“My dear,” said the bishop, pausing in front of her, and laying his hand gently upon her shoulder, “I think we mistake in trying to deceive ourselves.  It is better to cultivate the spirit of resignation.”

At this moment, Joseph, the house man, entered and quietly approaching the bishop, handed him a card.  Glancing at the card, the bishop said:  “Conduct him to the reception room.  I will be there presently.”  Written with pencil on the card were the words:  “A stranger desires to see you.”  That was all.

The bishop laid the card upon the stand by his wife’s side and left the room.

The visitor’s back was toward the bishop as he entered.  He wore a long duster, and held his hat in his hand.  The bishop’s quiet salutation caused the man to turn partially around, and at the sight of his face the bishop started slightly and asked:  “Whom have I the pleasure of addressing?”

“Father!  Don’t you know me?” burst from the visitor’s lips, and then his eyes fell, as if he were overwhelmed with a sense of shame and remorse.

The bishop raised his hand in a gesture of blank amazement.  Surely this mature man could not possibly be his son!

But at this moment his wife pushed past him exclaiming:  “It is Edward, it is Edward!” She threw her arms around Carl’s neck, and the next moment he was supporting her unconscious form, for she had fainted.  The bishop recovering from his astonishment assisted Carl in placing her upon a sofa, and an instant later Eleen, the daughter, was at her side.  The bishop embraced the trembling, tearful prodigal, but could only inarticulately murmur:  “My boy—­my boy—­you have come back—­you have come back!  Can it really be you—­Edward?”

“Yes, father,” sobbed the young man, “I am, indeed, Edward, your son; but I am no more worthy to be thus called.  I have sinned, father, against you and in heaven’s sight.”

“Sinned,” said his father, still embracing him.  “What of that?  Are you not my son, and are you not living?  O, how is this?  We had so nearly given you up.”

Nor was his sister’s welcome less affectionate.  “You are my brother Eddie,” she exclaimed, kissing him fondly, “and you are alive!  You were not drowned.  O, we hardly dared to hope for this!”

The mother’s eyes at last opened, and she motioned for her son to come and sit by her side on the sofa.  Then, with mother’s arms around him, and father and sister near, he told the sad story of his fall, with all the consequences that had followed—­the return of the money, and his confession to Bishop Albertson.  “The Lord has forgiven me,” he said, “the bank has lost nothing and forgiven my crime.  Bishop Albertson has blotted it all out and loves me more dearly than ever, and gives me, as before, his full confidence.  But all this was not sufficient to give me peace, and I have crossed the sea to confess to you my sin against you, and ask your pardon.”  The mother’s arms were around his neck, the father’s hands were upon his head, and Eleen held his hands in her own.  All wept in silence a moment or two, but the tears were tears of joy.