“Now, my dear Doctor, in conclusion, this son (not you) should be the one to undeceive the parents.  I can and do understand the delicate reason which actuates him in fearing to undeceive his parents in regard to his being alive, while they have and do believe him dead.  If you can remove this deep impression from his mind, all will soon be right. But he must do this himself, not by letter either, he must go to his father; yes, he must arise and go to his father.

“Affectionately yours,

“ALBERTSON.”

The bishop sat in his office six feet away from his secretary, while writing this letter of reply, and when he had concluded it he did as was his custom in his correspondence—­passed both letters over to his secretary to read aloud.

In a few moments Carl picked up Marmion’s letter.  After reading a few sentences he halted, saying:  “Bishop, this seems to be a confidential letter.  Shall I continue?”

“O, yes,” replied the bishop, “there are no names mentioned; read on.  I want to know if my answer sounds right, and I can learn that best by hearing it read.”

Carl had grasped the spirit and meaning, and he already knew what was coming.  But he proceeded and somewhat hesitatingly read it through.  Having done this, he was in the act of handing both letters back, when the good bishop, with a wave of his hand, said:  “Now read my reply, please, that is the most important thing—­read slowly, please.”

The dismayed secretary felt that this was indeed crucifixion.  Why had not the doctor spared him this?  Did he not know that the letter would come under his eye?  His first thought was to decline under the plea of nervousness; then, he thought this would be cowardly and unmanly.  No, he would read, and at the close would decide.  The bishop was a poor scribe, and his writing was always difficult to decipher; so taking this as an excuse, he plodded along slowly, and thereby gave himself a chance to hide his real feelings.  But still he found this a difficult task, for his voice trembled perceptibly, and when he came to the latter part, where the father said he would welcome his son back to his home and heart, he stopped, his head dropped upon his hand on the table, and the paper fell from his grasp to the floor.  The bishop arose quickly, and caught him in his arms, or he too would have fallen.  In a few moments, with the assistance of Alice, Carl was laid upon two chairs.  The bishop with the assistance of the registrar, who was hastily summoned from the next room, bore the unconscious secretary into another room and laid him upon the bed.

The terrible strain had been too much for the young man’s weak condition.  It was not long, however, before he slowly opened his eyes, and, looking up, he saw Alice gazing at him with anxious solicitude, while with her soft hand she was bathing his temples and brow.

Then all the circumstances came back to him, and he heard the gentle voice of the young girl bending over him.  “Carl, dear,” she was saying, “you are better now, and will soon be all right again.”