"Easy!" he said, leaning his head on his folded arms; "'tis my son,
girl, my beloved son, whose love and respect I am cutting off from me
for ever. Tell thy mother, too; let them all know what I am. Here
come Ann and Gwilym; perhaps they will be as hard upon me as I deserve."

Here Tudor again laid his soft head on the table beside his master's,
and the old man passed his arm round the dog's neck.

"Yes--yes, 'machgen i, I know I have thee still. Go, Morva, post my
letter at Pont-y-fro, though 'tis Sunday night. Good-night, girl, thou
hast an old man's blessing. For what it is worth," he added, under his
breath, as the girl passed out of one door, while Gwilym and Ann
entered at the other.

On their way home through the clear starlight, Gwilym had endeavoured
to soothe Ann's distress, to point out to her how real a proof of
repentance was her father's confession. He reminded her of the joy
amongst the angelic host over one sinner that repenteth! but his words
failed to make their usual impression upon her. Shame, and contempt
for her father's weakness were uppermost in her heart, and expressed
upon her countenance, when she entered the kitchen. One glance,
however, at the bowed grey head and the dejected attitude, banished
every feeling of anger to the winds; with a bound she was at her
father's side, her arms round his neck, her head leaning with his on
the table, Tudor laying his own beside them.

Ebben Owens's departure from the chapel had been followed by a few
moments of breathless silence. No more experiences were told, no hymn
was sung, but a short and fervid prayer from the preacher alone