d accept the faith
of our foes."

The bishop was angry at this sturdy answer. His vanity was piqued that
two rude sailors should be so uninfluenced by his learned discourse.
He ordered Basil to tell them what the inevitable consequences of their
obstinacy would be.

The two brothers listened calmly enough. "Will you recant now?"

"Is it 'No,' brother Ned?"

"It is 'No!'"

"No!" said Nick; "and God help us both!"

Then sentence was pronounced. It was that the next evening, an hour
before sundown, the two should be led to a stake fixed in the
market-place of the town and there publicly burnt, in the hope that the
destruction of their bodies by fire might save their souls from the
everlasting flames of hell. The bishop spoke the sentence, and Basil
translated it piece by piece. The toil-worn figures in the prisoners'
dock became more fixed and rigid as the dread words fell, one by one.
All was said. The brothers faced one another, and there was deathly
pallor whitening the tan of their cheeks. They shook hands silently,
then kissed; then hand in hand, like two children, they walked away
between the guards, and the most curious onlooker never saw even the
tremor of an eyelid.

That night earnest priests, zealous enough according to the narrow
ideas of the time, place, creed, and race, visited the doomed men and
exhorted them to forsake their errors. Always they got the same
simple, faithful, patriotic reply. They served their Queen, their
country, their captain. What these believed, they believed, and held
to be right. Faith with them was a matter of national obligation and
faithfulness to their leaders and comrades. To deny the faith was to
deny the principles that had ruled their lives. Such treason to
country and conscience was impossible. They thanked the priests for
their ministrations, and begged after a while to be left alone. A
request that they might speak with Morgan or Jeffreys was refused, but
a young monk promised to take a message of affectionate farewell. He
fulfilled the promise, and the simple, childlike, yet valiant words
cheered many a terrible hour in the months that followed.

Nicodemus Johnson, and Edward his brother, died at the stake in Panama
at the time and on the spot appointed. A curious and silent crowd
watched the agonizing passing away of the two brave, simple-hearted
fellows; and, Spaniard and Indian alike, they went away profoundly
impressed. A brighter lustre wa