ue, authority
had immense power over her. The very sweetness of their nature forbids
such to doubt the fitness of others.

She had besides had a governess of the orthodox type, a large
proportion of whose teaching was of the worst heresy, for it was lies
against him who is light, and in whom is no darkness at all; her
doctrines were so many smoked glasses held up between the mind of her
pupil and the glory of the living God; nor had she once directed her
gaze to the very likeness of God, the face of Jesus Christ. Had
Arctura set herself to understand him the knowledge of whom is eternal
life, she would have believed none of these false reports of him, but
she had not yet met with any one to help her to cast aside the
doctrines of men, and go face to face with the Son of Man, the visible
God. First lie of all, she had been taught that she must believe so and
so before God would let her come near him or listen to her. The old
cobbler could have taught her differently; but she would have thought
it improper to hold conversation with such a man, even if she had known
him for the best man in Auchars. She was in sore and sad earnest to
believe as she was told she must believe; therefore instead of
beginning to do what Jesus Christ said, she tried hard to imagine
herself one of the chosen, tried hard to believe herself the chief of
sinners. There was no one to tell her that it is only the man who sees
something of the glory of God, the height and depth and breadth and
length of his love and unselfishness, not a child dabbling in stupid
doctrines, that can feel like St. Paul. She tried to feel that she
deserved to be burned in hell for ever and ever, and that it was
boundlessly good of God--who made her so that she could not help being
a sinner--to give her the least chance of escaping it. She tried to
feel that, though she could not be saved without something which the
God of perfect love could give her if he pleased, but might not please
to give her, yet if she was not saved it would be all her own fault:
and so ever the round of a great miserable treadmill of contradictions!
For a moment she would be able to say this or that she thought she
ought to say; the next the feeling would be gone, and she as miserable
as before. Her friend made no attempt to imbue her with her own calm
indifference, nor could she have succeeded had she attempted it. But
though she had never been troubled herself, and that because she had
neve