it sweat great drops o’ blood?—­who was it said, ‘Father, forgive dem’?  Say, honey!—­wasn’t it de Lord dat made ye?—­Dar, dar, now ye’r’ cryin’!—­cry away, and ease yer poor little heart!  He died for Mass’r Jim,—­loved him and died for him,—­jes’ give up his sweet, precious body and soul for him on de cross!  Laws, jes’ leave him in Jesus’ hands!  Why, honey, dar’s de very print o’ de nails in his hands now!”

The flood-gates were rent; and healing sobs and tears shook the frail form, as a faded lily shakes under the soft rains of summer.  All in the room wept together.

“Now, honey,” said Candace, after a pause of some minutes, “I knows our Doctor’s a mighty good man, an’ larned,—­an’ in fair weather I ha’n’t no ‘bjection to yer hearin’ all 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.”