"Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace, good-will toward men. We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee, we give thanks to Thee for Thy great Glory, O Lord God.... Have mercy upon us ... for Thou only art holy.... Thou only, O Christ...."
I had my courage, and stood back, telling the judge to go on, for the prisoner was ready.
"Convey these words," he said, and his voice quivered. "The prisoner will stand."
"He shall not stand," I said. "He can not stand."
"Prisoner," I repeated the words in Blackfoot, "you will be taken back to the place from which you have come, and there you will be hanged by the neck until you are dead. And may the Lord have mercy on your soul."
Then I heard the prisoner whispering in Latin:
"Into Thy hands, O Lord, into Thy hands!"
V
On the morning after his trial the prisoner sent for a priest, who confessed and shrived him, taking his word that he would not again make any attempt at suicide. So we were able to release him from the shackles that chained his wrists and ankles to the floor, and to give him the liberty of the cell. I sent in furniture, and arranged for food from the officers' mess—eccentric conduct, confirming the general idea that I was cracked.
As long as there was something to be done, I had not time to worry, and the time we have for worrying is the greatest curse we know in our little lives. My friend sent his priest to tell me that he had confessed, so with the holy father I had no need for further secrecy. Sharing a secret takes away half the strain.