"What did it all mean?" she asked presently.
"God knows, my child. Promise me to forget it,—never to think of it or speak of it again."
"I can never forget that woman's face; I will not speak of it."
"I had no right to bring you through such a neighborhood. Ah, here is your church at last."
They entered a large square meeting-house, before which were flaring several pine-wood torches. Half a dozen blacks were loafing about the entrance; but the love-feast was too attractive to permit of many of the congregation's loitering outside the church. Margaret and Rondelet took their seats just as the preacher rose to his feet. He was a mulatto, with a clever face and a certain magnetism which made itself felt as soon as he opened his lips. The words of his text were, "The man that is perfect in his dealings, it is not a hard matter for him to get a living in this world. Therefore be perfect in all your dealings; and to be perfect you must be of one mind."
"The Apostle Paul says, 'Be of one mind.' Week after week you have a little preacher that stands here talking to you; what is he for? To get all your hearts centred on one thing,—the grace of God, that you may live again in peace, that you may be of one mind. That is the question, that is the question,—of one mind.
