It was a June morning.  There had been few breezes and no storms for some weeks past, so that the usual swell of the ocean had gone down, and there were actually no breakers on the rock at low water, and no ruffling of the surface at all at high tide.  The tide had about two hours before overflowed the rock, and driven the men into the beacon house, where, having breakfasted, they were at the time enjoying themselves with pipes and small talk.

The lighthouse had grown considerably by this time.  Its unfinished top was more than eighty feet above the foundation; but the fog was so dense that only the lower part of the column could be seen from the beacon, the summit being lost, as it were, in the clouds.

Nevertheless that summit, high though it was, did not yet project beyond the reach of the sea.  A proof of this had been given in a very striking manner, some weeks before the period about which we now write, to our friend George Forsyth.

George was a studious man, and fond of reading the Bible critically.  He was proof against laughter and ridicule, and was wont sometimes to urge the men into discussions.  One of his favourite arguments was somewhat as follows—­

“Boys,” he was wont to say, “you laugh at me for readin’ the Bible carefully.  You would not laugh at a schoolboy for reading his books carefully, would you?  Yet the learnin’ of the way of salvation is of far more consequence to me than book learnin’ is to a schoolboy.  An astronomer is never laughed at for readin’ his books o’ geometry an’ suchlike day an’ night—­even to the injury of his health—­but what is an astronomer’s business to him compared with the concerns of my soul to me?  Ministers tell me there are certain things I must know and believe if I would be saved—­such as the death and resurrection of our Saviour Jesus Christ; and they also point out that the Bible speaks of certain Christians, who did well in refusin’ to receive the Gospel at the hands of the apostles, without first enquirin’ into these things, to see if they were true.  Now, lads, if these things that so many millions believe in, and that you all profess to believe in, are lies, then you may well laugh at me for enquirin’ into them; but if they be true, why, I think the devils themselves must be laughing at you for not enquirin’ into them!”

Of course, Forsyth found among such a number of intelligent men, some who could argue with him, as well as some who could laugh at him.  He also found one or two who sympathized openly, while there were a few who agreed in their hearts, although they did not speak.

Well, it was this tendency to study on the part of Forsyth, that led him to cross the wooden bridge between the beacon and the lighthouse during his leisure hours, and sit reading at the top of the spiral stair, near one of the windows of the lowest room.

Forsyth was sitting at his usual window one afternoon at the end of a storm.  It was a comfortless place, for neither sashes nor glass had at that time been put in, and the wind howled up and down the shaft dreadfully.  The man was robust, however, and did not mind that.