Dalton sat silent. He recalled his own discussions, as a student, with the young professor setting forth his theories of Biblical criticism. He remembered how he too had sweated when this brilliant teacher of his had cast doubt upon the historicity of parts of the Bible. And he understood to some degree at least the intensity of the emotions in this boy’s heart. The words of scornful disbelief that were ready on his lips died there. The boy’s face, the honest, clear, blue-grey eyes, the pain in them, the anxiety, the doubt, held back Dalton’s glib disclaimer of faith. He temporised. “Is what true?” he said. “Is the Bible true? The story of Adam and Eve, of Joseph, of David and Goliath—that Psalm, is that true?” Again Paul laid a shaking finger upon the words that had just been read. “Gaspard,” said Dalton, “don’t be a darned fool. What has that psalm got to do with Adam and Eve, and Noah, and the rest of those old boys? Don’t you know how your Bible is made up? That’s not one book. That’s a library of sixty-six books bound in one volume, written by I don’t know how many authors, who lived I don’t know how many centuries apart—did know once, but I’ve forgotten. The early parts of the Bible came down to us as fragments of literature preserved by the Hebrew people, literature of all kinds, folk lore, songs, political addresses, great poems, letters, theological discussions, differing in character, content, quality and worth. If you ask me, Do I believe the Bible is true? I would have to say, Yes and no. I’m not going to give you a lecture on Biblical criticism just now, but I want to say this, you don’t need to believe that the man who wrote the story of Adam and Eve was writing history, in order to believe that the psalm I have just read is true. Don’t you go chucking your faith in the Bible till you have studied a lot more about it. And as to that psalm, your mother believed it, didn’t she?” “She did,” said Paul, under his breath. “Yes, she did.” “And she lived by it, didn’t she?” “Yes, she did.” “That ought to be good enough for you. There are millions more like her in the world today, and they’re all the best people.” Then silence for some moments, Paul’s face carrying deep lines of anxiety and doubt and dread. To him it seemed as if the foundations of life were rocking under his feet. Intently Dalton studied his face, then in a kindlier tone said: “Gaspard, listen to me. I am no religious man, but I have studied these things a bit. That book of yours is a unique book. Some fools insist on going to it for geology, history and that sort of thing. My professor said to me once a thing that helped me when I was in the sweat box of unbelief and all that. He said something like this: