in her excitement; her pinched, terrified face was close to his.

"He wasn't never converted,--I know that,--but would the Lord have cut
him off, sudden-like, in his sin, if He wasn't goin' to save him?"

"We can only trust his wisdom and his goodness."

"But you think he was cut off in his sins--you think--my Tom's lost!"

The preacher did not speak, but the passionate pity in his eyes told her.
She put her hands up to her throat as though she were suffocating, and
her face grew ghastly.

"Remember, God knows what is best for his children," John said. "He
sends this grief of Tom's death to you in his infinite wisdom. He loves
you,--He knows best."

"Do you mean," asked the woman slowly, "that it was best fer Tom he
should die?"

"I mean this sorrow may be best for you," he answered tenderly. "God
knows what you need. He sends sorrow to draw our souls nearer to Him."

"Oh," she exclaimed, her voice broken and hoarse, "I don't want no good
fer me, if Tom has to die fer it. An' why should He love me instead o'
Tom? Oh, I don't want his love, as wouldn't give Tom another chance! He
might 'a' been converted this next revival, fer you would 'a' preached
hell,--I know you would, then. No, I don't want no good as comes that
way. Oh, preacher, you ain't going to say you think my Tom's burning in
hell this night, and me living to be made better by it? Oh, no, no, no!"