enture to the edge of the precipice and gazed into the awful gulf.

Slowly the procession moved, as if to prolong the agony of the martyrs.
Suddenly a young man pushed through the crowd, advanced to the side of
Ramatoa, and grasped one of her hands, exclaiming in a loud voice,
"Dearest! I will go with you and stay by you to the end."

For a moment the calm serenity that had settled on the girl's fine
countenance was disturbed.

"Mamba!" she said, "this is not wise. You cannot save me. It is God's
will that I should now glorify the dear name of Jesus by laying down my
life. But you are not yet condemned, and your mother needs your help."

"Full well do I know that," returned the youth, fervently. "Were it not
for my dear mother's love and claim on me, I would now have gone with
you to heaven. As it is, I will stay by you, dear one, to the end."

"Thank you, dear friend," returned the girl, earnestly. "I think it
will not be long till we meet where there are no more sufferings or
tears."

Soon the procession reached the brow of the terrible cliff. Here the
martyrs were ranged in such a way that, while they were cast over one by
one, the rest could see their companions fall.

The first to perish was the poet Razafil. After the Queen's messenger
had pronounced the sentence of each, the poor man was seized and thrown
violently on the ground. A rope was then fastened round his waist, and
he was asked if he would cease to pray in the name of Jesus.

"Cease to pray to Jesus!" he exclaimed, while the fire of enthusiasm
gleamed in his eyes--"to Jesus who saved my Raniva, and who holds out
His blessed hands to me--even me--to take me to Himself? _Never_!"

Razafil was instantly slung over the precipice, and held suspended there
in the hope that the awful nature of his impending fate might cause his
courage to fail, while the executioner knelt, knife in hand, ready to
cut the rope.

"Once more, and for the last time," said the officer in command, "will
you cease to pray?"

The answer was an emphatic "No!"

Next moment Razafil went shooting down headlong into the abyss. There
was a projecting ledge of rock about fifty feet down the precipice. On
this the body of the martyr struck, and, bounding off into space,
reached the bottom with incredible violence, a shattered and mangled
heap.

With trembling hearts and straining gaze the other victims watched the
descent. It seemed to be more than human nature co