e of the fiercest of these gangs of robbers, called the
Bergenaars--the gang led, I believe, by Dragoener. It was Lucas Van
Dyk, the hunter, who told me, and he is said to be generally correct in
his statements."

Bertha's nether lip quivered, and she hid her face in her hands for a
few moments in silence.

"Oh! I'm so sorry--so sorry," she said at length, looking up. "He was
so gentle, so kind. I can't imagine Ruyter becoming one of those
dreadful Bergenaars, about whose ferocious cruelty we hear so much--his
nature was so different. I can't believe it."

"I fear," rejoined Considine gently, "that it is true. You know it is
said that oppression will drive even a wise man mad, and a man will take
to anything when he is mad."

"It could not drive a Christian to such a life," returned the girl
sadly. "Oh! I _wish_ he had become a Christian when Stephen Orpin
spoke to him, but he wouldn't."

"When did Orpin speak to him, and what did he say?" asked Considine,
whose own ideas as to Christianity were by no means fixed or clear.

"It was just after that time," rejoined Bertha, "when Jan Smit had had
him tied to a cart-wheel, and flogged so terribly that he could not walk
for some days. Orpin happened to arrive at the time with his waggon--
you know he has taken to going about as a trader,--and he spoke a great
deal to Ruyter about his soul, and about Jesus coming to save men from
sin, and enabling them to forgive their enemies; but when Ruyter heard
about forgiving his enemies he wouldn't listen any more. Pointing to
his wounds, he said, `Do you think I can forgive Jan Smit?'"

"I don't wonder," said Considine; "it is too much to expect a black
fellow smarting under the sjambok to forgive the man who applies it--
especially when it is applied unjustly, and with savage cruelty."

Bertha was not gifted with an argumentative spirit. She looked
anxiously in the face of her companion, and murmured some broken
sentences about the Lord's Prayer and the Golden Rule, and wound up by
saying hesitatingly, "How can we ask forgiveness if we do not forgive?"

"You are right, Bertha," was Considine's rejoinder, uttered gravely;
"but, truly, a man must be more than a man to act on such principles.
Think, now of the state of things at the present time with regard to the
settlers. The `rust,' as they call that strange disease which has
totally ruined the first year's crop of wheat, has thrown the most of
them into difficu