“Do not forget.”
A white kerchief was waved in reply.
A proud smile lighted up his handsome countenance when his eyes were bound, and his last words, distinctly heard by all were:
“Long live King James the Third.”
Half a dozen bullets were instantly lodged in his breast. For a moment he stood erect, and then fell.
Thereupon a very beautiful young woman, whose features were as white as her attire, stepped quickly forward, followed by two others, and motioning back the soldiers, took up Shaftoe's body and placed it in his coffin.
This done, she who had first come forward, and who was no other than Dryope, knelt down, and fixing a look of unalterable affection upon her dead lover, kissed his brow.
Placing a few flowers beside him, she then arose and disappeared with her companions.
Thus died, and thus was mourned, one of the most gallant gentlemen of the rebel army.