money I required to get my son into the Church. When the theft was
discovered," and the old man held up his finger to enforce his
words--"are you listening?--when the theft was discovered I tried at
first to throw the blame upon a member of this congregation, whom, of
course, I knew to be innocent; later on, when circumstances seemed to
point more directly to my dear eldest son, I gladly let the suspicion
rest upon him, and I did everything in my power to give colour to the
idea of his guilt. There I am, dear friends. That is Ebben Owens.
You know him now as what he is--a liar--a sot--a thief! You will turn
me out of your 'Sciet.' You are right; I am not worthy to be a member
of it. I don't want anyone's pity, I only want you to know me as I am,
and may God forgive me."

And he sat down amidst breathless silence, his hands sunk deep into his
pockets, his chin resting on his chest. Shame, repentance, and sorrow
filled his heart, and it required all the strength of his manhood to
keep back the tears which would well up into his eyes. It was all so
still in the chapel, not a word of sympathy; even a word of reproach
would have been acceptable to the miserable man, who could not read
beneath the surface, the tumult of varied feelings which were surging
through the hearts of the congregation.

Suddenly two heavy paws were resting on his knee, and Tudor's warm
breath was on his face as he tried to lick the old man's bare forehead.
The touch of sympathy was more than he could bear, he rose hastily to
his feet, and, followed by the dog, passed out of the chapel, leaving
Gwilym Morris, with a tremble in his voice, to bring the meeting to a
close.

Although he had sometimes strayed into the chapel Tudor had never
before been known to invade the sanctity of the "big seat," and what
brought him there on this particular evening was one of those mysteries
which enshroud the possibilities of animal instinct. Perhaps he had
been struck by the dejected attitude of his master, as he followed his
daughter and son-in-law through the farmyard; at all events the loving
and loyal heart had felt that over that bent head and stooping figure a
cloud of trouble hung low, and as he followed his master through the
silent congregation he hung his head and drooped his tail as though he
himself were the delinquent.

"Come, Ann, let us follow him," whispered Morva.

"No," answered Ann, withdrawing her hand from Morva's warm clasp, "I
can