road for Canaan.

Oh, Israel! Israel! the wandering in the wilderness still goes on. The
Promised Land still lies ahead, and wanderers in earth's wilderness
still seek it, panting and dying with none to strike a rock in Horeb.

The Promised Land! what glimpses of that glorious country are
vouchsafed, mere glimpses, from those rugged heights, such as were
granted him, who, weary with his wanderings, sought Pisgah's top to
die.

Sometimes, when the mists are lifted and the sun shines through the
rifted clouds, what dreams, what visions, what communion with those
whom the angels met upon the mountain. They thought upon it, those
two, as they passed on to Dan.

To Dan, through the broad gate artistically set with palings of green
and white. Under the sweet old cedars deep down into the heart of the
woods, with the solemn mountains rising, grim and mysterious, in the
twilight. Down the great bluff where the tinkle of falling water tells
of the spring hidden in the dim wood's shadowy heart. The golden
arrows of sunset are put out one by one by the shadow-hands of the
twilight hidden in the haunted hemlocks. One star rises above the
tree's and peeps down to find itself quivering in the dusky pool. A
little bird flits by with an evening hymn fluttering in its throat.

They stopped at the foot of the bluff and seated themselves upon a
fallen tree, the rifle resting, the stock upon the ground, the muzzle
against the tree, between them.

Between them, the loaded rifle. She herself had placed it there. They
had scarcely spoken, but words are weak; _feeling_ is strong--and
silent. His heart was breaking; could words help _that_? It was she
who spoke at last, nestling closer to him a moment, then quickly
drawing back. Her hand had touched the iron muzzle of the gun--it was
cold, and it reminded her. She drew her hands together and folded
them, palm to palm, between her knees, and held them there, lest the
sight of his agony drag them from duty and honor. She could not bear
to look at him, she could only speak to him, with her eyes turned away
toward the distant mountains.

"Donald," her voice was low and very steady, "there are so many
mistakes made, dear, and my marriage was one of them. But, the blunder
having been committed, I must abide by it. And who knows if, after
all, it be a mistake? Who can understand, and who dares judge God's
plans? But right cannot grow from wrong. We part. But I shall not
leave you, Donald. Her