in his bloody
grave, I will do. You shall have one more chance after the trial, and
one only. If you refuse he shall die, and then, after his death, I shall
take you away by force, and in a week's time you will be glad enough to
marry me to cover up your shame, my pretty!"

"You are a devil, Frank Muller, a wicked devil, but I will not be
frightened into dishonour by you. I had rather kill myself. I trust to
God to help me. I will have nothing to do with you;" and she put her
hands before her face and burst into tears.

"You look lovely when you weep," he said with a laugh; "to-morrow I
shall be able to kiss away your tears. As you will. Here, you!" he
shouted to some men, who could be seen watching the progress of the
dying fire, "come here."

Some of the men obeyed, and to them he gave instructions in the same
terms that he had given to the other two men who were watching old
Silas, ordering Bessie to be instantly incarcerated in the corresponding
little room on the other side of the waggon-house, and kept strictly
from all communication with the outside world, adding, however, these
words:

"Bid the burghers assemble in the waggon-house for the trial of the
Englishman, Silas Croft, for treason against the State, and attempted
murder of one of the burghers of the State in the execution of the
commands of the Triumvirate."

The two men advanced and seized Bessie by both arms. Then, faint and
overpowered, she was led through the little plantation, over a gap in
the garden wall, down past the scorched syringa-trees which lined the
roadway that ran along the hillside at the back of the still burning
house, till they reached the waggon-house with the two little rooms
which served respectively as a store and a harness room. There she was
thrust into the store-room, which was half full of loose potatoes and
mealies in sacks, and the door locked upon her.

There was no window to this room, and the only light in it was such
as found its way through the chinks of the door and an air-hole in the
masonry of the back wall. Bessie sank on a half-emptied sack of mealies
and tried to reflect. Her first thought was of escape, but soon she came
to the conclusion that this was a practical impossibility. The stout
yellow wood door was locked upon her, and a sentry stood before it. She
rose and looked through the air-hole in the rear wall, but there another
sentry was posted. Then she turned her attention to the side wall that
div