers who had come to fetch him had been
extremely reticent.

"Helping a prisoner to escape. But that is not a thing to shoot a man
for," she said. "Oh, I will plead with the Commandant, and you will,
too, will you not, Mynheer? Ah, if only father were here, they would
not dare do it then. But--who was the prisoner, and did he escape?"

"He escaped--yes. It was Frank Wenlock, and he was to be shot for
insulting the President and the patriot cause, and assaulting one of the
burghers. He was very violent, and very blasphemous--_Ja_, that I can
quite believe, for did not he and some of the worst characters in
Schalkburg disturb our service one evening at Nachtmaal time, by ringing
the bell which hangs outside, and running away? And he gets drunk and
rowdy when he comes into the town. No, he is a bad character. Kershaw
ought not to have exchanged his life for the life of such a man as
that."

They conversed in English so that Mynheer's native groom might not
understand. The burgher escort, too, were mostly close to the vehicle.

So it was for Frank Wenlock's sake that Colvin was throwing away his
life, thought Aletta. Mynheer had spoken truly indeed, as to the vast
disparity of such an exchange. But--he was May's brother. That
explained it all. How Colvin must have loved that other girl, to make
the greatest sacrifice that human being can make--for her sake! And the
thought had a kind of hardening effect upon Aletta, for she was but a
woman after all, not an angel. Why should she continue to pour out her
love upon one who had proved so faithless? Only an hour or two ago she
had been telling herself that he was practically