at the same moment as Colonel Devereux.

"Halt!" he shouted to the gunners, and the mounted party stopped as if
turned to stone.

"Haul down that flag!" he ordered Dacre, pointing with his naked sword.

"Never!" answered Dacre, standing at the foot of the mast.

Colonel Devereux gave a stern command to the officer of the gun; the
piece was trained on the flagstaff, and next instant, with a hellish
roar, its sixty bullets tore the flag-pole into shreds, and the enormous
banner cumbered the wet earth.

Before the discharge Geoffrey had bodily seized Dacre and dragged him
out of range. Better, perhaps, had he left him to his fate, for death at
that moment, with his duty done, his sword in hand and his flag above
him, would have saved him the deeper agony of shame and disappointment,
which walked with him like shadows henceforward to the grave.

The officer in charge of the gun ordered his troopers and drivers to
ride across the fallen banner; and the hoofs and muddy wheels rent it to
pieces and befouled it in the mire.

"You are a coward!" cried Dacre, and rushing to the front he crossed
swords with the mounted officer, wounding him in the arm. Next moment he
was stretched senseless on the ill-fated flag, a gunner having struck
him down with the stock of his carbine.

The others yielded without a word. The artillery officer, his hand
dripping blood, took their swords one by one and flung them
contemptuously on the flag, beside John Dacre's senseless body.

As they were marched off, surrounded by a cavalry guard, to be taken to
London, Mr. Sydney, seeing that the Duke of Bayswater could hardly keep
up, gave his arm to the infirm old man.

"This is a grim joke," said Sydney; "I wonder what they will do with our
friend Dacre."

"Thanks," said the poor old fellow, leaning heavily on Sydney, and
putting up his collar to keep out the rain. Then he turned a last look
at Dacre, still lying as he had fallen. "If he is dead, I suppose they
will bury him like a Christian gentleman, as he was." And, raising his
hat, the courtly old man saluted the fallen soldier.

Featherstone handed Geoffrey a cigar, and lighted one himself as the
procession started.

"I wonder where King George the Fifth is about this time," he said, with
a forlorn smile.

"No matter where he is," answered Geoffrey, in a voice of settled
belief; "one thing is certain: Monarchy is dead forever in England--and
it is time!"

CHAPTER XII.

IN