"Don't you, boy bach," Martha hastened to say. "Come she will."
At the dusk of Friday Eylwin Jones, his goitered chin shivering, ran furiously and angrily into the Tabernacle. "Ho-ho," he cried. "In jail is Winnie. A scampess is she and a whore. Here's scandal. Mother and father of a thief in the house of the capel bach of Jesus Christ. Robbed Mistress Harries she did. Broke is the health of the woman nice as a consequent. She will not be at the anniversary meetings because the place is contaminated by you pair. And her husband won't. Five shillings each they give to the collection. The capel wants the half soferen. Out you go. Now at once."
Tim and Martha were sorely troubled that Winnie would come to the Chapel House and not finding them, would go away.
"Loiter will I near by," said Tim.
"Say we rent a room and peer for her," said Martha.
Thereon from dusk to day either Tim or Martha sat at the window of their room and watched. The year died and spring and summer declined into autumn, when on a moon-lit night men flew in machines over London and loosened bombs upon the people thereof.
"Feared am I," said Martha, "that our daughter is not in the shelter." She screamed: "Don't stand there like a mule. Pray, Tim man."
Remembering how that he had prayed, Tim answered: "Try a prayer will I near the capel."
So Martha watched at her window and Tim prayed at the door of the Tabernacle.