And in what form had it now come?
In that of his son, his only son, the child of his younger days! Surely God was in this thing.

"Yes," the man muttered, "God is watching me.

I cannot escape.

His hand is over me.

'_If I take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; even there shall thy hand lead me, and thy right hand shall hold me!_'" Uncle Gilbert came in, humming lightly a tune he had caught from the band in the cafe.