John saw the turning of heads, and the little movements and whispers of admiration; and his heart was glad within him.

The thought of her mingled with prayer and hymn; even when he closed his eyes, and bowed his head, she was there.
Perhaps this was not exactly as it should be; yet let us hope the angels look tenderly down on the sins of too much love.

John felt as if he would be glad of a chance to die for her; and, when he thought of her in his prayers, it was because he loved her better than himself.
As to Lillie, there was an extraordinary sympathy of sentiment between them at that moment.

John was thinking only of her; and she was thinking only of herself, as was her usual habit,--herself, the one object of her life, the one idol of her love.
Not that she knew, in so many words, that she, the little, frail bit of dust and ashes that she was, was her own idol, and that she appeared before her Maker, in those solemn walls, to draw to herself the homage and the attention that was due to God alone; but yet it was true that, for years and years, Lillie's unconfessed yet only motive for appearing in church had been the display of herself, and the winning of admiration.
But is she so much worse than others ?--than the clergyman who uses the pulpit and the sacred office to show off his talents ?--than the singers who sing God's praises to show their voices,--who intone the agonies of their Redeemer, or the glories of the _Te Deum_, confident on the comments of the newspaper press on their performance the next week?
No: Lillie may be a little sinner, but not above others in this matter.
"Lillie," said John to her after dinner, assuming a careless, matter-of-course air, "would you like to drive with me over to Spindlewood, and see my Sunday school ?" "_Your_ Sunday school, John?
Why, bless me! do _you_ teach Sunday school ?" "Certainly I do.

Grace and I have a school of two hundred children and young people belonging to our factories.