Dan stood looking death calmly in the face as he had so often done before.

A file of soldiers was rapidly marching to the place of execution, and their heavy tread could be plainly heard as each moment they drew nearer.

The prisoner was standing against a wall, and immediately behind him was a closed door, which was the rear entrance to a large house in the village.

The house itself was at least fifty yards from this wall.

"Ah! how are the men?" said the Spanish officer. "So your waiting days are over."

The file of soldiers drew up about thirty yards from the doomed man, and as they grounded arms the sound sent a sickening sensation through the brave Irishman's heart.

"Shure, it's not war, but murther's your trade," said Dan. "It's the haythins thimselves wouldn't be afther tratin' me this way."

"Talk on," said the Spaniard, coolly, "if it does you any good. It won't alter matters. You have been condemned, and must die."

"Ah, but it's revenged I'll be."

"How?"

"You won't ask when you see the Stars an' Stripes, the flag of the free, floatin' over this island."

The Spaniard laughed contemptuously.

"That day will never come. Bah!" he added, stamping on the ground, "why do I waste time talking to a miserable Yankee spy?"

The man turned away. But in an instant he came back to the prisoner.

"Spy or not," he growled, rather than spoke, "I suppose you're a human being."

"Faith, an' if you are, I'm not."

The Spaniard's face grew dark with passion.

"Silence! I ask you if you have any request to make. If possible, it shall be carried out."

"Shure, an' I have, then."

"Quick! my men are waiting. Speak!"

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