self-deluded woman; but, still anxious that some effort should be made for David, she said to Mrs. Wilson, "Is there, then, nothing to be done for your unhappy son?"
"Nothing, child, nothing; he has gone out from me, and he is not of me; his blood be upon his own head; I am clear of it. My 'foot standeth on an even place.' My case is not an uncommon one," she continued, as if she would by this vain babbling, silence the voice within. "The saints of old—David, and Samuel, and Eli, were afflicted as I am, with rebellious children. I have planted and I have watered, and if it is the Lord's will to withhold the increase, I must submit."
"Oh, aunt!" exclaimed Jane, interrupting and advancing towards her, "do not—do not, for your soul's sake, indulge any longer this horrible delusion. You have more children," she continued, falling on her knees, and taking one of her aunt's hands in both hers, and looking like a rebuking messenger from Heaven, "be pitiful to them; be merciful to your own soul. You deceive yourself. You may deceive others; but God is not mocked."
Mrs. Wilson was conscience stricken. She sat as motionless as a statue; and Jane went on with the courage of an Apostle to depicture, in their true colours, her character and conduct. She made her realize, for a few moments at least, the peril of her soul. She made her feel, that her sound faith, her prayers, her pretences, her meeting-goings, were nothing—far worse than nothing
