"Tell me about it," she implored. "Don't you want to?"
"Yep, an' I air wantin' to write it.... Bring a paper." Bennet gave the last order to the silent attendant. The latter left the room but almost immediately returned with the warden. Tess relinquished the stool and stood near the head of the bed. In silence the officer wrote the story Bennet told them.
"It were like this," he stumbled. "Andy didn't have nothin' to do with shootin' Waldstricker. He were a tryin' to stop me from doin' it.... I done it!... Let Andy go!... Don't keep him in the coop."
The sunken eyes closed wearily.
"Sing about Him bein' kind, miss," he whispered.
Low, solemn and beautiful, the sweet soprano brought him back from the brink of the grave.
Leaning over him, Tess whispered, "Jesus is always kind."
"I done the murder," repeated Bennet. "Let Andy go, and tell 'im I'm sorry.... Here, let me write my name to the paper."
It took many efforts for the cramped fingers to scrawl the words, but "Owen Bennet" was legibly written when the man dropped back, exhausted.
The warden folded the paper and, smiling, put it into his pocket.