Closer, below the Antonia Tower, rose the dark, lead-covered cupola of the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.
Great emotion came to him as he gazed at the shrine sacred above all others for so many centuries.
He thought of that holy spot diminished in its ancient glory in the eyes of half the Christian world.
Perhaps no more would the Holy Fire burst forth from the yellow, aged marble of the Tomb at Easter time.
Who could say?
Was not he, Harold Spence, there to try that awful issue?
He wondered, as he gazed, if another Easter would still see the wild messengers bursting away to Nazareth and Bethlehem bearing The Holy Flame.
The sun became suddenly more powerful. It threw a warmer light into the grey dome, and, deep down, the cold, dark waters of Hezekiah's Pool became bright and golden.
The sacred places focussed the light and sprang into a new life.
He made the sign of the Cross, wondering fancifully if this were an omen.