de a formidable parcel,
but a little handle was supplied and the rector hurried out, swinging
himself on a Tower Street car.

It must not be thought that the whole of what is called modern criticism
was new to Hodder. This would indeed be too much of a reflection on the
open-mindedness of the seminary from which he had graduated.
But he found himself, now, pondering a little cynically on that
"open-mindedness"; on that concession--if it had been a concession--to the
methods of science. There had been in truth a course of lectures on this
subject; but he saw now, very clearly, what a concerted effort had been
put forward in the rest of the teaching to minimize and discredit it.
Even the professor who gave the lectures had had the air of deploring
them. Here it is, but on the whole one would better let it alone,--such
was the inference. And he had let it alone, through all these years.

In the seminary, too, volumes by semi-learned clergymen had been thrust
into his hands, efforts which Hodder recalled now, in spite of his mental
state, with a smile. These invariably championed the doctrine of the
virgin birth as the pillar on which the Incarnation depended.
A favourite argument declared that although the Gospel texts in regard to
it might be proven untrustworthy, the miraculous birth must have happened
anyway! And one of these clerical authors whom he had more recently
read, actually had had the audacity to turn the weapons of the archenemy,
science, back upon itself. The virgin birth was an established fact in
nature, and had its place in the social economy of the bee. And did not
parthenogenesis occur in the silk moth?

In brief, the conclusion impressed upon him by his seminary instruction
was this: that historical criticism had corrected some ideas and put
some things in their right place. What these things were remained
sufficiently vague. But whenever it attacked a cherished dogma it was,
on general principles, wrong.

Once again in his cool study, he cut the cord with a trembling hand, and
while he was eating the lunch his housekeeper had prepared, dipped into
one of the larger volumes. As he read again the critical disproofs he
felt an acute, almost physical pain, as though a vital part of him were
being cut away, as his mind dwelt upon those beautiful legends to which
he had so often turned, and which had seemed the very fountain of his
faith. Legends! . . . .

He closed the book. The clock on the mantel st