"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' 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'