econd 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.

And yet many years had passed.

"Hope you're not hurt," the Dublin man said. "Came down hard."

"No, thanks, it's all right."

Olva got on to his feet. Some one cried, "Well collared, Dune."

He ran back to his place. Now there was no hesitation or confusion. A
vigour like wine filled his body. The Cambridge men now were pressing;
the ball was flung back to Cardillac, who threw to Olva. The Dublin line
was only a few yards away and Olva was over. Lawrence kicked a goal and
Cambridge had now five points to the Dublin ten.

Cambridge now awoke to its responsibilities. The Dublin men seemed to be
flagging a little, and Tester and Buchan, having apparently decided that
Olva was himself again, played their accustomed game.

But what had happened to Dune? There he had been his old casual superior
self during the first half of the game. Now he was that inspired player
that the Harlequin match had once revealed him. Whymper had spoken to
him at half-time. That was what it was--Whymper had roused him.

For he was amazing. He was everywhere. Even when he had been collared,
he was suddenly up, had raced after the three-quarter line, caught them
up and was in the movement again. Five times the Cambridge Threes were
going, were half-way down the field, and were checked by the wonderful
Dublin defence. Again and again Cambridge pressed. There were only ten
minutes left for play and Cambridge were still five points behind.

Somebody standing in the crowd said, "By Jove, Dune seems to be enjoying
it. I never saw any one look as happy."

Some one else said, "Dune's possessed by a devil or something. I never
saw anything like that pace. He doesn't seem to be watching the game at
all, though."

Some one said, "There's going to be a tremendous snowstorm in a minute.
Look at those white clouds."

Then, when there were five minutes more to play, there was a forward
rush over the Dublin line--a Cambridge man, struggling at the bottom
of a heap of legs and arms, touched down. A Dublin appeal was made for
"Carried