“A mystery--a mystery! Oh, the notion of Dick Pritchard being a true prophet! Was it of such stuff as this the old prophets were made? God forgive me if I erred in thinking him one of the vain fellows. Mr. Wesley's judgment was not at fault; he came hither to preach against him; but not a word did he utter of upbraiding or reproof.” Wesley saw that the man was quite overcome. Up to this moment he had shown himself to be possessed of a rational mind, and one that was not easily put off its balance. He had only a few hours before been discussing Pritchard in a sober and unemotional spirit; but this last mystery had been too much for him: the disappearance of the sea, which had lately climbed up to the doors of Porthawn, had unhinged him and thrown him off his balance. If the phenomenon had occurred at any other time--under any less trying conditions of weather--he might have been able to observe it with equanimity; but the day had been, as Wesley said, a trying one. The intense heat was of itself prostrating, and demoralising even to Wesley himself, and he had schooled himself to be unaffected by any conditions of weather. Suddenly Hartwell turned toward his visitor, saying: “And if the man was entrusted to predict the falling away of the sea, is there anyone that will say that the remainder of his prophecy will not be fulfilled?” “I entreat of you, brother, to forbear asking yourself any further questions until you have had a few hours' sleep,” said Wesley. “What signifies a sleep now if before this time to-morrow the end of all things shall have come?” Hartwell cried almost fiercely. “Nay, sir, I shall wait with the confidence of a Christian; I shall not be found as were the foolish virgins--asleep and with unlighted lamps. There will be no slumber for me. I shall watch and pray.” “Let us pray together, my brother,” said Wesley, laying his hand on the man's shoulder affectionately. He perceived that he was not in a mood to be reasoned with. It was at this moment that the door was opened and there entered the room the miller and Jake 'Pullsford. Wesley welcomed their coming; he had hopes that they would succeed in persuading his host to retire; but before they had been in the room for more than a few minutes Hartwell had well-nigh become himself again. The newcomers were not greatly affected by anything that had happened. They were only regretful that the mist of the morning had prevented them from reaching the Red Tor in time for the preaching. They had started together, but had stopped upon the way to help a party of their friends who were in search of still another party, and when the strayed ones had been found they all had thought it prudent to remain at a farm where they had dined. “On our way hither we met with one who had been to the preaching,” said Jake. “He told us something of what we had missed.”