Old Bishop Alfred grasped my hands in his. “This is not chance, but a wonderful sign from God,” he said. “To think that while we met here you lay within that case a few feet from us! I have doubted and dreaded, as all have, but nothing can daunt me now. We shall win freedom, we shall have our two names again.” David whispered to me that, grown a little childish with age, the poor old man longed for the day when he could assume the ancient episcopal pomp. To sign himself, Alfred London, was his life’s dream, and he had vowed that till that day came his family name should never pass his lips. After I had heard the story we kneeled in prayer, and the Bishop read to us from the syllabic version of the Bible, as it was known. It comprised only a few portions of the Old Testament, chiefly parts of Isaiah which some scribe had thought prophetic and necessary to be saved. Of the Synoptic Gospels there existed only a few fragments, too, but there was the “Sermon on the Mount” from the “Beatitudes” to the end, and the whole of the magnificent “Gospel According to St. John,” together with most of “Acts” and “Corinthians,” debased to some extent, and containing interpolations that had crept in, but on the whole faithful to the original. Though the entire Bible has, of course, been recovered, I am convinced, and many agree with me, that the world has gained immeasurably by the removal of the scaffolding of the Temple of Truth during more than two generations. Never again will literal interpretation be placed upon Old Testament mythology, the poetic allegory of “Creation and the Fall,” or the chronology that offered the life cycles of tribes as the events of one man’s life; nor will the warrior god, Jehovah, be considered anything but an incompletely discerned aspect of the divine. Afterward, at David’s urging, I rose to speak. I hardly knew what I should say, but, as I stood in hesitation before the meeting some Pentecostal power seemed to lay hold of me, and a torrent of impassioned words broke from my lips, till I felt all minds and hearts enkindled from the flame in mine. I spoke of the old, free world, of old, illogical, and cherished customs, preserved through centuries, uniting men in a fellowship that logic could not give; of ideals and traditions carried onward from age to age, ennobling faith and strengthening a nation’s soul; of pride of family other than that of pedigreed stock; of initiative and resourcefulness, charity and good-will for weak as well as strong; of a ruling class bound by its traditions to public service, and open to all below who had the character and gifts to enter it. But one thing I could not explain; when Bishop Alfred, rising, incredulous that the weak should have been protected, that they aroused pity instead of wrath, inquired, if we had really had this Christian use, why we had lost it.