In a voice clear and solemn she said, “Whosoever shall offend one of these little ones, which believe in me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he were drowned in the depth of the sea. Woe unto the world, because of offences! for it must needs be that offences come; but woe to that man by whom the offence cometh! Therefore, if thy hand or thy foot offend thee, cut them off, and cast them from thee; for it is better to enter into life halt and maimed rather than having two hands, to be cast into everlasting fire. And if thy eye offend thee, pluck it out, and cast it from thee: for it is better for thee to enter into life with one eye, rather than having two eyes, to be cast into hell-fire.” In words at first slow and with pauses between, as if the inspiration came but measuredly, she described the soul that is tempted by ambition, by avarice, or by the very affections of its weak nature to sin against itself or others. She drew a picture of the temptation of Judas Iscariot to betray even the Lord of Life, and the agonies of remorse that afterwards seized on him. She described him as hastening to the Sanhedrim, and flinging down the price of blood in the midst of the priests and scribes, and their taunt of “See thou to that!” As she warmed in her discourse, her language became rapid, loud, impassioned,—her small, slender frame seemed to expand, to rise, as it were, into the air, and all the spirit of the prophet to be upon her. She drew a picture of the horrors of such a soul as, tempted by the passions, pleasures, or even otherwise innocent endearments of life, selling what was sacred for the mere coinage of self-indulgence, and condemning the righteous to injury and woe! At that word she suddenly stopped. There was a silence as of death. Dropping abruptly from the high-wrought pitch of inspired passion, she went on again in a tone of deep and solemn feeling, saying, “If there be a soul here thus hard beset by a strong temptation of any kind, to betray the innocent, or to sell the pure uprightness of a precious and immortal spirit, let him or _her_”—and she seemed to pause on the latter word—“pause, and cut off the offending part, even should it be some tender, quivering portion of the heart itself, and preserve unscathed the glorious, eternal heritage of a good conscience!” A deep sigh seemed to issue from the bosom of the whole united congregation. There was a breathing, as of a sudden relief, and after a short silence the meeting broke up. Many a one asked of his neighbour for whom this could be meant. There was one who could have answered; but she was walking as in a dream. She entered the waiting carriage, shrunk into a corner, only answering, “A most awful sermon!” to a question of what she thought of it. She hastened to her chamber, and there found a relief in a torrent of tears, and in vows to stand firm to her duty, if it cost her her life. CHAPTER VI.