She had not gone to church with that intention; indeed not, although she had long been deeply moved by a consciousness of her lost estate. But that night, when the preacher had pictured the boundless joys of heaven, and then, leaning over the pulpit and stretching out his arms before him, had said in his softest tone, “Now come, won’t you, sinnahs? De Lawd is jes’ on de othah side; jes’ one step away, waitin’ to receibe you. Won’t you come to him? Won’t you tek de chance o’ becomin’ j’int ’ars o’ dat beautiful city whar de streets is gol’ an’ de gates is pearl? Won’t you come to him, sinnah? Don’t you see de pityin’ look he’s a-givin’ you, a-sayin’ Come, come?” she lost herself. Some irresistible power seemed dominating her, and she arose and went forward, dropping at the altar amid a great shouting and clapping of hands and cries of “Bless de Lawd, one mo’ recruit fu’ de Gospel ahmy.” Some one started the hymn, “We’ll bow around the altar,” and the refrain was taken up by the congregation with a fervour that made the rafters of the little edifice ring again. The conquest of Anner ’Lizer, the belle of that section of Kentucky, was an event of great moment; and in spite of the concentration of the worshippers’ minds on their devotions, the unexpected occurrence called forth a deal of discussion among the brothers and sisters. Aunt Hannah remarked to Aunt Maria, over the back of the seat, that she “nevah knowed de gal was unner c’nviction.” And Aunt Maria answered solemnly, “You know, sistah, de Lawd wuks in a myste’ious way his wondahs to pu’fo’m.” Meanwhile the hymn went on, and above it rose the voice of the minister: “We want all de Christuns in de house to draw up aroun’ de altah, whar de fiah is bu’nin’: you know in de wintah time when hit’s col’ you crowds up clost to de fiahplace; so now ef you wants to git spi’tually wa’m, you mus’ be up whar de fiah is.” There was a great scrambling and shuffling of feet as the members rose with one accord to crowd, singing, around the altar. Two of the rude benches had been placed end to end before the pulpit, so that they extended nearly the full width of the little church; and at these knelt a dozen or more mourners, swaying and writhing under the burden of their sins. The song being ended, the preacher said: “Brer’ Adams, please tek up de cross.” During the momentary lull that intervened between the end of the song and the prayer, the wails and supplications of the mourners sounded out with weird effect. Then Brer’ Adams, a white-haired patriarch, knelt and “took up the cross.”