He could hear the moan of the winds growing louder, and the rush of the on-coming floods drawing nearer.

He must make good his escape now, or never.

If he put off flight till to-morrow, he would be crushed with the falling of his house.
He lifted himself up heavily, and looked round the room.

It was his private office, at the back of the bank, handsomely furnished as a bank parlor should be.

Over the fire-place hung the portrait of old Clifford, the senior partner, faithfully painted by a local artist, who had not attempted to soften the hard, stern face, and the fixed stare of the cold blue eyes, which seemed fastened pitilessly upon him.