And the wonder that he spoke of had come to pass. While the preacher had been describing the breaking light, the light had come. All unnoticed, the mist had been dissolving, and when he had spoken his last words the sunlight was bathing the preacher and the multitude who hung upon his words. The wonder that he told them of had taken place, and there did not seem to them anything of wonder about it. Only when he made his pause did they look into each other's faces as men do when they have slept and the day has awakened them. Then with the sunlight about them, for them to drink great draughts that refreshed their souls, he spoke of the Light of the World--of the Dayspring from on High that had visited the world, and their souls were refreshed. And not one word had he said of all that he had meant to say--not one word of the man whom he had come so far to reprove. No one was conscious of the omission. CHAPTER XVII The day became sultry when the mist had cleared away, and by noon the heat was more oppressive than had been known all the Summer. Wesley was exhausted by the time he set out with Mr. Hartwell to return to the village. They needed no mariner's compass now to tell them the way. They scarcely exchanged a word. They seemed to have forgotten the conditions under which they had gone forth in the early morning. A new world seemed to have been created since then--a world upon which the shadow of darkness could not fall for evermore. They had gone straight to the cliffs, hoping for a breath of air from the sea to refresh them; but they were disappointed; the air was motionless and the reflection of the sunlight from the waves was dazzling in its brilliancy. “I should have thought that the very weight of this heavy atmosphere would make the sea like glass,” said Wesley, while they rested on the summit of the cliff. “And yet there are waves such as I have never seen on this part of the coast unless when something akin to a gale was blowing.” “I daresay there was a strong breeze blowing, though we did not feel it in the shelter of the hollow of the Tor,” said his companion. “True; it would require a strong wind to sweep away the mist so suddenly,” said Wesley. “Ah, sir,” said the other, “I did not think of a wind in that connection. Was it the fingers of the wind, think you, that swept that thick veil aside, or was it the Hand that rent in twain the veil of the Temple?”