It was Gethin! He had sailed into Caer-Madoc harbour in the afternoon, the ships being the only things considered free to come and go during the Sabbath hours.

He had met an Abersethin man in the town, who had promised to bring his luggage home in his cart next day, and had supplemented the promise by the information that on this particular evening, Ebben Owens would be turned out from the Penmorien Sciet.
"Jar-i! it's time for me to start, then," said Gethin; "will I be there in time, d'ye think ?" "Yes, if you walk sharp; but what will you do?
You can't stop them turning him out! There's a pity!" "No, no," said Gethin, "that's all right, I suppose; but I want to be there to meet the old man at the door.

He'll find he's got one son that'll stick to him, whatever.

God bless him!" and he started bravely along the old familiar road.
There were lights in the chapel windows as he approached, and outside the closed doors one solitary friend already waited.

It was Tudor, who had sat there during the service, his eyes fixed on the blank closed door, doggedly resisting the inviting barks of a collie who had caught sight of him from the opposite hill.