Then we fold our hands over our head and pray, till our teeth grind together.

Oh, that from that spirit-world, so real and yet so silent, that surrounds us, one word would come to guide us! We are left alone with this devil; and God does not whisper to us.

Suddenly we seize the Bible, turning it round and round, and say hurriedly: "It will be God's voice speaking to us; His voice as though we heard it." We yearn for a token from the inexorably Silent One.
We turn the book, put our finger down on a page, and bend to read by the moonlight.

It is God's answer.

We tremble.
"Then fourteen years after I went up again to Jerusalem with Barnabas, and took Titus with me also." For an instant our imagination seizes it; we are twisting, twirling, trying to make an allegory.