from them. Whymper came out into
the field to exhort and advise. As he passed Olva he said--

"Rather missed that try of yours. Ought to have gone a bit faster."

He did not answer, it seemed to be no concern of his at all. He was now
trembling it every limb, but his excitement had nothing to do with
the game. It seemed to him that the earth and the sky were sharing his
emotion am he could feel in the air a great exaltation. I was becoming
literally true for him that earth air, sky were praising at this moment,
in wonderful unison, some great presence.

"All things betray Thee who betrayest Me. . . ." Now he understood what
that line had intended him to feel--the very sods crushed by his boots
were leading him to submission.

The whistle sounded. His back now was turned to the white clouds; he was
facing the high stone wall and the tops of the hansom cabs.

The game began again. The Dublin men were determined to drive their
advantage to victory. Another goal and their lead might settle, once and
for all, the issue.

Olva was standing back, listening. The earth was humming like a top. A
voice seemed to be borne on the wind--"Coming, Coming, Coming."

He felt that the clouds were spreading behind him and a little wind
seemed to be whispering in the grass--"Coming, Coming, Coming." His very
existence now was strung to a pitch of expectation.

As in a dream he saw that a Dublin man with the ball had got clear away
from the clump of Cambridge forwards, and was coming towards him. Behind
him only was Lawrence. He flung himself at the man's knees, caught them,
falling himself desperately forward. They both came crashing to the
ground. It was a magnificent collar, and Olva, as he fell, heard, as
though it were miles away, a rising shout, saw the sky bend down to him,
saw the ball as it was jerked up rise for a moment into the air--was
conscious that some one was running.

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 s