l about dese yer great an' mighty tings
he's got to say. But, honey, dey won't do for you now; sick folks
mus'n't hab strong meat; an' times like dese, dar jest a'n't but one
ting to come to, an' dat ar's _Jesus_. Jes' come right down to whar poor
ole black Candace has to stay allers,--it's a good place, darlin'! _Look
right at Jesus_. Tell ye, honey, ye can't live no other way now. Don't
ye 'member how He looked on His mother, when she stood faintin' an'
tremblin' under de cross, jes' like you? He knows all about mothers'
hearts; He won't break yours. It was jes' 'cause He know'd we'd come
into straits like dis yer, dat he went through all dese tings,--Him, de
Lord o' Glory! Is dis Him you was a-talkin' about?--Him you can't love?
Look at Him, an' see ef you can't. Look an' see what He is!--don't ask
no questions, and don't go to no reasonin's,--jes' look at _Him_,
hangin' dar, so sweet and patient, on de cross! All dey could do
couldn't stop his lovin' 'em; he prayed for 'em wid all de breath he
had. Dar's a God you can love, a'n't dar? Candace loves Him,--poor, ole,
foolish, black, wicked Candace,--and she knows He loves her,"--and here
Candace broke down into torrents of weeping.

They laid the mother, faint and weary, on her bed, and beneath the
shadow of that suffering cross came down a healing sleep on those weary
eyelids.

"Honey," said Candace, mysteriously, after she had drawn Mary out of the
room, "don't ye go for to troublin' yer mind wid dis yer. I'm clar
Mass'r James is one o' de 'lect; and I'm clar dar's consid'able more o'
de 'lect dan people tink. Why, Jesus didn't die for nothin',--all dat
love a'n't gwine to be wasted. De 'lect is more'n you or I knows, honey!
Dar's de _Spirit_,--He'll give it to 'em; and ef Mass'r James _is_
called an' took, depend upon it de Lord has got him ready,--course He
has,--so don't ye go to layin' on yer poor heart what no mortal creetur
can live under; 'cause, as we's got to live in dis yer world, it's quite
clar de Lord must ha' fixed it so we _can_; and ef tings was as some
folks suppose, why, we _couldn't_ live, and dar wouldn't be no sense in
anyting dat goes on."

The sudden shock of these scenes was followed, in Mrs. Marvyn's case, by
a low, lingering fever. Her room was darkened, and she lay on her bed, a
pale, suffering form, with scarcely the ability to raise her hand. The
shimmering twilight of the sick-room fell on white napkins, spread over
stands, where con