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."
"Alice," said the young man, faintly, "I shall never be all right again.
It is too late."
"No, it is not too late, Carl," was the smiling reply, "you have many happy years before you. You are not strong. You must have a rest, and then your strength will return and so will your courage."
Mrs. Albertson came in at this point, bringing a cup of tea and a wafer, and succeeded in getting the patient to drink the tea. Then the bishop returned quietly and took a chair by the bedside, and soon both ladies retired.
This incident had been a revelation to the slowly acting powers of the bishop's mind; a quicker perception would have grasped the whole case much sooner, and might have obviated much trouble. But now the revelation had forced itself upon the unsuspecting mind of the prelate. Now he fully understood Dr. Marmion's letter, and, also, the cause of Carl's fainting. All his fatherly instincts were aroused, and taking the hand of the revived youth, he said, very tenderly: "My poor boy."
"O, Bishop," sobbed the young man, "Let me go! Turn me out! I have been a living lie to you and yours."
In his rapidly returning strength he arose as he thus spoke. "Forgive me," he continued, disconsolately, "and let me get away out of your sight. I will disgrace you no longer." He had secured his hat and moved toward the door, but the bishop gently detained him, saying: "Wait, Carl. Do nothing in haste. If you are sufficiently strong let us walk out into the park. The fresh air will help you."