But at length her clandestine attendance of class meetings was discovered, and father and parson were highly indignant, for they saw their cherished hopes blasted, and, in their mortification, severer discipline was decided upon. "She must be closely watched and confined at home; her favorite horse taken from her; her conducting of family worship suspended; her familiarity with her sisters" (who somewhat sympathized with her) "much abridged." The kitchen maid was dismissed, and the tall, delicate Elizabeth was driven to the drudgery of kitchen and washroom, and ordered to "be quiet and diligent as a servant," under charge of having proved herself "unworthy of a daughter's place in the family!" To this servile toil Elizabeth submitted without a murmur, and patiently plodded on, her strong constitution and heroic courage and steady faith bearing her up. But the accusation of "ingratitude and disobedience" was so false and severe as to be very depressing to her spirits. And, never having been inured to hard labor or parental censure, these double tribulations were almost crushing; and to help her courage she kept up the low, almost inaudible hum of the sweet tunes she had so loved to sing among her chosen people, and, thus abstracted, toiled on week after week. Such patience proved provoking, especially as what could be detected of the tunes, in the snatches heard, indicated to her father's enraged feelings a stubborn attachment to that people from whom he was trying to wean her; so even this little comfort was sternly denied her; and, while strength was gradually giving way under her heavy burdens, she was compelled to toil on in silence. Under all these sore trials not only her angry father but the evil one kept up the accusation of "stubborn disobedience." At length she broke down under her burdens and troubles. Health, courage, and joy in the Lord gave way together. For the drill of Parson Huntington in Calvinian theology for nearly a year past now came up, enforced by the instructions of childhood, with fresh power; and she began to suspect that she was one of the "ordained reprobates," "passed by and doomed from eternity to endless ruin!" The whole system of "free grace," impartial atonement, and the Spirit's assurance, in the light and joy of which she had exulted for months in Pittsfield, and been so comforted in these subsequent months of hardship and false accusation, strangely faded before these childhood and recent instructions; and gradually this pupil of Augustine and Calvin sank into the doctrinal abyss of the "horrible decrees." Nor would her broken and depressed spirits allow these sudden conclusions to affect her as abstract dogmas. They struck her, by Satanic power, like lightning, as terribly personal realities. "I, even I, Elizabeth Ward, have been awfully deceived! I am one of the reprobates! I have preferred my father's commands to God's favor! I have committed the 'unpardonable sin!'"