She started and looked round at him. He read her thought. "No earthly message, Rhoda, and from no earthly being. Ah, child, the eager look dies out of your eyes! Rhoda, do you ever think how much God loveth us? How much he loveth you, poor perishing little bird, fluttering blindly in the outer darkness of the world!--that darkness which comprehended not the light from the beginning." Rhoda's tears were now dropping fast. Her lip trembled as she repeated once more, "I try--I do try to be good," with an almost peevish emphasis. "Nay, Rhoda, I must speak. In His hand all instruments are alike good and serviceable. He has chosen me, even me, to call you to Him. However much you may despise the Messenger, the message is sure, and of unspeakable comfort." "Oh, Mr. Powell, I don't despise you. Indeed I don't! I know you mean--I know you are good. But I don't think there's any such great harm in going to see a--a young lady who is too ill to go out. I'm sure she is a very good young lady. I'm sure I do try to be good." That was the sum of Rhoda's eloquence. She held fast by those few words in a helpless way, which was at once piteous and irritating. "Are you speaking in sincerity from the very bottom of your heart?" asked Powell, with the invincible, patient gentleness which is born of a strong will. "No, Rhoda; you know you are not. There is harm in following our own inclinations, rather than the voice of the spirit within us. There is harm in clinging to works--to anything we can do. There is harm in neglecting the service of our Master to pleasure any human being." "I did forget that it was prayer-meeting night," admitted Rhoda, more humbly than before. Her natural sweetness of temper was regaining the ascendant, in proportion as her dread of what might be the subject of Powell's reproving admonition decreased. She could bear to be told that it was wrong to visit Minnie Bodkin. She should not like to be told so, and she should refuse to believe it, but she could bear it; and she began to believe that this visit was held to be the head and front of her offending. Powell's next words undeceived her, and startled her back into a paroxysm of mistrust and agitation. "But it is not of your absence from prayer to-night that I would speak now. You are entangling yourself in a snare. You are laying up stores of sorrow for yourself and others. You are listening to the sweet voice of temptation, and giving your conscience into the hand of the ungodly to ruin and deface!" He made a little gesture towards the room overhead with his hand, as he said that Rhoda was giving her conscience into the hands of the ungodly. "I don't know what you mean, Mr. Powell. And I--I don't think it's charitable to speak so of a person--of persons that you know nothing of."