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