Gray remained kneeling, but bent his head in recognition of the voice addressing him. "The offence of which you were found guilty on the --th of--should have been punished yesterday by death; but the events of that day delayed your doom. Extenuating circumstances induced your merciful judges to reconsider your case, and finally to accept your own assertions as evidence in your favour. God is the judge of your word, whether true or false. In the name then of Him, who loves mercy better than sacrifice, I entreat you to redeem your past errors by a deep repentance. Prisoner, rise!--you are pardoned!" Some one removed the bandage from Gray's eyes--the light dazzled them-- he could see nothing; but, though faint and powerless, he knew it was in Mr Trail's kind arms that he reclined. He heard the clattering arms of the dispersing soldiers, and the drums and fifes beating merry time in marching off the ground, but he felt utterly unable to help himself. He was lifted up--he fainted as they carried him away, and on reviving, found himself in the little room he had occupied in Mr Trail's cottage. But it was strangely metamorphosed--a carpet covered the hitherto matted floor, snowy curtains shaded the small windows, there were books on the table, and a glass with wild flowers, and, beside the sofa on which he leaned, stood a lady tall and fair, who looked to him like some ministering angel. It was Lady Amabel Fairfax. Peace was proclaimed in Kafirland--peace for a time. There were busy artificers on the camp-ground; fortifications were in progress, and traders were opening their stores. Everything gave promise of establishing a thriving town; wagons were winding down the green slopes of the western hills, and fine herds of cattle and flocks of sheep and goats were passing through on their way to fresh pasture-lands. A cumbrous and old-fashioned, but comfortable, English carriage with four fine horses stood at the gate of the Daveneys' cottage. Ormsby, somewhat wasted by his wounds--happily the one on the temple, was but a cut from a passing assegai--led Lady Amabel to her equipage, and Mr Daveney followed, leading Eleanor in deep mourning. Major Frankfort stood at the gate with Sir Adrian; he gave his hand to Lady Amabel--she felt it tremble. He could not see Eleanor's face, it was closely veiled; they had never met since that fearful night at Annerley, but now she held her hand out to him. He heard her utter the word "Farewell." Sir Adrian shook hands with him, and Lady Amabel leaned forward to say "God bless you." But Frankfort answered not a word. "Farewell." In after-years, in the deep solitude of midnight, on the sea, in the still noon of summer days in English woods, where he loved to cast himself beneath the umbrageous oaks, and dream of Kafirland, that soft and sorrowful voice still whispered "Farewell."