The whole of the next day was passed by the soldiery in anxious watching and by Valverde and his attendant monks in prayer for the turning of Atahuallpa’s soul--as they faithfully believed--from the path of inevitable damnation, and in exhorting him to abjure the error of his ways and escape the torment of the fire here and hereafter by embracing the Cross while yet there was time. But Filipillo, whose head was still singing and whose bones were still aching from his last night’s rough treatment, had determined that, so far as he could bring it about, the Inca should die by fire and not by the garrote, and therefore, with pitiless malice, he took care to turn all their pious words into the most ribald nonsense. It was nearly two hours after sunset when Pizarro, at the head of a file of soldiers, at length went up to the fortress to tell the Inca that the fatal moment had come. As he entered the room Valverde and his monks stopped and Atahuallpa looked up. An expression of scornful reproach more eloquent than many words lit up his noble features, now made more noble than ever by the dignity of near-approaching death. His lips moved as though he would say something, but the same instant he bethought him that he could say nothing save through the interpreter, so he closed them again and turned his face away from Pizarro as though he could no longer bear to look upon the man who had taken his gold as ransom and then betrayed him to death. “How goes it with his Highness, holy father?” said Pizarro affecting not to notice the Inca’s silent reproach. “Have thy sacred ministrations yet been crowned with success?” “For his soul’s sake and to my own sorrow I say that though I have striven with him all day, he still hardens his heart against the blessed unction of our holy Faith and still clings to his false gods, not even confessing that he hath sinned, but remaining like one of his own dumb idols and refusing the grace that is offered to him. Greatly would I have loved to be the means of saving so great a sinner, and for many hours I have wrestled in spirit to this end; but the ways of Heaven are inscrutable, and it would seem that it is not to be. There is but one hope now, and that is that the fear of the fire may even at the last moment melt him into repentance.” “It hath been found ere now a more potent reasoning than even such eloquence as thine, holy father,” replied Pizarro grimly, “and for my part, and not only for his soul’s sake, should I rejoice to see it, for truly he hath had hurt enough at our hands without dying by a death of torment.” Valverde frowned at this and said sternly--