steps forward.

"Jamie Mactavish and Andrew Gray are not here," he said sternly, as
though he were a schoolmaster calling the roll. Explanations of the
absence murmured out and he came inside, pushing the door to.

Marcella, standing by Wullie, was shivering with nervous dread, and
suddenly noting his red-rimmed eyes, blazing and wild, she clutched
Wullie's arm.

"Wullie--look at him!" she whispered.

"He's been at the bar'l," muttered Wullie, and with a cry she started
forward. But Wullie caught her back gently.

"He knows what he's daein', lassie," he whispered, watching Andrew's
face expectantly, and the girl stood petrified beside him. It came to
her very certainly that her father had realized he had not strength to
make what he called his allegiance to God, and that at the last he had
sought the momentary strength of the whisky that he knew would shatter
his glass heart.

"That's why he knew he would die to-day," her voice whispered, choked in
tears. She felt that she was in the grip of things that were bending and
breaking her life as they liked.

And then her father spoke, letting his stick clatter to the ground, and
lifting his swollen white hands.

"Friends," he said loudly, "ye have all known me in the old days. I