Bob raised his head. “I had something to say,” exclaimed he, in a wandering and husky tone. “Something I wanted to say.”
“What have you to say?”
Bob stared around him; his lips moved, but no word escaped him. His spirit was evidently no longer with things of this earth.
“Bob!” said the judge again, “we will pray for your soul.”
“Pray! pray!” groaned he. “I shall need it.”
In slow and solemn accents, and with great feeling, the judge uttered the Lord’s Prayer. Bob repeated every word after him. When it was ended—
“May God be merciful to his soul!” exclaimed the judge.
“Amen!” said all present.
One of the corregidors now passed the noose of the lasso round Bob’s neck, another bound his eyes, a third person drew his feet out of the stirrups, whilst a fourth stepped behind his horse with a heavy riding-whip. All was done in the deepest silence; not a word was breathed, nor a foot-fall heard on the soft, yielding turf. There was something awful and oppressive in the profound stillness that reigned in the vast enclosure.