"Your affectionate son,
"WILLIAM OWEN."
Ebben Owens had been gradually growing more excited, and at the last word said with a gasp:
"He has forgotten my confession, Morva; I am of no consequence to him!"
"Yes—yes," said the girl, "here's another half sheet with 'P.S.' at the top," and she continued to read:
"Dear father, Gwenda was looking over my shoulder, so I could not add what I say now. Please ask Ann to put the best knives and forks on the table, and to bring out mother's silver teapot when we come. I forgot to refer to the contents of your last letter. You make too much of your fault, dear father, you have made a cornstack of a barleymow. I am only sorry you have published it abroad as you have done. You need only have confessed to God, or if you wanted to do more, I am an ordained priest. I can't imagine why you did not ask Gwilym to lend you the money; at all events you returned it as soon as you could. Ask Jacob the Mill to keep one of Fan's pups for me."
Ebben Owens was too excited by the rest of the letter to notice the callousness of the postscript, and thought only of the kindness which so easily forgave his sin.
"Call Ann," he said, and Morva went joyfully.
"Come, Ann fâch!" she cried, at the foot of the stairs, "here's good news for you. Will and his wife are coming to see you."
Ann came down in a flurry, half of pleasure and half of fright.