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.
6
Many years had passed. He opened his eyes and saw the ball that had been rising, many years ago, now falling.
The man whom he had collared was climbing to his feet; behind them men were bending down for a "scrum." The shout that he had heard when he had fallen was still lingering in the air.