erve
death in any form, and why have you condemned me to a death so unusual
and painful. Surely you cannot intend to execute this cruel sentence."

Pizarro assured him that the decree of the court was unalterable, and
must immediately be carried into effect.

"Think of the wrong you have already done me," said the Inca, "and do
not forget how much you are indebted to my kindness and forbearance. I
could easily have intercepted you in the mountain passes, and made you
all prisoners, or sacrificed you all justly to the offended laws of my
country. I could have overpowered you with my armed warriors at
Caxamarca. But I failed in my duty to my people in receiving you as
friends. You have robbed me of my kingdom and compelled me to insult
my Deity, by stripping his temples to satisfy your avarice.

"Of all my possessions, you have left me nothing but my life, and that
I supposed you would be willing to spare me, since you can gain
nothing by taking it away. Consider how hard it is for me to die, so
suddenly and without any warning of my danger. I have lived but thirty
years, and until very lately, I had every reason to hope for a long
and happy life. My prospects for happiness are blighted forever. But I
will not complain of that, if you will permit me to live out the term
which God and nature have allotted me."

The execution was to take place immediately. Pizarro waited only for
the sun to go down, that darkness might shroud the fiendlike deed. As
they were talking Pizarro's chaplain, Friar Vincent, came in to
prepare the victim for the sacrifice. He was dressed in his
ecclesiastical robes, and bore in his hand a large crucifix. Was he an
unmitigated knave, or was he a fanatic? Who but God can tell.

"It is time for you," said he, "to withdraw your thoughts from earthly
vanities and fix them upon the realities of the eternal world. You are
justly condemned to death, for your infidelity and other sins. I call
on you to accept the free gift of salvation which I now offer you, so
that you may escape the greater punishment of eternal fire."

The Inca seemed to pay little heed to these words, but with a gesture
of impatience and anger, exclaimed:

"Oh, where is De Soto? He is a good man, and he is my friend. Surely
he will not allow me to be thus murdered."

"De Soto," the priest replied, "is far away. No earthly help can avail
you. Receive the consolations of the Church; kiss the feet of this
image, and I will absolve