"It is many years," replied the bishop, putting his handkerchief up to his eyes.
"Answer me, now, sir;—did you not desert him?"
"No, no!" replied the bishop. "It is strange that you should appear to know so much about the matter, Mr Newland, as you could have hardly been born. I was poor then—very poor; but although I could ill afford it, he had fifty pounds from me."
"But, sir," replied I, much agitated; "why have you not reclaimed him?"
"I would have reclaimed him, Mr Newland—but what could I do—he was not to be reclaimed; and now—he is lost for ever."
"Surely, sir, in your present affluence, you must wish to see him again?"
"He died, and I trust he has gone to heaven," replied the bishop, covering up his face.
"No, sir," replied I, throwing myself on my knees before him, "he did not die, here he is at your feet, to ask your blessing."
The bishop sprang from his chair. "What does this mean, sir?" said he, with astonishment. "You my son!"
"Yes, reverend father—your son; who, with fifty pounds you left—"