Fray Fernando had no objection. It was indeed far less troublesome to recite the well-known words himself than to hear José stumble over them. Coldly and monotonously enough, for his thoughts were far away, he repeated the words of that sublime psalm—words first of prayer—such prayer as any righteous king might fitly offer for his son and successor; then kindling and rising into a grand prophecy of a greater King than Solomon, a holier and more enduring reign than his; and ending at last with that fervent burst of thanksgiving, the noble and appropriate close to the prayers of David, the son of Jesse. Crouched on the ground by Fray Fernando’s side, and with eager eyes that never stirred from his face, the Indian youth drank in every word. This was what he heard:—“‘Give the king thy judgments, O God, and thy righteousness unto the king’s son. He shall judge thy people with righteousness, and thy poor with judgment. The mountains shall bring peace to the people, and the little hills, by righteousness. He shall judge the poor of the people, he shall save the children of the needy, and shall break in pieces the oppressor. They shall fear thee as long as the sun and the moon endure, throughout all generations. He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass; as showers that water the earth. In his days shall the righteous flourish; and abundance of peace so long as the moon endureth. He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth. They that dwell in the wilderness shall bow before him, and his enemies shall lick the dust. The kings of Tarshish and of the isles shall bring presents; the kings of Sheba and Seba shall offer gifts. Yea, all kings shall fall down before him, all nations shall serve him. For he shall deliver the poor when he crieth; the needy also, and him that hath no helper. He shall spare the poor and needy, and shall save the souls of the needy. He shall redeem their souls from deceit and violence; and precious shall their blood be in his sight.’” No longer could the delighted hearer keep silence. “Ranti, ranti! Capac Inca, Huacchacuyac!” (Hail, hail! mighty Inca, Friend of the poor!) he cried, springing suddenly to his feet. “What is it, José?” asked the startled Fray Fernando, whose thoughts were recalled from the ends of the earth by this impassioned interruption. “Nothing, patre,” said José, resuming his seat, and his habitual manner. “Will it please the patre to go on? They are good words.”