ted
by his guards, the prisoner folded his arms across his breast and faced
his executioners with haughty contempt in every line of his expressive
and handsome countenance.

Just as the last few rifles which alone remained loaded in East Utah
were about to be discharged at him, at one dozen paces, he suddenly held
up his hand, and his clear voice went ringing across the veldt and into
the silent forest glades.

"I, a subject of her Britannic Majesty, Queen Victoria, hereby protest
against this murderous outrage committed against the English flag, under
which I and my friends have fought since our entry into this country."

Again there was a death-like silence, almost instantly broken by the
incisive words of command--

"Ready! Present!"

Grenville now gazed unflinchingly right into the muzzles of the rifles;
an unearthly calm had come over him, and briefly, yet earnestly,
commending his soul to God, he waited the fatal word, blind and deaf to
all else but the rifles, which seemed to exercise a curious fascination
upon him.

Then, just as he heard the final word of command, "Fire!" he was
conscious of a shriek, and someone seized him round the neck, threw
their person upon his breast, and endeavoured to drag him down.

Too late! Ah, God, too late! The fatal tubes vomited a sheet of angry
flame; the deadly messengers sped forth upon their cruel errand; and a
body, lately instinct with life and health, lay writhing on the
greensward, gasping in the death agony.

But whose body? Bewildered and confused, called back to life when he
believed himself already dead, Grenville bent over the person who had so
nobly and uselessly given a precious life for him, and uttered a wild
and bitter cry of anguish as he recognised the lovely Rose of Sharon.
Dropping on his knees, he raised the apparently inanimate corpse in his
arms, crying--

"Rose! Rose! speak to me, my darling."

And instantly her eyes opened, and a sweet and radiantly lovely smile
seemed to break up the stony countenance before him--to chase away the
very shadows of death and leave her face even as that of an angel.

"Dick, dear Dick," she panted, "I have saved you. Kiss me, my own dear
love, and--good-bye."

And even as poor Grenville bent over her the sweet young girl's face
stiffened; there was one brief spasm, and all was over.

Dust to dust, ashes to ashes, and the spirit to God who gave it. Weep
on, brave heart, thou shalt go to her, but she