There is, glory be, in the Anglo-Saxon race the splendid faculty of meeting death with calm defiance, almost with contempt.

Moments of panic, agonizing memories of bygone days, visions of dear faces never to be seen again, may temporarily dethrone this proud fortitude.

But the tremors pass, the gibbering specters of fear and lamentation are thrust aside, and the sons and daughters of Great Britain answer the last roll-call with undaunted heroism.

They know how to die.
And so the sun sank to rest in the sea, and the star, pierced the deepening blue of the celestial arch, whilst the man and the woman awaited patiently the verdict of the fates.
Before the light failed, Jenks gathered all the poisoned arrows and ground their vemoned points to powder beneath his heel.

Gladly would Iris and he have dispensed with the friendly protection of the tarpaulin when the cool evening breeze came from the south.