It was the minister, held fast amongst
the splintered wreckage of the car, his face streaming red from a jagged
gash in his grey head.
"I can't get to you! I'm helpless!" cried Dean.
The minister answered very simply: "My friend, see to yourself. The Lord
has called me to his side."
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.
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