“It is only some negro with his team,” said Lyon Berners, to soothe the spirits of Sybil, which always took the alarm at the approach of any stranger.
“Yes; but what an hour for a negro, or for any one else but fugitives like ourselves, to be out,” said Sybil, doubtingly.
“Oh, he is making an early start for market perhaps. It must be near morning.”
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“Oh, there will be glory— Glory! glory! glory!— Oh, there will be glory Around the throne of God!” |
sang the unseen singer, making the mountain caves and glens ring with his melody.
“Yes; bress Marster! there WILL be Glories and Hallelujahs all through heaven,” he added; “for—
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“Saints and angels there will meet, Saints and angels there will meet, Saints and angels there will meet— Will meet, to part no more.” |
“And me and my young missis there will meet! And meet to part no more! Glory!” added the singer, with a sudden shout.
“Lyon, that’s our Joe!” exclaimed Sybil, in joyful surprise.
The cart and horses now loomed dimly through the darkness, being almost upon them.