have finished my bwdran?"

"No, no, better not tell him anything till Gethin arrives. Lads are so
odd; he may not come for a week, and that would seem long waiting to
his father."

It was long waiting for Morva too, but she hid the secret in her heart,
and flooded the moor with happy songs.

On the following Sunday evening a special Sciet was held in the gaunt
grey chapel in the valley; an event of small importance to the outside
world, but to Ebben Owens and every member of his family one of
momentous interest. To them every event of life was brightened or
shaded by its connection with their religious life, and Penmorien
Chapel was almost as sacred in their eyes as the Temple of old was to
the Jews.

The members dropping in one by one from moor, or village, or shore,
looked with sympathising curiosity as the Garthowen family entered, and
took their places in the corner pew, Ebben Owens sitting with them, and
for the first time for many years vacating his place amongst the
deacons in the square seat under the pulpit.

A formal admission of sin is of frequent occurrence at an "experience
meeting," but the real confession of a sinful action is very rare.
Therefore the Garthowen family required strong moral courage to enable
them to pass through the trying ordeal of the Sciet, and its fiat of
excommunication, with dignified firmness.

The doors were closed, the soft sea wind blew up the valley, and the
breaking of the waves on the shore below was distinctly audible.

Sara and Morva did not attend the Sciet, but shut themselves up in
their cottage, cowering over the fire as if it had been winter. Sara
particularly, appeared to suffer acutely as the evening hours passed on.

"There's the sun going, mother, 'tis seven o'clock, the Sciet is over.
Will I go and meet them? Oh! mother, I long to comfort 'n'wncwl Ebben."

"No, child, leave him alone to-night; he has better help than thou
canst give him. To-night he will feel God's presence as he has never
felt it before, and what else will he want, Morva? Come and read our
chapter, 'merch i."

And while they read by the light of their tiny candle, and the furze
crackled and sparkled up the open chimney, a bronzed and stalwart man
was tramping down the stony road towards the chapel. Looking down the
narrow valley, he saw the broad grey sea, its ripples tipped with the
crimson of the setting sun. To the left towered the high cliffs which
closed in the valley, and