Presently, there came forth from the tents soldiers fully accoutred; then their officers; next Sir Adrian Fairfax and his staff. All wore the same grave aspect. But the brilliant uniforms, the glittering arms, the waving plumes, made a dazzling array, as the troops fell in and formed three sides of a square. Nine or ten men stepped out from the rest. Beyond the soldiery, were the Fingo warriors, seated on the turf; and a few Kafir women and children looked from the hills upon the scene, which they could not understand, for, with arms bound, and head uncovered, there walked into the square a young man, whose whole air and aspect bespoke him anything but a malefactor--a rebel doomed to die: it was Gray! Mr Trail was with him. The prisoner advanced with steady step, but the flush of shame overspread his face, as he felt that the gaze of hundreds was fixed upon him. He would have read sincere and sorrowful pity in that gaze, had he seen it, but his eyes were fixed upon the ground. Anon, there swelled upon the air that solemn march for the dead that thrills to the very soul when we hear it. The sudden burst of the drum startled the prisoner, and he looked up. He saw his coffin borne before him; he moved on mechanically to the time of the wailing music; he passed the long lines of soldiers; he did not lose his presence of mind. As he drew near Sir Adrian Fairfax, he raised his eyes for an instant, and lifting his fettered hands, bowed on them. Frankfort's heart beat with the dread of being overcome to tears; Colonel Graham brushed the drops away from his eyes, and one young soldier fainted in the ranks. All at last was ready; the drum ceased to beat. The prisoner's eyes were bound; it was observed that he cast one long, lingering look upon the bright and lovely scenes around him, ere this was done. He wished to take a last look of earth! He was told that some moments would be allowed him for prayer at the last. He pressed Mr Trail's hands within his own, and the good minister left him. The lightest whisper might have been heard while the prisoner was absorbed in prayer. He never moved when the firing party knelt down, although their arms and accoutrements broke the silence sharply. The officer in command of this party uttered the word, "Ready!" in a voice so clear that it penetrated to the farthest in the ranks. Did Gray hear it? None could tell. "Present!"--he heard that, for he lifted his head and dropped his hands before him, awaiting the fiery shower of musketry. Still, not a movement in those disciplined ranks! "Prisoner!" It was another voice that spoke. The General had bid the party wait his order to fire, and, lest any fatal error should occur, had warned the men, that he should step before them to address the prisoner.--"Remember," said Sir Adrian, "if you do not strictly adhere to my orders, you will shoot me." None but the firing party and Mr Trail were prepared for this pause in the ceremonial. "Prisoner--"