“No, indeed, why should I be angry?  I daresay that you are quite right, and I only hope that I may be able to believe again.  I will tell you how I lost belief.  I had a little brother whom I loved more than anything else in the world, indeed after my mother died he was the only thing I really had to love, for I think that my father cares more for Elizabeth than he does for me, she is so much the better at business matters, and Elizabeth and I never quite got on.  I daresay that the fault is mine, but the fact remains—­we are sisters but we are not intimate.  Well, my brother fell ill of a fever, and for a long time he lay between life and death, and I prayed for him as I never prayed for anybody or anything before—­yes, I prayed that I might die instead of him.  Then he passed through the crisis and got better, and I thanked God, thinking that my prayers had been answered; oh, how happy I was for those ten days!  And then this happened:—­My brother got a chill, a relapse followed, and in three days he was dead.  The last words that he spoke to me were, ’Oh, don’t let me die, Bee!’—­he used to call me Bee—­’Please don’t let me die, dear Bee!’ But he died, died in my arms, and when it was over I rose from his side feeling as though my heart was dead also.  I prayed no more after that.  It seemed to me as though my prayers had been mocked at, as though he had been given back to me for a little while in order that the blow might be more crushing when it fell.”

“Don’t you think that you were a little foolish in taking such a view?” said Geoffrey.  “Have you not been amused, sometimes, to read about the early Christians?—­how the lead would not boil the martyr, or the lion would not eat him, or the rain from a blue sky put out the fire, and how the pagan king at once was converted and accepted a great many difficult doctrines without further delay.  The Athanasian Creed was not necessarily true because the fire would not light or the sword would not cut, nor, excuse me, were all your old beliefs wrong because your prayer was unanswered.  It is an ancient story, that we cannot tell whether the answering of our petitions will be good or ill for us.  Of course I do not know anything about such things, but it seems to me rash to suppose that Providence is going to alter the working of its eternal laws merely to suit the passing wishes of individuals—­wishes, too, that in many cases would bring unforeseen sorrows if fulfilled.  Besides I daresay that the poor child is happier dead than he would have been had he lived.  It is not an altogether pleasant world for most of us.”

“Yes, Mr. Bingham, I know, and I daresay that I should have got over the shock in time, only after that I began to read.  I read the histories of the religions and compared them, and I read the works of those writers who have risen up to attack them.  I found, or I thought that I found, the same springs of superstition in them all—­superstitions arising from elementary natural causes, and handed on with variations from race to race, and time to time.  In some I found the same story, only with a slightly altered face, and I learned, moreover, that each faith denied the other, and claimed truth for itself alone.