The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1901-09-06
SING SUN CEClL4 sEPTEMBER
ng. Her eyes were as guIIeIess as a

ing. Her eyes were as guiIe1ess as a
child's.
II cannot see yet where it was wrong, .
she said simply. II am his betrothed
wife, but because he was English we
thought it better to say nothing until
peace had come. AS to the rest, father,
saw so much when 1 was with you
among the soldiers that / was afraid
for him. They think SO lightly of the
xaneer they are running into. I wrote
to him to prevent him coming with the
English soldiers"
$50 you told him our plans!" he cried
bitterly. "And by this time he has re-
ported to his general"
"My private letter. she cried in
genuously, but he would not listen.
'"Traitressw he cried, and his eyes
cleaned dangerously, and he took her
by the shoulders and pushed her from
the house of her fathers, while her
mothers voice rose up to the old time
darkened roof in long scream of ag-
ony and pity.
Martha staggered forward, and the
door closed with crash behind her.
The girls cheeks were white now as
milk, but there was in her eyes no an
ger or fear, merely sense of dazed
wonder. as if the world itself had been
left behind. She was utterly alone.
The women stood at their doors silent;
children peeped from behind their
mothers skirts, frightened, yet curious,
as at sight of bogy. For a moment
Martha glanced up the street and down.
The village was very still. In the or
chards. sloping upward behind the
houses on either side the narrow street,
there was no sign of life-no pickers,
no pruners. In the broad park below
the clear brook bubbled through the
trees, and the oxen fed as usual, but
the merry herders were not there. Only
the thinly piping voices Of two very
small urchins rose up from the mead
lows. The church was deserted; the
store was closed. Nowhere were there
any but two very old men at their
stoeps. Even the boys of fair size were
away.
Even to her bewildered brain the alb
sence of the men folk and the conse-
quent lack Of noise, Of sound of work,
struck strangely. Then she remember
ed; they were Communicated, her faith
er's and her brothers brethren, the
Beers. Every one Of them was now
away, with his faithful gun, to the
army, and by the morrow probably
many would be dead-many of her
own people, many of her lovers peo-
pie, perhaps her father or brother, per-
haps her betrothed. Her lip trembled,
but she looked up bravely and met the
eyes of the silent women. She pitied
them. She knew what they were, as
she herself might have been If these
happy years Of school life in Cape
Town had never come to her-stolid,
ignorant of all things save their Bibles,
unable to judge their enemy, only to
hate him. Yet they were grand in their
faith and simplicity, trusting in the
Lord for victory on the next day. She,
too, although she knew what the red
soldiers could do, feared-yes. feared
that her countrymen would win, for If
they did, foretelling a crushing blow,
she guessed the fate of her daring
lover, so conscious of his own mems
fighting powers, SO contemptuous of
those of the farmer soldiers.
So she looked bravely into the eyes
Of the Boer women. They might call
her ''traitress" and groan as they did
now, but she had done the best she
knew, the only thing she could do. to
warn Venable that he was fighting
against no foe to laugh at. "Let God
judge" she murmured. ''if was
traitress. Could it be treachery to try
to save the life of the beloved?" Very
simple she was. very innocent Of the
grander motives of heroines. for all her
studies-little better than a child, act
ing by hearts impulse and loves
prompting. and these alone. This she
had done, but now her father called
her "traitress," and that was bitter,
and her home was closed forever
against her, and the women whom she
had played and worked among hooted
her. A small boy threw a stone, and
her brother cried sullenly to her to
hurry.
When they had driven out of the vii
lage and out of the quiet valley and