The Love That Prevailed

by Frank Frankfort Moore

“Oh, no, sir; but they have charged me to keep them apprised of your preaching since you came hither, and thus I went to them yesterday—that was after your morning preaching—and to-day to tell them of the evening. Oh, sir, surely there was never aught seen that would compare with the happenings of yester eve! Even while I was rehearsing all to my young ladies, I had a feeling that I was telling them what I had seen in a dream. I do think that I have had a dream more than once that was strangely like all that was before my eyes—a dream of drowning and seeing in a blood-red light the mysteries of the sea-bed.”

“A strange thing, my child! I have never seen a stranger thing,” said he. “It did not seem a wonder to me that the people were so agitated.”

“They thought for sure that the end of the world had come,” said she. “And indeed I began to feel that poor Dick Pritchard had truly been sent to warn us.”

“And how was his warning taken by many?” he cried. “Worse than the Ninevites were some that I saw here. Of sackcloth there was none on their limbs—of repentance their hearts were empty. I hope, my child, that you did not see some of those whom I saw here—dancing—wild—pagan creatures of the woods! And their dance! Pagan of the worst—an orgy of the festival of the god Saturn—an abomination of Baal and Ashtoreth. And I asked myself, 'Is it possible that this is how a solemn warning of the coming of the Dreadful Day is taken by a Christian people? But you, I trust, did not see all that came before me?”

“I saw enough to tell me that Dick Pritchard's warning was not a true one,” said she. “I was by the side of father below the wreck. He had seen the Gloriana founder, and if Dick Pritchard had prophesied that he should live to look upon her hull again after all the years that have passed, he would have laughed. And some of the men about us on the beach that had never been bare of water since the world began, talked like wild men. If the world was to come to an end before another set o' sun they meant to enjoy themselves—the Court—they whispered of breaking through the doors of the Court and feasting for once and for the last time. One of them—David Cairns is his name—cried that at the Day of Judgment all men were equal, and he would head any band of fellows that had the spirit to face the Squire and call for the key of the cellar. Father called him a rascal, and he replied. Some were taking his part and some the part of father, when the cry went up that Mr. Wesley was nigh. That was the end of the strife, sir.”

“To tell me this last is to gladden my heart, my dear,” he said, and again he clasped one of her hands in both his own. But he did not do so with the fervour of a lover. His heart was not dwelling upon the purpose which he had been considering since he rose; the girl's story had absorbed him. “And now I hope that the good folk will settle down once more into their quiet and useful lives,” he added.

“They will not be able to do so for some time,” she replied, shaking her head. “All who were present at the preaching have already returned to their work; the boats that were idle for nearly a week put out to the fishing early in the morning; but there are other places where Dick Pritchard's talk was heard, and the miners made it a good excuse for quitting their labour.”

“Poor fellows, I shall go among them at once; I may be able to help them,” said he.

“Do you think of going at once, sir?” she asked quickly.

“At once,” he replied. “Is there any time to lose?”