d by the
embankment we should have been beaten down and killed ere we reached its
shelter.

The stones and gravel from the roadway above were dashed into our faces
by the outer circle of the tornado. Grasping Miss Harding by the arm I
dragged or carried her, I know not which, to the yawning but welcome
opening of the old stone archway.

I cannot describe what followed. It was as if the earth were in its
death throes. We were tossed back and forth in this tunnel, a resistless
suction pulling us first toward one entrance and then to the other, only
to be hurled back by buffeting blows.

There was a sense of suffocation as if the lightning had burned the air.
Our nostrils were filled with the fumes of sulphur, and we looked into
each other's frightened eyes only when some near flash penetrated the
awful blackness of what seemed our living tomb.

A tree fell across the west opening, one twisted limb projecting well
into the tunnel of the culvert. We could not distinguish the crashes of
thunder from that of hurtling trees or the demoniac roar of the tornado.
All of our senses were assailed by the unleashed furies of the tempest;
crazed with rage that we were just beyond their reach.

I cannot say how long this lasted. Observers of the tornado in other
places state that it was not more than three minutes in passing. Its
path was less than half a mile in width, but I am convinced that its
onward speed was comparatively slow else we would not have reached the
culvert from the time I first saw it until its edge struck us.

Then came a moment of appalling silence. The tornado had passed. With
this strange calm the darkness lifted and we knew that the crisis was
over.

[Illustration: "Grasping her by the arm I dragged her"]

We were near the centre of the tunnel. I became aware that I was holding
her hands and that her head was resting on my shoulder.

As the silence came like a shock, she raised her head and our eyes met.

"God has been very good to us," she said, gently releasing her hands.
"Let us thank Him."

Standing there in the rising waters we silently offered up our thanks to
the One who rides on the wings of the storm and Who had guided two of
His children to a haven of refuge.

The rain was still falling in sheets and the water had risen to our
shoe-tops. In the growing light I discovered a projecting ledge near the
centre of our shelter and helped Miss Harding to obtain a footing.

"If the water keeps o