little shrivelled occupant was eagerly listening, in the hopes that
another person's experience--and he a good man--might throw some light
upon her own difficulties.

"Good people all!" said the old man, "will you bear with me for a few
moments, while I unburden my mind of a weight that is pressing sore
upon me? and God grant that none of you may suffer what I have suffered
lately! but justly--remember justly am I punished.

"You think you know me well, my dear friends. 'There is Ebben Owens
Garthowen,' you say, 'our deacon,' and perhaps you say 'an upright man
and honest!' But I am here to-night to tell you what I am in truth. I
have stood before you dozens of times, and told you of want of
faith--of cold prayers--and lack of interest in holy things. I have
asked for your prayers many times, and have gone home and forgotten to
pray myself! Yes, I have been your deacon for thirty years, and all
that time I have deceived you, and deceived myself. I never told you
about my real sins, but you shall know to-night what Ebben Owens is. I
have been weak and yielding in money matters--have lent and given my
money, not out of real charity, but because it brought me the praise of
man. I have lied and cheated in the market, and still my soul was
asleep, and you all thought well of me. I have pretended to be a
temperate man, but I have often drunk until my brain was dull, and my
eyes were heavy, and have flung myself down on my bed in a drunken
sleep, without thought and without prayer."

He paused a moment, and the sea wind, coming in at the window, blew a
stray lock of his grey hair over his forehead. His tongue seemed
parched and dry, his voice husky and uncertain, but with a fresh effort
he continued: