“If some others were as honest,” said the rector, “the problems of clergymen would be much easier.  And it is precisely because people will not tell us what they feel that we are left in the dark and cannot help them.  Of course, the language of St. John about the future is figurative.”

“Figurative,—­yes,” she consented, “but not figurative in a way that helps me, a modern American woman.  The figures, to be of any use, ought to appeal to my imagination—­oughtn’t they?  But they don’t.  I can’t see any utility in such a heaven—­it seems powerless to enter as a factor into my life.”

“It is probable that we are not meant to know anything about the future.”

“Then I wish it hadn’t been made so explicit.  Its very definiteness is somehow—­stultifying.  And, Mr. Hodder, if we were not meant to know its details, it seems to me that if the hereafter is to have any real value and influence over our lives here, we should know something of its conditions, because it must be in some sense a continuation of this.  I’m not sure that I make myself clear.”

“Admirably clear.  But we have our Lord’s example of how to live here.”

“If we could be sure,” said Eleanor, “just what that example meant.”

Hodder was silent a moment.

“You mean that you cannot accept what the Church teaches about his life?” he asked.

“No, I can’t,” she faltered.  “You have helped me to say it.  I want to have the Church’s side better explained,—­that’s why I’m here.”  She glanced up at him, hesitatingly, with a puzzled wonder, such a positive, dynamic representative of that teaching did he appear.  “And my husband can’t,—­so many people I know can’t, Mr. Hodder.  Only, some of them don’t mention the fact.  They accept it.  And you say things with such a certainty—­” she paused.

“I know,” he replied, “I know.  I have felt it since I have come here more than ever before.”  He did not add that he had felt it particularly about her, about her husband:  nor did he give voice to his instinctive conviction that he respected and admired these two more than a hundred others whose professed orthodoxy was without a flaw.  “What is it in particular,” he asked, troubled, “that you cannot accept?  I will do my best to help you.”

“Well—­” she hesitated again.

“Please continue to be frank,” he begged.

“I can’t believe in the doctrine of the virgin birth,” she responded in a low voice; “it seems to me so—­so material.  And I feel I am stating a difficulty that many have, Mr. Hodder.  Why should it have been thought necessary for God to have departed from what is really a sacred and sublime fact in nature, to resort to a material proof in order to convince a doubting humanity that Jesus was his Son?  Oughtn’t the proof of Christ’s essential God-ship to lie in his life, to be discerned by the spiritual; and wasn’t he continually rebuking those who demanded material