He saw none of the mockery, none of the cruelty, none of the murderous injustice of which they were the sanction. If Atahuallpa could have understood them he might have taken them for the words of pardon and release, but a few moments would have bitterly undeceived him. In their inner meaning they were nothing less than a command to his executioners, the surrender of the body of the doomed man from the keeping of the Church to the secular arm in accordance with the hideous formula which has sent thousands of men, women, and children to the agonizing death of the flames. But the Inca’s tardy recantation had saved him at least from the physical torments of such an end. The fagots were cleared away from the stake, and the fatal torch was extinguished. Two men-at-arms put their hands under his shoulders and raised him to his feet. He walked between them to the stake passively and in seeming unconsciousness of what was being done. Behind it Michael Asterre had taken his place with a noosed rope in one hand and a short thick staff of wood in the other. Then the Inca was placed against the stake and bound to it with cords. Before his right hand was bound he raised it and, looking towards Pizarro, beckoned to him. The Captain-General approached with Filipillo at his side, but Atahuallpa, with almost the last action of his life, turned his head aside and angrily waved him away. So another interpreter was brought, and by him he said to Pizarro. “That other who speaks for you is a liar and a traitor both to you and me, and I would have my last words to come truthfully to your ears. “You have entrapped me and betrayed me. You have plundered me and my people, as no doubt you came to do and as you will still do when you have murdered me as you are going to do. Since you have done me so much injury give me at least one pledge in return. When I am dead let my body be taken to my own city of Quito and there dealt with according to the customs of my race and the honour of my name. Protect those whom I leave desolate behind me, and let them suffer neither insult nor injury at the hands of your soldiers. Now I am ready, let me die!” Even the iron soul of the Conqueror was shaken by these simply and solemnly spoken words, uttered as they were on the threshold of another world. The accusation struck him for the moment to the heart, and he bowed his head as though abashed by the force of it. Then he looked up and said shortly and in a husky voice-- “You have my pledge, Inca, and all that can be done shall be.”