With a sudden jerk the car settled deeper in the torrent. Only by straining to the uttermost could Dean keep his mouth to the air above the swirl of waters.
"Help!" he screamed to the bridge above. "I'll be drowned! Help!"
The minister began to pray aloud: "Lord, Thou hast been pleased to call me, and I come. Receive my soul in pity, and forgive me my many sins. And, oh Lord God, grant that this my young friend may live to see the light and to worship Thee. Let this be his hour of repentance. Start him upon a new path, and keep his feet from straying. In thy mercy save him that he might live to Thy glory. Show him what Thou hast shown me, and——"
The minister's hand dropped suddenly forward, and the waters closed over him with a snarl.
From the bridge far above a man was being lowered on a rope, like a spider hanging from a thread.
Dean watched him with paralyzed tongue. The strain to keep his head above the waters was racking him like a torment of the Inquisition. The horror of the situation grew with every second. Why did they lower so slowly? Would release ever come in time to save him?
His hour of repentance! Yes, the preacher was right. This was his punishment for the part he had taken in the fraudulent personation of Clifford Matheson. It came to Dean like a blinding flash of light that God was demanding of him whether he would repent or no—whether he would vow to run straight for the future.
The man on the rope was growing larger. His face held the solemnity of an Eternal Judge. In his two hands were scrolls marked Riches and Poverty. He held them out towards Dean, demanding his instant choice. The young man begged for a moment to consider. He shut his eyes against the decision thrust upon him. A voice thundered in his ears....