such labor as his. And now--"

He faltered, his hoarse voice broke with stress of feeling, and his
pallor deepened.

"It was not my fault--it was really not my fault! I did the best I could,
and, by God, I've got them in the room there where they can't do any
harm!--and Dick Claiborne, you are the finest fellow in the world, and
the squarest and bravest, and I want to take your hand before I go to
sleep; for I'm sick--yes, I'm sick--and sleepy--and you'd better haul
down that flag over the door--it's treason, I tell you!--and if you see
Shirley, tell her I'm John Armitage--tell her I'm John Armitage, John
Arm--"

The room and its figures rushed before his eyes, and as he tried to stand
erect his knees crumpled under him, and before they could reach him he
sank to the floor with a moan. As they crowded about he stirred slightly,
sighed deeply, and lay perfectly still.

CHAPTER XXVII

DECENT BURIAL

To-morrow? 'Tis not ours to know
That we again shall see the flowers.
To-morrow is the gods'--but, oh!
To day is ours.

--C.E. Merrill, Jr.

Claiborne called Oscar through the soft dusk of the April evening. The
phalanx of stars marched augustly across the heavens. Claiborne lifted
his face gratefully to the cool night breeze, for he was worn with the
stress and anxiety of the day, and there remained much to do. The
bungalow had been speedily transformed into a hospital. One nurse,
borrowed from a convalescent patient at the Springs, was to be reinforced
by another summoned by wire from Washington. The Ambassador's demand
to be allowed to remove Armitage to his own house at the Springs had been
promptly rejected by the surgeon. A fever had hold of John Armitage, who
was ill enough without the wound in his shoulder, and the surgeon moved
his traps to the bungalow and took charge of the case. Oscar had brought
Claiborne's bag, and all was now in readiness for the night.

Oscar's erect figure at salute and his respectful voice brought Claiborne
down from the stars.

"We can get rid of the prisoners to-night--yes?"

"At midnight two secret service men will be here from Washington to
travel with them to Baltimore to their boat. The Baron and my father
arranged it over the telephone from the Springs. The prisoners understand
that they are in serious trouble, and have agreed to go quietly. The
government agents are discreet men. You brought up the buckboard?"

"But the men should be hanged--for they shot