"I have no idea."
"Why, fifteen hundred dollars—that is all! Oh, what is the blaze of diamonds to a soul like mine, shrouded in despairing darkness, and hovering upon the very confines of eternity, if there be any!" She threw the costly gift on the table and wearily closed her eyes.
"You have become discouraged too soon, Cornelia. Your very anxiety to discover truth evinces its existence, for Nature always supplies the wants she creates!"
"You will tell me that this truth is to be found down in the depths of my own soul; for, no more than logic, has it ever been discovered 'parceled and labeled.' But how do I know that all truth is not merely subjective? Ages ago, skepticism intrenched itself in an impregnable fortress: 'There is no criterion of truth.' How do I know that my 'true,' 'good,' and 'beautiful' are absolutely so? My reason is no infallible plummet to sound the sea of phenomena and touch noumena. I tell you, Beulah, it is all—"
A hasty rap at the door cut short this discussion, and, as Eugene entered, the cloud on Cornelia's brow instantly lifted. His gay Christmas greeting and sunny, handsome face diverted her mind, and, as her hand rested on his arm, her countenance evinced a degree of intense love such as Beulah had supposed her incapable of feeling.
"It is very selfish, sister mine, to keep Beulah so constantly beside you, when we all want to see something of her."
"Was I ever anything else but selfish?"
"But I thought you prided yourself on requiring no society?"
"So I do, as regards society in general; but Beulah is an exception."
"You intend to come down to-night, do you not?"