Her strength would fail, her task be unfinished, then she must
be punished, and before long, through hard fare, unwearied toil,
and ill usage, she felt that she should die. But there was no help.
Once she had ventured to send an entreaty to her master to take
her back to house service. But he was hardhearted and unrelenting,
and declared with an oath that made her ears tingle that she should
never leave the cotton-field till she died, and there was no power
in heaven or earth that could make him change his determination.
So she hopelessly plodded on, day after day, scorched beneath the hot sun,
and drenched with the pouring rain, weak, faint, and thirsty,
trembling before the coarse shouts, and shrinking from the tormenting

[illustration omitted] lash of the pitiless driver, sure that her
fate was sealed.

Was there no eye to pity, and no arm to rescue? Yes, the unseen God,
whose name is love, was leading her still. Through all the dark,
rough places of her life, his kind, invisible hand was laying link
to link in that wondrous chain which was finally to bring her safe
and happy into his own bosom.



CHAPTER XVI.

RESCUE.

THE slaves on Mr. Turner's plantation had no SABBATH. To be sure,
they were not driven to the field on Sunday, because it was considered
an economic provision to let man and beast rest one day out of the seven.