"Ada paid many visits, read the Bible in several cottages, and returned home with a comfortable persuasion that she had passed a most useful morning. She felt herself wonderfully better than the ignorant creatures who had listened with admiring attention to the words of 'the dear young lady.' Ada was impatient to look at her robe, and could not, as she had at first intended, wait till evening before she did so. What was her astonishment and distress when she cast her gaze on the treasured garment! With the salve of Self-knowledge on her eyes, she could no longer flatter herself that it was anything approaching to white. A dull, dirty hue overspread it; it was besprinkled here and there with dark and unsightly stains. Poor Ada was so badly disappointed, that she could scarcely restrain her tears, till Self-love whispered, 'It is somewhat soiled, it must be owned, yet see, it is embroidered all over with the silver flowers of good works.'" "Yes, that was some consolation," murmured Lydia. "Then again the low voice of Conscience was heard, piercing the inmost soul, 'Ada, Ada! there is indeed a blessing on works done for the love of God; precious and bright is such silver. But while man sees our actions, God sees our motives, and tarnished with sin is the work, be it ever so good in itself, which is done from vainglory, emulation, or self-pleasing.' As the words were uttered, to Ada's dismay she beheld every one of her silver flowers become tarnished and dull; some, indeed, less so than others; but not one remained that retained its brightness, while some appeared actually black." "Poor Ada had nothing left but her pearls, her prayers," observed Lydia, with something like a sigh. "Nay, the pearls shared the fate of the flowers. What is the worth of prayers uttered from habit, or fear, or love of praise, prayers with which the heart has nothing to do? The pearls appeared pearls no longer, but dull, discolored, unsightly beads." "Oh, what a wretched discovery!" cried Lydia. "Self-knowledge showed Ada something besides," pursued Mr. Neill, without looking at his niece as she spoke. "On bending over her garment, Ada perceived many large rents, which seemed to grow in number and size the longer she examined the robe. Again was heard the whisper of Conscience—'These are thy sins of omission, neglected opportunities of serving God, acts of kindness or obedience left undone, a tender mother's wishes disregarded, duties put off in order to gratify the idle whims of self-love.'" Lydia remembered the notes which she had put off writing for so long that her sick mother had that morning done the little business herself. This had been but one of a series of trifling neglects for which Lydia had never before felt self-reproach; for she had not reckoned them to be sins. Tears started into her eyes, and she wished that the story would come to an end.