The Bishop nodded slightly, “Yes, yes,” then looked at the other with a larger thought. “But, Newbold, I have no policy, I have found only one reading to the riddle of life, and I preach it. There is no policy in that, I think, is there?” “I think,” said Newbold, quietly, “that you are the only man I have ever seen solve that riddle.” “I have not solved it, Murray, if I have not given you the clew.” At that unbearable sadness Murray Newbold cried out, “No, Bishop, no! If I have failed, it is not your failure! Faith such as yours, life such as yours,--it is impossible to men like me. It is not for us.” “I always thought it was for all.” There was a long pause. “And it is. I have not known how to show you, that is all.” The Bishop bowed his head in silence, murmuring, “But I wanted you,” again a long pause, “as you would want peace for your boy!” The next words were not to Newbold, but Newbold knew to Whom they were spoken, “Yet I ask so much! We can never share with Him, we who ask fulfillment!” Then the Bishop started sharply from revery, “The service! I must go. It is too late, perhaps, already for the communion.” “There is just time. But, Bishop, will you go? There is so much still to say. Stay a little while!” “What I have failed to say in twenty years, can I say now? In a little while?” “Say it!” pleaded Newbold, “say it!” Like a physical need, like hunger, the Bishop felt the blind desire to feel the chancel quiet about him, to offer once more to his people the cup of Christ. Yet before him here and now, in this silent room, a soul a-thirst. “What is it, lad, that you want from me?” “You believe it, Bishop?” Newbold burst forth. “What?” “What we preach. I never knew any man to believe it as you do. How?” “How otherwise?” “I never knew any other man who had found peace. _How?_” “It is hard,” hesitated the Bishop, “for me to talk about these things--with you. It is hard for me to understand,” his tired eyes widened with the effort to understand. “You mean with the Story ever before you, that yet you cannot see--Him?” “I see nothing. I’ve come to a pretty dark place in my career, successful, I suppose it would be called.” “Since I’ve come to be old, I find I don’t always call things by their right names. Success and failure, I don’t always know how to name them.” “But you have success!” “No--no, you have showed me clearly to-day that I have failure.” “_I_ have shown you?” “Don’t you remember that I came here with a hope?” “Which I have destroyed? But, Bishop, the work you describe is impossible to me. You know, no one better, what I am. The amazing thing is that knowing, you still chose me. Why, such a work requires a courage, a conviction, a vision such as--” “You have not courage?” “Not, not courage of your sort, now.” “I believe it is courage of your sort, not my sort, that Westbury needs, now.”