The Love That Prevailed

by Frank Frankfort Moore

“All's well,” was the response, and her hands clasped themselves in joy and gratitude.

Never had such a tempest been thrown on the coast, Hartwell said, but absolutely no damage had been done to building, boat, or human being. Some trees had been struck by the lighting in the outskirts of the park, and doubtless others had suffered further inland; but the fishing boats having had signs of the approach of the storm, had at once made for the shore, and happily were brought to the leeward of the little wharf before the first burst had come.

When he had told his tale he enquired if either of them had seen anything of Pritchard.

“He appeared suddenly where we saw him yesterday,” he continued, “and his cry was that we should join him in calling upon the rocks to fall on us. He would not be persuaded to take shelter, and he was seen to wander into what seemed to be the very heart of the storm.”

Wesley shook his head, and told his story.

The man whose prophecy of the end of the world had spread within certain limits a terror that was recalled by many firesides, and formed a landmark in the annals of two generations, was the only one who perished in the great thunderstorm, which undoubtedly took place within a day or two of the date assigned by him to see the destruction of the world.

John Wesley had no choice left him in the matter. His host insisted on his going into a bed that had been made as warm as his copper pan of charcoal could make it, after partaking of a spiced posset compounded in accordance with a recipe that was guaranteed to prevent the catching of a cold, no matter how definitely circumstances conspired in favour of a cold.

His garments had become sodden with rain from the waterspout at the outset of the storm, and he had been forced to sit for several hours in the same clothes. He could not hope to escape a cold unless by the help of this famous posset, the housekeeper affirmed; and she was amazed to find him absolutely docile in this matter. She had been voluble in her entreaties; but she came to the conclusion that she might have spared herself half her trouble; she had taken it for granted that she was talking to an ordinary man, who would scoff at the virtues of her posset, and then make all his friends miserable by his complaints when he awoke with a cold on him. Mr. Wesley was the only sensible man she had ever met, she declared to her master, with the sinister expression of a hope that his example of docility would not be neglected by others.

He went to bed, and after listening for some hours to the roaring of the sea, he fell asleep. The evening had scarcely come, but he had never felt wearier in all his life.

He slept for eight hours, and when he awoke he knew that he had done well to yield, without the need for persuasion, to the advice of the housekeeper. He felt refreshed in every way; and after lying awake for an hour, he arose, dressed himself, and left the house. This impulse to take a midnight walk was by no means unusual with him. He had frequently found himself the better for an hour or two spent in the darkness, especially beside the sea. Midnight was just past. If he were to remain in the air for some time, he might, he thought, be able to sleep until breakfast-time.