He
leaped to his feet. The cell was already a foot deep in water.
"Ha!" he exclaimed, "it is one thing or the other now."
Rupert had been hoping for a flood; it might bring death, but he
thought that it was possible that it might bring deliverance.
The top of the loophole was some two and a half feet from the
vaulted roof; the top of the door was about on the same level, or
some six inches lower. The roof arched some three feet above the
point whence it sprang.
Rupert had thought it all over, and concluded that it was possible,
nay almost certain, that even should the water outside rise ten
feet above the level of his roof, sufficient air would be pent up
there to prevent the water from rising inside, and to supply him
with sufficient to breathe for many hours. He was more afraid of
the effects of cold than of being drowned. He felt that in a flood
in October the water was likely to be fairly warm, and he
congratulated himself that it was now, instead of in December, that
he should have to pass through the ordeal.
Before commencing the struggle, he kneeled for some time in prayer
on his bed, and then, with a firm heart, rose to his feet and
awaited the rising of the water. This was rapid indeed. It was
already two feet over his bed, and minute by minute it rose higher.
When it reached his chin, which it did in less than a quarter of an
hour from the time when he had first awoke, he swam across to the
loophole, which was now but a few inches above the water, and
through which a stream of water still poured.
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