"No indeed, I am not jesting, I am in very sober earnest. I want to know with what you can possibly charge yourself when you pray for forgiveness so devoutly."
"Do you wish the office of a father confessor?"
"Now, like a dear good child, just answer my question, or I shall think that you do not because you cannot."
Flora hesitated;--strange to say, it was a subject on which she was little accustomed to reflect. Through habit she had repeated prayers aloud, and her voice had acquired an intonation which naturally gave an impression of fervour; but she had never thought of questioning her own heart as to the sincerity of her prayer, or the real existence of that earnest devotion which was expressed in her manner. As little had she dreamed of inquiring what particular sins lay on her conscience! the truth is, that the burden, if she had any, was so light, that she could scarcely be said to feel it. Ada, however, pressed for a reply; and afraid that her cousin might suspect her of self-righteousness if she remained silent, Flora, casting down her eyes, made answer--"I know that I sometimes neglect my duties and put them off to a more convenient time."
"What duties, may I ask?"
"Such as visiting the sick poor."
Ada threw up her hands in amazement. "Why, it seems to me there is nothing here but attending to the poor from morning till night--cutting out work for the school, carrying broth to old women, lecturing little boys, visiting, reading--"
"Ah! that is my mother's doing more than mine."
"My dear child, you do enough to constitute you a saint in any Romish calendar! If you have to repent of not doing more, what is to become of me who do nothing at all! Pray let us have some more tangible fault, if the microscope of your conscience is sufficiently strong to discover one in your conduct."
"I am sometimes out of patience with the school children."