d! O God!"

Mrs. Marvyn's eyes grew wilder,--she walked the door, wringing her
hands,--and her words, mingled with shrieks and moans, became whirling
and confused, as when in autumn a storm drives the leaves in dizzy
mazes.

Mary was alarmed,--the ecstasy of despair was just verging on insanity.
She rushed out and called Mr. Marvyn.

"Oh! come in! do! quick!--I'm afraid her mind is going!" she said.

"It is what I feared," he said, rising from where he sat reading his
great Bible, with an air of heartbroken dejection. "Since she heard this
news, she has not slept nor shed a tear. The Lord hath covered us with a
cloud in the day of his fierce anger."

He came into the room, and tried to take his wife into his arms. She
pushed him violently back, her eyes glistening with a fierce light.
"Leave me alone!" she said,--"I am a lost spirit!"

These words were uttered in a shriek that went through Mary's heart like
an arrow.

At this moment, Candace, who had been anxiously listening at the door
for an hour past, suddenly burst into the room.

"Lor' bress ye, Squire Marvyn, we won't hab her goin' on dis yer way,"
she said. "Do talk _gospel_ to her, can't ye?--ef you can't, I will."

"Come, ye poor little lamb," she said, walking straight up to Mrs.
Marvyn, "come to ole Candace!"--and with that she gathered the pale form
to her bosom, and sat down and began rocking her, as if she had been a
babe. "Honey, darlin', ye a'n't right,--dar's a drefful mistake
somewhar," she said. "Why, de Lord a'n't like what ye tink,--He _loves_
ye, honey! Why, jes' feel how _I_ loves ye,--poor ole black
Candace,--an' I a'n't better'n Him as made me! Who was it wore de crown
o' thorns, lamb?--who was 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' al