He made no attempt to restrain any of the extravagances to which that hour had given birth. He knew better than to do so. He had read of the extravagant welcome given by the people of a town long besieged to the envoys who brought the first news of the approach of the relieving force, and he knew that he was there as an envoy to tell the people about him of their release. He had himself witnessed the reception given to the King's Posts that brought the tidings of the last peace, and he knew that he himself was a King's Messenger, bearing to these people the tidings of Peace and Goodwill. He had a word of kindness and comfort and advice to all. He was an elder brother, talking to the members of his own family on equal terms. But soon he left the side of these new-found brethren, for his eyes had not failed to see some who were sitting apart among the low crags--some in silent dejection, bearing the expression of prisoners for whom no order of release has come, though they had seen it come for others. But all were not silent: many were moaning aloud with ejaculations of despair. In the joy that had been brought to their friends they had no share. Nay, the message that had brought peace to others had brought despair to them. They had been happy enough before, knowing nothing of or caring nothing for, the dangers that surrounded them in the darkness, and the letting in of the light upon them had appalled them. He was beside them in a moment, questioning them, soothing their fears, removing their doubts, whispering a word or two of prayer in their ears. Jake, the carrier, had been right: the preacher had balm for the wounds of those who suffered. He went about among them for hours, not leaving the side of any who doubted until their doubts had been removed and they shared the happiness that the Great Message brought with it. But the evangel had arisen upon that valley as the Daystar, with healing in its wings. When the multitude dispersed, the church bells were making melody over the hills and through the dales. The Reverend Mr. Wesley was a good churchman, and he took care that his preaching did not interfere with the usual services. His object was to fill the churches with devout men, and not merely the body of the churches, but the pulpits as well. For himself, he withdrew from his friends and walked slowly up one of the tracks leading to the summit of the cliffs a few miles beyond the village of Porthawn. He wished to be alone, for amid all his feelings of thankfulness for the good which he knew had been done through his preaching, there came to him a doubt. Had he been faithful in his delivery of the Message? Had he yielded up everything of self to the service of the Master? Had he said a word that might possibly become a stone of stumbling to the feet that had just set out upon the narrow way?