the block. He did so, while Rose
sang clear and strong:

"Am I a soldier of the cross,
A follower of the Lamb,
And shall I fear----------"

The chief of the two priests, struck her heavily across the mouth and
silenced her. At the same instant the executioner held aloft, by the
hair, the severed head of Ralph Bastin.

Yells of delight, mingled with "Long live our God Apleon!" greeted the
sight of the head.

George Bullen's head was now upon the block, while Rose, the light of a
holy triumph in her eyes, unable to sing because of her bleeding mouth,
shouted, "Jesus! Jesus! Precious Christ!"

She kept her eyes from the block, and turned slightly away, as the head
of her dear one was held aloft amid the frantic delighted cries of the
murderous mass below.

It was her turn now, and she turned rapturously towards the block. But
before she could lay her head upon the blood-stained horror, the chief
of the priests thrust her forward to the near edge of the floor of the
scaffold, and, holding his hand up for silence, cried:

"Is she too beautiful for the block?"

He caught her up suddenly in his arms, and held her as high aloft as
his strength would permit, as he shouted:

"Does any one want her, if you do, say so, and I will hurl her down!"

"Behead her!" roared a voice in the crowd, and thousands of voices
joined in the cry.

The priest dragged her to the block and laid her neck in the hollow of
it. There was a flash of steel in the sunlight, and the beautiful head
rolled into the basket. The next moment it was being held aloft by the
long, lovely hair, the people below yelling with joy.

At a sign from the priest, the bugler sounded for "silence." Then the
priest cried:

"So shall die every rebel against our LORD GOD, _The Emperor_!"

With a wave of his hand towards the Cathedral behind him, he added:

"Our worship will be continued in our Temple and, for today, at least,
worship will continue all day."

The fools, the dupes, flocked back to the cathedral--as many as could
crowd in. Those who could not get in watched the bodies and heads of
the three martyrs for God hurled down from the scaffold on the stones
below.

Someone suggested the river, and six lengths of line were quickly got,
and amid the howls of mingled execrations, and the notes of a fiendish
joy, the three heads and three trunks were dragged down to the
blackfriars end of the embankment.

Here men cut the clothes from