e church's tapers were lighted.

The sacristan placed the temporary altar beside the foot of the bed,
arrayed it, and recited the Confiteor.

Then the priest mumbled the Misereatur and Indulgentiam.

I had seen extreme unction administered as I had seen many another
office of the church in my dim days, with scarcely any attention. Now
the words were terribly living. I knew every one before it rolled off
the celebrant's lips. Yet under that vivid surface knowledge I carried
on as vivid a sequence of thought.

The priest elevated the ciborium, repeating,

"Ecce Agnus Dei."

Then three times--"Domine, non sum dignus."

I heard and saw with exquisite keenness, yet I was thinking,

"If I do not get out of here he will have to say those words over me."

He put the host in the parted mouth of the dying, and spoke--

"Corpus Domini nostri Jesu Christi custodiat animam tuam in vetam
aeternam."

I thought how easy it would be to strip the loose surplice over the
sacristan's head. There was a swift clip of the arm around your
opponent's neck which I had learned in wrestling, that cut the breath
off and dropped him as limp as a cloth. It was an Indian trick. I said
to myself it would be impossible to use that trick on the sacristan if
he left the cell behind the deaf old priest. I did not want to hurt him.
Still, he would have a better chance to live after I had squeezed his
neck, than I should have if I did not squeeze it.

The priest took out of a silver case a vessel of oil, and a branch. He
sprinkled holy water with the branch, upon the bed, the walls, the
sacristan and me, repeating,

"Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem
dealbabor."

While I bent my head to the drops, I knew it was impossible to choke
down the sacristan, strip off his surplice, invest myself with it and
get out of the cell before priest or turnkey looked back. The sacrilege
of such an attack would take all the strength out of me.

The priest said the Exaudi nos, exhorted the insensible figure, then
recited the Credo and the Litany, the sacristan responding.

Silence followed.

I knew the end was approaching. My hands were as cold as the nerveless
one which would soon receive the candle. I told myself I should be a
fool to attempt it. There was not one chance in a hundred. I should not
squeeze hard enough. The man would yell. If I were swift as lightning
and silent as force, they would take me in the act. I