"Can we go up and see him?" asked Bishop Albertson, and without waiting
for an answer, he proceeded up the back stairs, but the English visitor
remained below.

When Bishop Albertson entered the room he found Nancy bathing the sick
youth's brow. She saluted the visitor with great respect. Carl lay quite
still with his face toward the wall. Laying her hand upon his brow, Nancy
said: "Carl, dear, here's the bishop come over to see you."

The sick man murmured: "No, no, he will never come to see me, but mother
would if she knew."

The bishop in low, quiet tones said: "Carl, where is your father? We will
let him know how ill you are, and I know he will come to you."

In still weaker accents the delirious youth went on: "No, no, don't tell
him; he thinks I'm dead; better so."

At this moment Dr. King, making his second call for the day, stepped
into the room, and at once in low but emphatic tones remarked: "Mrs.
Sparrow, this will not do. Our patient must be kept quiet; otherwise
more harm can be done in a half hour than can be overcome in a week. I
will send a nurse tonight, and with skillful nursing we will, if
possible, save the patient."

The bishop took the hint and quietly descended to the parlor, where he
found his colleague awaiting him with his head resting upon both hands.
Silently they wended their way to the bishop's study. It lacked about an
hour to the time of evening service.