the same time she had felt that she was not, and had never tried to be,
one. She had seen this still more clearly during the subsequent
meetings, from which her duty to her own class would not permit her to
be absent. Dishonesty and hypocrisy were not Etta's vices; she could
not pretend to be what she was not, and yet she could not shake off the
impression that she _ought_ to give herself to Christ and openly confess
his name. She tried to put the subject out of her thoughts; but still,
as she listened, day by day, she grew more and more dissatisfied with
herself, her own character, her aims in life. The preparation of her
Sunday-school lessons became a dreaded task, for it was impossible to
minutely consider the shells of sacred things and not at the same time
take cognizance of the spiritual kernels which they envelop, and these
spiritual realities made her uncomfortable and more and more
dissatisfied with herself.

This Sunday's sermon had gone to the very quick of Etta's conscience,
painting as with a finger of light what she ought to be and what she
was. God had made her for his own temple and dwelling-place; made her
fair, outside and within; endowed her with intellectual and spiritual
gifts, and with wealth, station, and influence, giving her opportunities
for culture and usefulness far greater than most of those who surrounded
her. It was not chance or accident, but God, who had given her all
this, and he demanded, as he had a right to demand, in return, her love,
her obedience, her service. Had she given him these? Never once in her
whole life. She had set up upon his altar in the midst of his beautiful
temple the idol of self-pleasing, and never in her whole seventeen years
had she acted from any other motive than to please herself. It was
sacrilege, it was idolatry, it was dishonesty; and so were all the
actions which had come from such a corrupt source.

Etta was too clear-headed to suppose that any sudden change of practice,
which it was in her power to commence now, would make any difference.
She might obey mechanically, but she could not _make_ herself _love_,
and she did not love, God. His service was a weariness, prayer a
formality, the Bible a dull, uninteresting book. She did love a light,
gay, frivolous life; she saw no attractiveness in one of self-denial and
holy living.

She went directly to her room on reaching home, refused to go down to
dinner, sat behind the shaded blinds, and thought till