l that past affair. You are another
person from that Lafayette Ashton. We stand here almost face to face
with the Unknown. One or both of us may soon go out into the Darkness.
As we may never meet again, I wish to tell you that you have proved
yourself, even more than I hoped when I saw you come rushing down the
ravine to join me. You have proved yourself a man. Good-by."

He held out his hand. But Ashton turned his face to the wall of rock
and was silent. After a time he heard the sound of Blake's worn heels
on the outer end of the shelf. His ears, attuned to the ceaseless
tumult of the waters, caught the click of the protruded heel-nail
heads. There was a brief pause--then the plunge. He looked about
quickly and saw Blake's hands vanish in the down-sucking eddy where
the swollen waters drew into the now hidden intake of the tunnel.

A cry of horror burst from his heaving chest. Blake had gone--Blake
the iron-limbed, iron-hearted man. He had conquered the river--and now
the wild waters had seized him and were mauling and smashing and
crushing him in the terrible mill of the cavern. Beyond that
underground passage, it might be miles away, the victor would fling up
on some fanged rock a shapeless mass that once had been a man.

CHAPTER XXVIII

LIGHT IN THE DARKNESS

Ashton again turned his face to the rock and groaned. God had answered
his prayer. Now must he pay the price. If only he could force himself
to lie still while the rising waters brimmed up over the ledge and up
over his head and face. He was tired--tired! It would be so peaceful
to lie and rest under the quiet waters.

But the first ripple that crept over the surface of the shelf brought
him to his feet with the chill of its icy touch. He climbed to a shelf
higher up and again stretched himself full length on the rock. To lie
still and rest was heavenly.... It was too good to last. The water
crept after him up the ledge. This time he could climb no higher.

He sat erect and waited, still resting, until the flood rose to his
chin. Then he stood up, leaning on the battered level rod. The water
rose after him, creeping with relentless stealth from his thigh to his
waist, from his waist to his chest. It would soon be lapping at his
throat, and then--he must begin to swim. Life was far stronger within
him than he had thought. His strength had come back. Blake was right.
A man should fight. He should hold fast to hope, and fight to the very
last.