5
He was on his knees, alone, on the vast field that sloped a little towards the horizon.
Before him the mountain clouds were now lit with a clear silver light so dazzling that his eyes were lowered.
About him was a great silence. He was himself minute in size, a tiny, tiny bending figure.
Many years passed.
A great glory caught the colour from the sky and earth and held it like a veil before the cloud.
In a voice of the most radiant happiness Olva cried—
"I have fled—I am caught—I am held . . . Lord, I submit."
And for the second time he heard God's voice—
"My Son . . . My Son."
He felt a touch—very gentle and tender—on his shoulder.