“Do your good works give you this comfortable assurance that you are going to heaven, Uncle Mose?”

“Bress yo’ heart, honey, I ain’t neber done none; but de bressed Lord Jesus covers me all ober wid his goodness, and God de Fader ’cepts me for his sake.”

“Yes, that is it, ’He hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in him.’  ’There is none other name under heaven given among men whereby we must be saved;’ and ‘he that believeth on him shall not be confounded.’”

“Yes, honey, dose de words ob de good book.  Now will you please sing de twenty-third Psalm, an’ den ask de Lord Jesus keep fas’ hold dis ole niggah, till Jordan am past, an’ de gate into de city.”

The request was granted; the sweet voice that had thrilled the hearts of many of the rich and noble of earth, freely poured forth its richest strains to soothe the dying throes of agony of a poor old negro.

Then kneeling by the humble couch, in a few simple, touching words she commended the departing spirit to the almighty love and care of Him who had shed His blood to redeem it, earnestly pleading that the dying one might be enabled to cast himself wholly on Jesus, and in doing so be granted a speedy and abundant entrance into His kingdom and glory.

The fervent “Amen!” of Uncle Mose joined in with hers; then low and feebly he added, “De good—­Lord—­bress you—­my dear—­young—­Missus.”

A shadow had fallen on Elsie, and as she rose from her knees, she turned her head to find her father standing at her side.

He drew her to him and pressed his lips tenderly to her forehead.  “You must go now; the heat of the sun is already too great for you to be out with safety.”

The low quiet tone was one of authority as of old.

He only waited for her good-bye to Uncle Mose, and to speak a few kindly words of farewell himself, then led her out and placed her in his carriage, which stood at the door.

Mr. Travilla rode up at that instant.  “That’s right,” he said.  “Little wife, I am loth to have you exposed to the heat of this sultry day.”

“And you, Edward? can you not come home now?” she asked.

“Not yet, wife; there are several matters I must attend to first, and I want to speak to Mr. Wood, who, I see, is just coming.”

He kissed his hand to her with the gallantry of the days of their courtship, and cantered off, while the carriage rolled on its way toward the mansion.

“Daughter, if you must visit the quarter during this sultry weather, can you not choose an earlier hour?” asked Mr. Dinsmore.

“I think I can after this, papa;” and she went on to explain how her time had been taken up before breakfast that morning.  “Do you know about Mr. Leland?” she asked in conclusion.

“Yes; their next outrage will, I fear, be an attack upon him.”

“Then upon you and Edward!” she said, her cheek growing very pale, and her eyes filling.  “Papa I am becoming very anxious.”