But He'll see to 't.

He'll not min' their cursin' o' Him, seein' they don't know His face, 'n' thinkin' He belongs to th' gentry.

I knew it wud come right wi' me, when times was th' most bad.

I knew"---- The girl's hands were working together, her eyes set, all the slow years of ruin that had eaten into her brain rising before her, all the tainted blood in her veins of centuries of slavery and heathenism struggling to drag her down.

But above all, the Hope rose clear, simple: the trust in the Master: and shone in her scarred face,--through her marred senses.
"I knew it wud come right, allus.