Her suitor looked up; there was old Silas Croft sure enough, but he was
some way off, and walking slowly.

"Do you mean it?" he said beneath his breath.

"Yes, yes, of course I mean it. Why do you force me to repeat it?"

"It is that damned _rooibaatje_," he broke out. "You used not to be like
this before. Curse him, the white-livered Englishman! I will be even
with him yet; and I tell you what it is, Bessie: you shall marry me,
whether you like or no. Look here, do you think I am the sort of man
to play with? You go to Wakkerstroom and ask what sort of a man Frank
Muller is. See! I want you--I must have you. I could not live if I
thought that I should never get you for myself. And I tell you I will
do it. I don't care of it costs me my life, and your _rooibaatje's_ too.
I'll do it if I have to stir up a revolt against the Government. There,
I swear it by God or by the Devil, it's all one to me!" And growing
inarticulate with passion, he stood before her clinching and unclinching
his great hand, and his lips trembling.

Bessie was very frightened; but she was a brave woman, and rose to the
emergency.

"If you go on talking like that," she said, "I shall call my uncle. I
tell you that I will not marry you, Frank Muller, and that nothing
shall ever make me marry you. I am very sorry for you, but I have not
encouraged you, and I will never marry you--never!"

He stood for half a minute or so looking at her, and then burst into a