y have rejected the Sacrifice and the Lord will require
one from among us. It would be a message to me."

His voice died away; his eyes seemed to pierce the violet mists of the
valley with prophetic power.

Andrew Johnstone was silent, oppressed by a feeling he did not
understand. Duncan continued, as though speaking to himself:

"Yes, oh yes, indeed. There will be a sacrifice, and I will be fearing
it! What will the Lord require? It would be the first fruits in the
olden times, Andra, and I will be thinking of Donal' an' Sandy an' the
lads----"

"Ah, they're jist a scandalous pack!" cried the other, relieved at
again being able to pour out his feelings upon something tangible.
"Yon lad o' mine's the worst o' them a' wi' his singin' an' his
dancin'. It's the blue beech gad they want, ivery one 'o' them. Ah
wouldna' be botherin' wi' them lads o' Betsey's, Duncan; they're a sair
burden to ye!"

"I have a burden, Andra," said Duncan, after a long silence, and
speaking with an effort. "But Betsey's lads will not be making it any
greater. I----" he hesitated again. To the reticent Duncan Polite the
confession of his heart's secret was extremely difficult. "I have a
burden," he continued, "but it is the whole Glen I carry, day an'
night, Andra, day an' night!"

There was a wail in the old man's voice which sent a thrill of sympathy
through his old comrade.

"Yes, they will not be like they were, and the sin will be growing; the
tavern is at the lake yet; and the lads will not be heeding the word of
God, and I will be saying, what will be the end, what will be the end?"
He paused again; his friend was gazing at him wonderingly.

"My father would be praying and watching the valley all his life, for
he would be making a covenant with the Lord at the big stone over
yonder; you will be minding that, Andra. But when he died, he would be
leaving it to me, and when he was going he would be saying, 'Duncan,
lad, remember Bethel. God hath set you as a watchman on the hilltop
here, to warn every soul from the way of death; see that He doth not
require the blood of a soul at your hands.' And I would be thinking,
in my presumption, that I would be like my father, and that I would be
worthy for this work. And the Lord would be answering my father's
prayer by sending Mr. McAlpine, and I would be praying, too, for a
deliverer, but I would not be worthy; and He has punished my pride.
And I will be bringing all this si