Another time, the gentleman of the horse attempting to pass a small river, which was very deep and rapid, the current carried away both man and horse, and the whole company gave him for lost. Xavier, moved with compassion for the danger of his soul, because, having had a call from heaven to enter into a religious life, he had not followed the motions of grace, but remained in the world, began to implore God in his behalf. The ambassador, who had a great kindness for him, joined in that devout action, and commanded the whole train to follow their example. They had scarcely opened their mouths for him, when the man and horse, who were both drowning, came again above water, and were carried to the bank. The gentleman was drawn out, pale in his countenance, and half dead. When he had recovered his senses, Xavier demanded of him, what thoughts he had, when he was at the point of perishing? He freely acknowledged, that the religious life, to which God had called him, then struck upon his soul; with dismal apprehensions, for having neglected the means of his salvation. He protested afterwards, as Xavier himself relates, in one of his letters, that, in that dreadful moment, the remorse of his conscience, and the sense of God's judgments on souls unfaithful to their vocation, were more terrible to him, than the horrors even of death itself. He spoke of eternal punishments, with expressions so lively and so strong, as if he had already felt them, and was returned from hell. He frequently said, (as the saint has assured us,) that, by a just judgment of eternal God, those who, during their life, made no preparations for their death, had not the leisure to think on God when death surprised them. The ambassador, and all his people, doubted not, but the safety of this gentleman was to be ascribed to the merits of the saint: but Xavier himself believed it to be the pure effect of the ambassador's devotion; for thus he writes to father Ignatius concerning it--"Our Lord was pleased to give ear to the fervent prayers of his servant Mascaregnas, which he made with tears in his eyes, for the deliverance of the poor creature, whom he looked upon as lost; and who was taken from the jaws of death by a most evident miracle." In passing over the Alps, the ambassador's secretary alighting to walk in a difficult way, which he could not well observe, by reason of the snows, his foot happened to slip on a sharp descent, and he rolled down into a precipice: he had tumbled to the very bottom, if, in falling, his clothes had not taken hold on one of the crags of the rock, where he remained hanging over the depths without ability, either to disengage himself, or get up again. Those who followed, made towards him, but the horror of that abyss stopt short the most daring: Xavier only made not the least demur; he descended the precipice, and lending his hand to the secretary, by little and little dragged him up.