that which God sends through every movement of His created robe of life.
As the two halted, and the horses looked out with steady, inquisitive eyes at the immensity of light and air beneath them, a soft hooting cry broke out, and a shepherd passed below along the hillside a hundred yards away, trailing his long shadow behind him, and to the mellow tinkle of bells his flock came after, a troop of obedient sheep and wilful goats, cropping and following and cropping again as they went on to the fold, called by name in that sad minor voice of him who knew each, and led instead of driving. The soft clanking grew fainter, the shadow of the shepherd shot once to their very feet, as he topped the rise, and vanished again as he stepped down once more; and the call grew fainter yet, and ceased.
The Pope lifted His hand to His eyes for an instant, then smoothed it down His face.
He nodded across to a dim patch of white walls glimmering through the violet haze of the falling twilight.
"That place, father," He said, "what is its name?"
The Syrian priest looked across, back once more at the Pope, and across again.
"That among the palms, Holiness?"
"Yes."
"That is Megiddo," he said. "Some call it Armageddon."
