'Why not turn round and go her way, Jack?' he said cheerily.

'Oh, I can't,' I said; 'it's no use--I can't turn. There are too many
hands on the wrong end of the rope. I've been miserable ever since I
heard you talk of it. I could not sleep last night for thinking of it.
"What are the depths, the fearful depths, to which you are being drawn?"
those words have never left me, night or day, since you uttered them. I
have tried to shake them off, but I can't.'

'Don't attempt to shake them off,' he said. 'Oh, Jack, don't try to do
it, for they are the voice of the Spirit of God. But listen to-night to
the One who is calling you. "Come over the line--it is only a step. Come
over the line to _Me_."'

'I wish I could,' I said.

'You can do it, and you _must_ do it, Jack,' he said firmly,
'before you leave this room.'

'Before I leave this room?'

'Yes, this very instant,' he said.

'But how can I do it? I don't know how to cross,' I said.

'You are no dead, lifeless weight on the rope, like a boat or a
handkerchief; you have a will of your own, and it remains with you to
decide which way you want to be drawn, God-ward, Christ-ward,
heaven-ward, or to the fearful depths of which I spoke. God is drawing