The tick of the clock on the gallery, the distant swish of the waves, and the soft sighing of the evening breeze alone were audible.
At length another voice broke the silence.

It was Ebben Owens, who was standing up, and for a moment looking round at the old familiar faces of his fellow worshippers.
It had been a frequent custom of his to relate his religious experiences at the "Sciets," so neither Ann nor her husband were surprised; but Morva detected something unusual in the old man's manner.

At many a meeting he had confessed to the frailties of human nature, with platitudes, and expressions of repentance, which had lost all reality from constant repetition.

But he had satisfied the meeting, and at the end of it he had taken up his hat, smoothed his hair down over his forehead, and walked out of the chapel in the odour of sanctity.

To-night it was a very different man who stood there.