"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.
"'I can never wear this,' exclaimed Ada; 'it would take me months to repair these rents.' As she spoke she bent down to lift the garment that she might examine it more closely; to her astonishment, the whole fabric came to pieces in her hands. The moth of Pride had fretted the garment, and not only was it tarnished and stained, but no sound piece was to be found in the whole of the once goodly robe."
"Oh, I can't bear this story of yours," exclaimed Lydia; "it is one to put us all in despair."
"If it puts us in despair of ourselves, my child," replied Mr. Neill, laying his hand gently on the arm of his niece, "it will prove a story not without profit."
"Ada seemed such a good girl at first, and you have made all her righteousness fall to pieces in the end! How could any one go to a banquet in such soiled and miserable rags?"
"The knowledge of our helplessness and sin, Lydia, is beyond measure precious to our souls. While we wrap ourselves in our fancied merits, while we nourish a secret hope that we can stand before a holy God in the garment of our own poor works, we will never earnestly and thoroughly seek for the grace which alone can save. Let us ask for the gift of self-knowledge, that we may see that we are in His sight."