The Love That Prevailed

by Frank Frankfort Moore

“I, myself, can bear witness to the evil effect that has been produced among a people who were, I hoped, ready for the sowing of the good seed,” said Wesley. “It was a great sorrow to me to hear the lightness of talk—the offer of wagers—the excuse of drunkenness—all the result of Richard Pritchard's indiscretion.”

“And everywhither it has been received as coming from us—from us whom you have instructed in the Truth, sir,” said Jake. “'Tis not Dick Pritchard that has been ridiculed, but we whom they call Methodists. That is the worst of it.”

“And now that I have paved the way for you, the preacher, Mr. Wesley, you will be able for three days to exhort the people to repentance,” said Pritchard, with the air of a man accustomed to give advice on grave matters, with confidence that his advice would be followed.

“My duty is clear,” said Wesley. “I shall have to disclaim all sympathy with the statements made by Richard Pritchard. Souls are not to be terrorised to seek salvation. I am not one of those ministers who think that the painting of lurid pictures of the destruction of the earth and all that is therein the best way of helping poor sinners. Nay, there have come under mine own eyes many instances of the very temporary nature of conversions brought about by that paradox of the gospel of terror. But need we look for guidance any further away than the history of Jonah and the Ninevites? The prophet preached destruction, and the people repented. But how long did the change last? The fire and brimstone had to be rained down upon them before the sackcloth that they assumed was worn out.”

“On Monday the fire and brimstone will overwhelm the whole world, and woe be to him that preacheth not from that text till then!” cried Pritchard. He was standing at one end of the table facing the window that had a western aspect, and as he spoke, the flaming beams of the sinking sun streamed through the glass and along the table until they seemed to envelop him. In spite of the smallness of his stature he seemed, with the sunbeams striking him, to possess some heroic elements. The hand that he uplifted was thin and white, and it trembled in the light. His face was illuminated, not from without only; his eyes were large and deep, and they seemed staring at some object just outside the window.

Watching him thus, everyone in the room turned toward the window—Wesley was the only exception; he kept his eyes fixed upon the man at the foot of the table. He saw his eyes move as if they were following the movements of someone outside, and their expression varied strangely. But they were the eyes of a man who is the slave of his nerves—of a visionary who is carried away by his own ill-balanced imagination—of the mystic who can see what he wishes to see.

Wesley was perplexed watching this man whose nature seemed to have completely changed within the month. He had had a good deal of strange experience of nervous phases, both in men and women who had been overcome by his preaching, but he had never before met with a case that was so strange as this. The man was no impostor; an impostor would have been easy to deal with. He was a firm believer in his own mission and in his own powers, and therein lay the difficulty of suppressing him.

And while Wesley watched him, and everyone else seemed striving to catch a glimpse of the object on which the man's eyes were fixed, the light suddenly passed out of his eyes and they became like those of a newly dead man, staring blankly at that vision which comes before the sight of a soul that is in the act of passing from the earth into the great unknown Space. There he stood with his hand still upraised, and that look of nothingness in his staring eyes..

Wesley sprang up from the table to support him when he fell, and he appeared to be tottering after the manner of a man who has been shot through the heart while on his feet; and Wesley's movement caused the others to turn toward the man.

In a second the miller was behind him with outstretched arms ready to support him. Pritchard did not fall just then, however. Breathlessly and in a strained silence, the others watched him while he swayed to the extent of a hand's breadth from side to side, still with his hand upraised and rigid. For some minutes—it might have been five—he stood thus, and in the end he did not collapse. He went slowly and rigidly backward into Wesley's arms, and then down into his own chair, his eyes still open—still blankly staring, devoid of all expression.