“You have taught me so, sir.” A rustle swept the house. The stern face of the Professor melted in its sudden, winning fashion. He drew in his breath. At least, the reputation of the Department was secured! “Do you not believe what you have been taught?” “Professor,” said Bayard, smiling, “do you?” It being well known that the now conservative Professor of Theology had been the liberal and the progressive of his first youth, this reply created a slight smile. But the Professor did not smile. The crisis was too serious. “The candidate does not deny the doctrine,” he urged. “He will undoubtedly grow into it as other men have done before him.” “Whether men are eternally damned”--began Bayard. “Job,” whispered the Italian back by the door, “he swear at ’em!” “No, he ain’t,” said the sober fellow. “It’s the way they talk in churches.” “What tongue is it they do speak?” persisted the Italian. “Blamed if I know,” whispered Job Slip with unusual decorum. “I think it’s High Dutch.” “No, it ain’t; it’s Latin,” corrected the sober fellow. “I can make out a word now and then. They translate parts as they go along. It’s darn queer gibberish, ain’t it? I guess the natives used to talk like that in Bible times.” “All this row,” said Job Slip, whose befuddled brain was actively busy with the personal fate of a minister who could knock him down, “all this d---- row’s along of me. It’s because he was late to meetin’!” The Italian nodded seriously. But the girl in the reefer said:-- “Shut up there! The second round’s on, now.” “Explain the difference between verbal and plenary inspiration,” demanded the small clergyman in a small, suspicious voice. “There! I _said_ it was High Dutch!” whispered Job Slip triumphantly. “Explain the difference,” repeated the small clergyman. The candidate explained. “Is every word of the Old and New Testament of the Scriptures equally inspired by Almighty God?” “Please give me your definition of inspiration,” said Bayard, wheeling upon his questioner. The small clergyman objected that this was the candidate’s business. “It is one of the maxims of civil law that definitions are dangerous,” replied Bayard with a smile. But it was no time for smiling, and he knew it. He parried for a little in the usual technicalities of the schools; but it was without hope or interest. He knew now how it would all end. But he was not conscious of a moment’s hesitation. His soul seemed elate, remote from his fate. He looked out across the lake of faces upturned to his. He had now grown quite pale, and the natural fairness of his skin and delicacy of his features added to the effect of transparence which his high face gave. The dullest eye in the audience observed, and the coldest lip long afterwards acknowledged, the remarkable beauty of the man. With a sudden and impressive gesture of the hand, as if he cast the whole merciless scene away from him, he stepped unexpectedly forward, and in a ringing voice he said:--