The boy I idolised and loved--God knows with a love that effaced the image of the Almighty from my heart--has deserted me, has grown ashamed of me, and my punishment is just and righteous.
The other--whom I treated harshly and thrust from me--has also deserted me in my old age; this, too, is just and righteous.

The sting of it is sharp and hard to bear, for God has made me love that boy, and long for his presence; and this, too, is just and righteous.

Let no one pity me, or think I am punished more than I deserve.

And now, do you think you know me?
Not yet, my friends, for listen, your deacon, Ebben Owens of Garthowen, is a thief! Do you hear it, all of you?
A thief!" and he looked round the chapel inquiringly.
The men looked at him with flushed, excited faces, the women stooped forward to hide theirs, some of them crying silently, but all moved as by a sudden storm.

Ann had bent lower and lower in her pew, and was weeping bitter tears of shame, clasping Morva's hand, who stood looking in frightened amazement from one to another.
"A thief!" continued the old man, "and a cowardly thief! One who sacrificed honour and truth and common honesty that he might gratify his foolish pride.