Her eyes said yes. "Tell _him_--you may never see the right time for it,
but if you do--tell him I craved his forgiveness."
I shook my head.
"Yes--yes, tell him so; it was far the most my fault; he is such a child;
such a child of nature, I mean. Tell him I said it sounds very pretty to
call ourselves and each other children of nature, but we have no right to
be such. The word is 'Be thou clean,' and if we are not masters of nature
we can't do it. Tell him that, will you? And tell him he has nothing to
grieve for; I was only a dangerous toy, and I want him to love the dear
Father for taking it away from him before he had hurt himself.
"Now I am ready to go--only--that hymn those black women--in the cemetery
--you remember? I've made another verse to it. You'll find it--afterward--
on a scrap of paper between the leaves of my Bible. It isn't good poetry,
of course; it's the only verse I ever composed. May I say it to you just
for my--my testimony? It's this:
Yet though I have sinned, Lord, all others above,
Though feeble my prayers, Lord; my tears all unseen;
I'll trust in thy love, Lord; I'll trust in thy love--
O I'll trust in thy love like Mary Mahgaleen."
An exalted smile lighted her face as she sunk deeper into the pillows.
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