"Woman, thy prayers withstand me!"
"Oh, brethren," said Milly, "I mistrusted of yer councils, and I's been praying de Lord for you. Oh, brethren, behold de Lamb of God! If dere must come a day of vengeance, pray not to be in it! It's de Lord's strange work. Oh, brethren, is we de fust dat's been took to de judgment-seat? dat's been scourged, and died in torments? Oh, brethren, who did it afore us? Didn't He hang bleeding three hours, when dey mocked Him, and gave Him vinegar? Didn't He sweat great drops o' blood in de garden?"
And Milly sang again, words so familiar to many of them, that, involuntarily, several voices joined her:—
"Agonizing in the garden,
On the ground your Maker lies;
On the bloody tree behold Him,
Hear Him cry, before He dies,
It is finished! Sinners, will not this suffice?"
"Oh, won't it suffice, brethren!" she said. "If de Lord could bear all dat, and love us yet, shan't we? Oh, brethren, dere's a better way. I's been whar you be. I's been in de wilderness! Yes, I's heard de sound of dat ar trumpet! Oh, brethren! brethren! dere was blackness and darkness dere! But I's come to Jesus, de Mediator of de new covenant, and de blood of sprinkling, which speaketh better tings than dat of Abel. Hasn't I suffered? My heart has been broke over and over for every child de Lord give me! And, when dey sold my poor Alfred, and shot him, and buried him like a dog, oh, but didn't my heart burn? Oh, how I hated her dat sold him! I felt like I'd kill her! I felt like I'd be glad to see mischief come on her children! But, brethren, de Lord turned and looked upon me like he done on Peter. I saw him with de crown o' thorns on his head, bleeding, bleeding, and I broke down and forgave her. And de Lord turned her heart, and he was our peace. He broke down de middle wall 'tween us, and we come together, two poor sinners, to de foot of de cross. De Lord he judged her poor soul! She wan't let off from her sins. Her chil'en growed up to be a plague and a curse to her! Dey broke her heart! Oh, she was saved by fire—but, bress de Lord, she was saved! She died with her poor head on my arm—she dat had broke my heart! Wan't dat better dan if I'd killed her? Oh, brethren, pray de Lord to give 'em repentance! Leave de vengeance to him. Vengeance is mine—I will repay, saith de Lord. Like he loved us when we was enemies, love yer enemies!"
A dead silence followed this appeal. The key-note of another harmony had been struck. At last Dred rose up solemnly:—