It was not long ere a slight breeze began to roll the mist into irregular masses of cloud. The dense atmosphere appeared to break, and a star twinkled for a moment, but disappeared as suddenly as it came forth. Ralph Seaton, the younger of the pedestrians, pointed out the friendly visitant to his companion. It seemed as though the eye of mercy were beaming visibly upon them. "I have seen it," said the man of quiet endurance; "and now gird up thy loins to depart. The fog will rapidly disperse; and it may be that some distant light will guide us to rest and shelter." While he was speaking the mist coiled upwards, driving rapidly across the sky in the shape of a heavy scud. A few stars twinkled here and there through the lucid intervals, "few and far between;" but they were continually changing place, closing and unfolding as the wind mingled or separated their shapeless fragments. "It is even as I said. Seest thou yonder light?" "I see not anything," replied Seaton. "Just beneath that bright star to our left?" again inquired the elder traveller. "I only see a dark hill rising there abruptly against the lowering swell of the sky." Our "Friend" was silent for a space, when he replied in a tone of deep solemnity-- "It is the inward light of which I have spoken to thee before; a token of no ordinary import. To-night, or I am deceived, we are called on to pass through no common allotment of toil and tribulation. Oft hath this light been outwardly manifest, and as often has it been the precursor of some sharp and fiery trial! Again! But thou seest it not. Yet mayest thou follow in my steps. Take heed thou turn not either to the right hand or to the left. But"----The speaker's voice here grew fearfully ominous and emphatic. "Hast thou courage to do as I shall bid thee? I must obey the will of the Spirit; but unless thou hast faith to follow the light that is within me, rather pass the night on that cold unsheltered rock than draw back from His witness. Remember, it is no slight peril that awaits us." Not without a struggle and certain waverings, which indicated a faith somewhat less implicit than was desirable on such an occasion, did the disciple promise to obey--ay, to the very letter--every command that might be given. Peradventure, a well-founded apprehension of spending the night companionless on the cold and wet dormitory to which his evil stars had conducted him, had some influence in this determination. Suffice it to say, never did disciple resolve more faithfully to obey than did our young adventurer in this perilous extremity.