perceived the strange look
that had silenced him at the foot of the mountain returning to his
companion's face. Only now the weariness was fading, it was the glory
that returned.

Pushing away the table, George Fox rose to his feet, and stretched
both his arms out wide. He and Farnsworth were alone in the narrow inn
parlour, lighted only by one flickering rushlight. So small was the
room that the whitewashed walls pressed close on every side. So low
was the ceiling that when Fox arose and drew himself up to his full
height the black oak beams were scarce a hand's breadth above his
head.

Yet Richard, as he looked up, awed and silent, from his stool by the
table, felt as if his friend were still standing far above him on the
summit of a high hill, with nothing but the heights of sky beyond his
head and with the hills and valleys of the whole world stretching away
below his feet.

'I see,' said Fox, and, as he spoke, to Richard too the narrow walls
seemed to open and melt away into infinite space on every side: 'I see
a people in white raiment, by a riverside--a great people--in white
raiment, coming to the Lord.'

The flickering rushlight spluttered and went out. Through the low
casement window the white mists could be seen, still rising from every
bend and fold of the widespread valleys that lay around them, rising
up, up, like an innumerable company of spirit-filled souls, while the
moon shone down serenely over all.

II

It was a few days later, and Whitsun Eve. The same traveller who had
climbed to the top of old Pendle Hill 'with much ado, it was so
steep,' was coming down now on the far side of the Yorkshire dales.

'A lusty strong man of body' but 'of a grave look or countenance,' he
'travelled much on foot through rough and untrodden paths.' 'As he
passed through Wensleydale he advised the people as he met or passed
through them' 'to fear God,' 'which ... did much alarm the people, it
being a time that many people were filled with zeal.'[3]

At sunset he passed through a village of flax-weavers whose
settlements lay in the low flatts that bordered the rushing river
Rawthey a mile or two outside of Sedbergh Town.

'I came through the Dales,' says George Fox in his Journal, 'and as I
was passing along the way, I asked a man which was Richard Robinson's,
and he asked me from whence I came, and I told him "From the Lord."'

This must have been a rather unexpected answer from a traveller on the
high ro