the liturgy of the Church of Rome
is familiar to its people, no matter what their race. Bower, stupefied
and benumbed, though the sun was shining brilliantly, and a constant
dripping from the pine branches gave proof of a rapid thaw, listened
like one in a trance. He understood scattered sentences, brokenly, yet
with sufficient comprehension.

"_Confiteor Deo omnipotenti_," mumbled Stampa, and the bridegroom in
this strange rite knew that he was making the profession of a faith he
did not share. His mind cleared by degrees. He was still under the
spell of bodily fear, but his brain triumphed over physical stress,
and bade him disregard these worn out shibboleths. Nevertheless, the
words had a tremendous significance.

"_Pater noster qui es in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum ...
dimitte nobis debita nostra sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus
nostris...._"

It was quite easy to follow their general drift. Anyone who had ever
recited the Lord's Prayer in any language would realize that he was
asking the Deity to forgive him his trespasses as he forgave those who
trespassed against him. And there came to the kneeling man a thrilling
consciousness that Stampa was appealing for him in the name of the
dead girl, the once blushing and timid maid whose bones were crumbling
into dust beneath that coverlet of earth and herbage. There could be
no doubting the grim earnestness of the reader. It mattered not a jot
to Stampa that he was usurping the functions of the Church in an
outlandish travesty of her ritual. He was sustained by a fixed
belief that the daughter so heartlessly reft from him was present in
spirit, nay, more, that she was profoundly grateful for this belated
sanctifying of an unhallowed love. Bower's feelings or convictions
were not of the slightest consequence. He owed it to Etta to make
reparation, and the duty must be fulfilled to the utmost letter.

Strong man as he was, Bower nearly fainted. He scarce had the faculty
of speech when Stampa bade him make the necessary responses in
Italian. But he obeyed. All the time the devilish conviction grew that
if he persisted in this flummery he might emerge scatheless from a
ghastly ordeal. The punishment of publicity was the one thing he
dreaded, and that might be avoided--for Etta's sake. So he obeyed,
with cunning pretense of grief, trying to veil the malevolence in his
heart.

At last, when the solemn "_per omnia secula_ _seculorum_" and a
peaceful "Amen" annou