She became entangled in the finely spun webs of ontology, and knew not what she believed.  Her guardian’s words rang in her ears like a knell.  “You must accept either utter skepticism, or absolute, consistent pantheism.”

A volume which she had been reading the night before lay on the table, and she opened it at the following passage: 

“Every being is sufficient to itself; that is, every being is, in and by itself, infinite:  has its God, its highest conceivable being, in itself.  The object of any subject is nothing else than the subject’s own nature taken objectively.  Such as are a man’s thoughts and dispositions, such is his God!  Consciousness of God is self-consciousness; by his God, you know the man, and by the man, his God:  the two are identical!  Religion is merely the consciousness which a man has of his own, not limited, but infinite, nature; it is an early form of self-knowledge.  God is the objective nature of the understanding.”

Thus much Feuerbach offered her.  She put down the book and leaned her head wearily on her hands.  A light touch on her arm caused her to glance up, and Mrs. Williams’ anxious face looked down at her.

“What is the matter with you, Beulah?  Are you sick?”

“No; I am as well as usual.”  She hastily averted her head.

“But something troubles you, child!”

“Yes; a great many things trouble me; but I am used to troubles, you know, and can cope with them unaided.”

“Won’t you tell me what they are, Beulah?”

“You cannot help me, or I would.  One cause of sorrow, however, is the approaching death of a friend whom I shall miss and mourn.  Cornelia Graham cannot live much longer.  I saw her this evening, and found that she has become sadly altered.”

“She is young to die,” said the matron, with a sigh.

“Yes; only twenty-three.”

“Perhaps her death will be the means of reclaiming my poor boy.”

Beulah shook her head, and Mrs. Williams added: 

“She has lived only for this world and its pleasures.  Is she afraid of the world to come?  Can she die peacefully?”

“She will die calmly, but not hopefully.  She does not believe in Christianity.”

She felt that the matron was searching her countenance, and was not surprised when she said falteringly: 

“Neither do you believe in it.  Oh, Beulah!  I have known it since you came to reside under the same roof with me, and I have wept and prayed over you almost as much as over Eugene.  When Sabbath after Sabbath passed, and you absented yourself from church, I knew something was wrong.  Beulah, who has taught you infidelity?  Oh, it would have been better that you too had followed Lilly, in the early days when you were pure in heart!  Much as I love you, I would rather weep over your grave than know you had lived to forget God.”

Beulah made no reply; and, passing her hands tenderly over the girl’s head, she continued: