“What, you, John Wesley, talk of safety; know you not in this dread hour that the Scripture must be fulfilled?” shouted the man. “What will your judgment be who would make the Holy Writ to be a vain thing? I tell you, sir, that it will be a lie if you do not join with me in calling upon the rocks to fall upon us? This is the place that was prophesied of--these are the very rocks--yonder are the very hills. They will not move--they must be stubborn until another voice be joined with mine. O rocks, fall--fall--fall!” Wesley grasped one of the frantic arms that were outstretched. He could not temporise with the wretch again. “You shall not dare!” he cried. “I may not stand by and hear such a mockery.” The man wrenched his arm free. “The mockery is yours, sir,” he shouted. “You will not save the truth of the Scriptures when it is left for you to do so. Think of your own condemnation, man--think that there are only two of us here, and if we remain silent we are guilty of blasphemy, for we are preventing the fulfilment of this prophecy.” A discharge of lightning that had the semblance of a pair of fiery fetters went from hill to hill, and when Wesley recovered the use of his eyes he saw that the man was pointing to the slight eminence on which the rocking-stone was poised. “It has been shown to me--thank God that it has been shown to me before 'tis too late,” he cried. “If you, John Wesley, refuse to aid me, power shall be given me alone to fulfil the Scriptures. The rocks shall obey me. I am the chosen vessel.” A torrent of rain swept between them, with the sound of a huge wave striking upon the flat face of a cliff. Wesley spread out his arms. One of them was grasped by the girl, who had crept to his side, and he felt himself guided back to the shelter. He lay back upon the sloping rock thoroughly exhausted, and closed his eyes. A minute had passed before he opened them again, hearing the girl cry out.